Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

BORROWED PLUMES. we will start. I do not think Langouste would dare attract notice by starting a fight with you, because he doesn’t want a sergent de ville running up to my studio to see what is the matter. Let us go, as you Americans engagingly say!” He watched her settle the reckoning and tip the garcon, feeling most uncomfortable the while; and then they passed out onto the Boul’ Mich, just coming to life with its evening throng. In ten minutes they were at the studio; and Mme. Volontiers waited in the courtyard while he raced up the five flights to his apartment. He proposed to see the thing through on his own, without the dubious aid of Ugichi. The little Jap was Count Vau- dreuil’s servant; he had been at liberty to make whatever arrangements with him he chose. Doubtless he had promised him a liberal reward to tag along; but George had no right whatever to involve him in an adventure that might prove to be tame enough, and then again might not. And so, merely nodding to him as the door was opened, he hastened to change into his oldest suit, and to divest himself of his watch and stick-pin. He had no weapon of any sort, and wished for none. ‘You go away, yess?” Ugichi sibilated. * Veah. Can’t say when I'll be back. Just look after these thing, will you, Ugichi? That’s a good chap. Must hurry along.” But Ugichi deferentially yet resolutely barred the way. “ Tt iss for Mme. Volontiers?” he asked. “Why, yes,” admitted George, recalling that Ugichi was probably more or less in possession of the facts. “ Why?” Ugichi bowed gravely. “ Then I go, too,” he stated simply. “No! Not necessary at all. This is something I must see through myself. You mustn’t get mixed up in it. There may be a ruckus; police and all that. Good-by!” Ugichi stepped aside, and George dart- ed through the door. But he had hardly passed, with the little lady, out of the cob- bled yard, than the Japanese appeared at the doorway of the studio building, an in- scrutable look in his eyes; and, like a shadow, he trailed along after them. _ They walked swiftly down the Boule- 4 681 — vard St. Germain, speaking rarely, hurrying — across the Pont Sully, and, once on the © right side, passing old St. Paul’s. Turning up the Rue Birague, they presently came to the Place des Vosges; and then, by numerous short cuts that left George com- pletely turned about, they suddenly found themselves before the yawning mouth of the courtyard which gave onto Mme. Volon- tiers’s stairs. The famous perambulator which George had trundled up the five long stone flights stood outside her door when they had gained it; and they paused a moment ere inserting her key. There came to them the sound of muffled voices from within. “So! Langouste entertains!” the girl breathed in his ear; and the delicate per- fume of her hair maddened George and flexed the muscles of his arms. He breathed deep, his big hands clenching automati- cally. , With no warning noise she turned the lock and threw open the door. Inside the big room, which was in great disorder, three men sat about a table on which stood a bottle of the forbidden absinthe. The air reeked with the stench of French tobacco. George identified Langouste at once by his enormous red hands, which were in the act of dripping a generous portion of the green gold liquor through a little metal tripod set upon his tumbler, a tripod con-: taining a perforated bowl with a lump of sugar in it. The other two were smaller than Langouste, types of the ratty, furtive, city bred crook the world over. Langouste was bareheaded; his two companions wore caps with long visors which half masked their features. All three froze into immo- bility at the entrance of Mme. Volontiers and her escort. “Pardon the intrusion, mon frére; I have come to get a few clothes and some rouge and brushes, and above all my good Djinn. Where is he? Ah, there is Ja pauvreite!”’ She ran across the room and from under a couch fished a demoralized and hungry looking black cat, who clung to her while turning scared eyes upon Langouste. The Lobster had risen, and now stood, half a head taller than George, a powerful, ‘comicbooks-com