Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

‘TA ‘“ And she’s got ’em—and they got him— and now s/e’s got him! And that’s all that matters and—say, Whitmore, I wish you’d get that outraged saint look out of your eyes. It doesn’t go with the rest of the blankness!” Curlew said wearily. ‘“ The firm hasn’t dropped into a sink hole of im- morality and it has no intention of doing anything of the kind. She’s simply keeping him interested, Whitmore. Hell’s bells! Can't you grasp that?” “J do grasp it—fully,” said James. ‘‘ And, by the way, I think I’ll begin tele- phoning for their reservations. They ought to be in separate cars!” ‘“OQueht to be—rot!” Henry snarled. “They're not taking any train!” “Why not?” “ Because it’s going to be my painful duty to ruin the trip. You don’t suppose for one instant that I’m going to let him talk to Pemmerly before Z’ve talked to him, do you? And I can’t talk to him until I’ve called up every hotel in Washington and found out where he is—and even so, he may be at some friend’s house, for all I know to the contrary. The thick-skulled, brass lunged fool didn’t inform me as to where he was staying and I couldn’t cross- question him with Dixon in the room. So we'll have to smash the trip and—oh, Lord!” Weariness bending him a little forward, Henry Curlew rose and moved to the big table and opened the drawer. Hunched over, he brought out little slips of paper, larger slips of paper, glancing at each one, erunting a little. “Looking for the confounded girl’s tele- phone number,” he explained. ‘Did you have that?” escaped James. “What? Yes. Mitchell hired her for me, you know. Had that infernal number, because he gave it to me at the office this afternoon—and I stuck it in my pocket and I’m certain I put it in here.” He hunted further, ‘“‘ Attached no importance to it, of course, because I never expected to use tS? “ Well, why do you want to use it now?” James asked flatly. The head of the firm sat back. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, “T wonder,” said he, with patience sorely stretching, “if, some time before I die, I shall be able to hire a person—just one per- son—whose brain power rates higher, even in the littlest degree, than that of the aver- age cockroach? Explicitly, then, Whitmore, it is my desire to catch ’em at the girl’s home while she is packing and inform them —mendaciously, you understand, since Pemmerly actually has zot again communi- cated with me—that Pemmerly has just informed me over the long distance that he has started for New York.” “Ah!” James said grimly, * And I don’t mean to sneer at you, Whit- more, and I beg your pardon—but I’m tired —tired!” Henry Curlew said as he rum- maged on. “ Well—the thineg’s not here. i'll have Gorely look in my vest and—no, T’ll go look myself. I’ll have to do it eventu- ally, anyway,” muttered Henry as he rose and walked slowly out of the room. James Whitmore sat down with a thud! They were gone! Betty, little Betty, actu- ally had left with that beetle-browed hulk! Betty! Nobody in the whole world had ever been more punctilious about the finer shades of appearance than Betty. In that she differed so markedly from many mod- ern young women that James had esteemed her as the very rarest of prizes! Yes, he had so esteemed her that at that breakfast time, which seemed years ago, he had sneered at her until she went quite mad! James dropped his aching head to his hands and clutched and groaned aloud. Little Betty, alone in a car with the Dixon beast! Little Betty—alone with him in their flat! Well, why couldn’t he call her up now? Why couldn’t he order her—no, not that— why couldn’t he plead with her to get rid of Dixon and wait, just as she was, for him to appear, which he would do within a very few minutes? Or, for that matter, why not call up and deliver Curlew’s message? James bounced up—and James sank down again. There were several reasons. For one of them, Betty seemed to have passed the Stage where pleading might be effective. For another, he couldn’t very well deliver the Curlew message without having later to explain how he came by the number; and Eomichooks (©)