Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

886 other. It seemed to her as though the drama which had begun before her eyes alone might begin again and continue into another phase if she were there unaccompanied. At least, there was a half-formed impulse in her subconscious mind which kept her there. But by dim degrees the horror slipped away, and, in sudden waves, sleep overcame her brain. The sleep was shattered into a thousand bits. She found herself standing in the middle of the floor of her room. Her ears were ringing with a sound to which she had reacted involuntarily. Then she knew that it had been a man’s voice which she had heard, a man’s voice, yes—her father’s voice, crying out in a wild alarm. She ran to the door and flung it open. The hall was pitch black. But down it she could hear running footsteps, thudding heavily along the padded carpet. A light snapped on farther down the hall and the burst of light showed her no other person than John Hodge racing down the hall, a revolver in his hand. His deep overcoat collar was turned high around his face and the brim of his hat was flapping low across his forehead, but in spite of that partial masking, she knew him. For the truth of him, she felt, was plain for the first time. He ran swiftly and soit- ly. The gun was poised as for instant ac- tion. And as he whipped past her, where she sank half fainting against the side of her door, his eyes gleamed at her. Then he was gone bounding on. Somewhere behind him was a heavy groaning. Was that her father lying bleed- ing to death on the floor of his room? Was this the second murder which had been com- mitted by the wolfish fellow? She looked down toward the head of the stairs. He who had switched on the light darted into view, caught sight of John Hodge, and tossed up a gun with a shouted command to halt. Instinctively Olivetta tensed herself to hear the barking of guns. But instead of shooting, the hand of John Hodge went back with a flash of the rapid- ly moving revolver which he held. Then that heavy weapon was hurled at the armed man before him. The latter blazed away with his own gun ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. and tried to dodge. But the bullet flew wide and ripped a crashing furrow along the wall, and he dodged too late. She could hear the thud of the steel glancing against the head of the man. Then he went down in a crushed heap at the corner of the wall and the floor while John Hodge leaned in his career, scooped up his fallen revolver without coming to a full halt, and then his footfalls jarred as he plunged down the stairs. Olivetta did not pursue. He who had fallen at the head of the stairs was one of the detectives. Evidently they had re- turned in secret to the house to keep a watch. Perhaps there were more below. She herself fled up the hall and, while the sudden roar of the awakened house was once more commencing, she ran into the room of Hugh Dascom. He was in the very act of picking him- self up from the floor. She caught him in her arms as he lurched to his feet. ‘“* Dad!”’ she cried with the overwhelming sense of all her bad treatment of him flood- ing her mind. “ Oh, dad, he’s killed you!” He pushed her back roughly, and dropped a hand into his coat pocket—for he was still fully dressed and had apparent- ly decided to stay awake the rest of the night. She thought at first that he had reached for a weapon, mistaking her for an- other enemy in his dazed condition, but he drew out his hand at once. Recollection came back to him. “ Good gad, Olivetta, not quite murdered, I thank you! But—turn on the light! That tiger Hodge—that devil—” She flashed on the switch. Outside, and below, there was a rattle of revolver shots, a clamor Of shouting, and that uproar was drawing all attention after it, except that Mrs. Dascom was sobbing hysterically in the next room and calling faintly for her husband. But Dascom’s room itself was a scene of the wildest confusion, chairs over- turned, rug kicked into a heap, all the evi- dence of a stern struggle. And her father leaned against the wall with one hand pressed to the side of his face. “Thank God!” cried Olivetta. dad, dear old dad!” ‘“ Thank God,” echoed Hugh Dascom, cc Oh. (CO) Cconmmicoooks