Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

648 fellow had acted as he did. He was trying to get away and he knew I’d run after him if he hit me. You'd have done the same thing in my place.” Silence followed his words. The men about him stared. They exchanged glances with one another, and those glances were amazed. There was something about them that seemed to ask in tacit fashion if any one had ever heard a story quite like this. The sergeant let his eyes stray to Eddie and then dropped them back to the century note in his hand. And after that, he drew a deep breath and his face grew red. Sud- denly he chuckled. “Honest, Blumefeldt,” he said, ‘ you’re sure an artist. Your yarn’s about as good as this bill, an’ I gotta admit it’s a peach.” Blumefeldt! Eddie stiffened. And then once more his brain began to whirl. The man had called him Blumefeldt. They didn’t believe him. The sergeant had said his story was as good as the bill and the bill was—false. There was only one inter- pretation to the words. ‘They didn’t even believe he was himself. They thought they knew him, that he was simply putting up a bluff. He gasped. His mouth came open and he faltered: “What's that—you called—me?” The sergeant’s manner altered. His amusement vanished swiftly and he squared himself in his seat. He even leaned a little way toward Eddie and his jaw sat out at an unpleasant angle, and his voice, when it came, as it did come quickly, was rasping, sneering, gruff. “T called you Blumefeldt—an’ if you think you can run any such crazy stall as this thing you’ve just spilled, you might as well save your breath. Why, you cheap crook, we’ve been onto you for weeks. We’ve been spottin’ your every move since you got into touch with that Murgson, Irak, Welter mob at first. ‘An’ that ain’t all by a long shot. We've been teamin’ in on th’ play with Uncle Sam’s boys. Maybe you never thought it, but we had a peephole in th’ Ceilin’? of that room you were usin’ as a phony office, an’ we’ve been wakin’ you up in th’ mornin’ an’ puttin’ you to bed. That’s why we fell on you this afternoon ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. when it looked like you was almost ready to slip somethin’ across. Th’ whole trouble with you is you simply wasn’t as smart as you thought you was.” And if Eddie’s brain had been whirling before, that whirling quickened now. He had an odd sensation as though his head were going round and round. Not only did they think they knew him, but they thought they knew what he had done. But they couldn’t. The thing was impossible. He was a stranger in the city—and yet this man sat here and scowled in his face and told him he had been watched by both the secret service and the police for weeks. It was all unthinkable that he, Edward Harmon, should be faced by such a situa- tion—and yet he was. He glanced about as though to assure himself of the fact. He encountered only -watching glances. And very much as on the street when the crowd pressed in about him, glaring, he felt oddly sick and weak. The whole thing was rapid- ly becoming a phantasmagoria of misunder- standing and doubt. He was like one caught in the maze of some horrid nightmare, bound, chained, incapable of doing more than battle blindly for some unseen way of escape. Or——he steadied himself by an effort— was there not perhaps a way involved in the very words of these men themselves? They had been watching Blumefeldt. It was Blumefeldt they had meant to arrest. And Blumefeldt had been dealing with Murgson and Irak and Welter. And Murg- son and Irak and Welter were here in jail. And—suddenly Eddie saw a ray of light in the mental fog. He stared straight back into the sergeant’s scowling visage. “See here,” he questioned quickly; “were you one of the men on that raid?” The sergeant laughed, without any sound of humor, although he seemed in a manner amused. ‘‘ You know darned well I wasn’t.” “Did you ever see Blumefeldt to know him?” “Nope. But that don’t hinder my know- ing him when I see him. I’m pretty well acquainted with Murgson and his runnin’ mates by sight.” | “So that you’re just identifying me by a process of elimination? You’ve got oO y, COMME OO KSnEO