Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 64: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

54 At about ten thirty that evening a soiled gray taxicab carrying Val and Eddie came to a grinding stop at the corner of a small, narrow, ill-smelling alley. ‘ Are we there?” asked Val, popping his — head out of the door. “Dunno,” replied the driver. “I think it’s around here somewhere, though. May- be one of these fellers can tell us. Hey!” he-called to them. | A-small tough came forward, unshaven, rat faced, and with sharp, beady eyes that seemed to look in two different directions at once. His derby, which was too small for _ him, a sort of brown bowler, was perched perilously on one side of his unkempt hair, and he spat viciously into the gutter under the taxicab before opening his mouth to speak. ‘““Whacher want?” he asked, eying the occupants of the taxicab sharply. ‘““Can you tell me where 22 Delancey Place is?” asked Val. The other looked at him searchingly for an instant. “Dis here’s Delancey Place,” he replied. “Yer number’s at de other end, cul. What name yer lookin’ fer?” he asked with an assumption of confidential familiarity. “Why?” asked Val. The other did not meet his direct gaze. He spat again, this time on the hub of the taxi’s rear wheel, and regarded his marks- manship admiringly for a moment or two before answering. “ Oh, nothin’,” he said at length. “ Just ~thort I might help yer, dat’s all.” Val gave him a quarter, which he accept- ed in a dignified manner, much as a shop- keeper accepts money for merchandise. He turned and went back to lounge with his friends, paying no more attention to Val and his party. Telling the taxi driver to wait for them there, and to be ready to start at an in- stant’s notice, Val and his man proceeded up the alley to No. 22, Eddie carrying a suit case in which to take away the books if they found them. Val had his plans made, sketchily. They were simply this: to knock on the door; if Teck was in, which was not likely, they were to enter, and by a show of force search his rooms. If he was not in, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. they were to find a way to force their en- trance into the rooms. That was all—to get into the rooms. The legality of the proceeding, to say nothing of the danger of it, did not bother Val in the least, and it bothered Eddie less. He was satisfied, if Val was. If his conscience smote him a bit—that is, Val’s conscience, for Eddie had none except in Val’s name—he silenced it by the reflection that after all they were his own books and they had been stolen from him. As the English say, he was merely getting back “a bit of his own.” It was a mean looking alley, Delancey Place. Comparatively early as it was,. the sidewalks of Delancey Place were bare and deserted. With the exception of one lamp- burning bleakly at the beginning of the alley, there were no lights. Windows were barred, and although here and there a. shaft of yellow gaslight escaped through a ram- shackie shutter, it did little but accentuate the general gloom and dispiritedness of the place.. It was a location to take the heart out of a man who had no legitimate business there—nor did it look, on the other hand, as though any one who lived there could have any legitimate. business. They found the house they were looking for at the far end. It was a three-story frame house—one of the few frame houses still in existence on the East Side. There was no front door, though the hinges were still there to show that’ at some happier and far distant time there had been such an affair at the entrance. The hall yawned blackly before them. “Got your flash?” queried Val. The other handed it to him. ‘ Looks like mid- night inside a cow’s belly,” commented Val. “Yes, sir,” replied Eddie impassively. _ They entered the house. By working his flashlight diligently Val discovered that there was a door to-an apartment on each side of the hall.. He knocked on one of them loudly. There was no answer. He knocked again. There was a sound of moving around, and he heard a low, gut- tural, feminine voice cursing whole-heart- edly. The door was opened a crack, as far as a stout chain would permit. GOMIGIOOKSACO