Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

\ ‘tt. ‘7 aa ‘carefully as a surgical operation. FOOL PROOF. 797 you’re coming up here, on account of some bughouse idea, and try to shoot me and get away with ite” “< Exactly.” The door of a taxi slammed below, and Lathrop went to the window. It was across the street. “Listen to me,” Freyne said. “I spent three years in France in two armies. I’ve been more scared for six months on end, than I am of you and your melodrama stuff.” Lathrop had returned to stand opposite Freyne’s chair, and his eyes still showed the whites underneath. “Most people aren’t afraid of death,” he said. “It’s dying they’re afraid of. A shell or a bullet hits you before you know it. But if you could see it coming all the way, watch it for hours or days— That’s what she did. Sat—alone, and waited for it. You didn’t know she was dead, did you? I remember you said you didn’t give a damn.” Freyne moved to throw away his cigar- ette, and a bit of the paper stuck to his lips. He moistened them with his tongue. ‘And that’s what'll happen to you,” he said. ‘‘ Did you ever see a man electro- cuted? See him walk in while two men hold him up? Walk to a thing like a chair in a country barber shop and sit down with a helmet over his head, and wait? Talk about seeing it coming, that’s what you'll get if you don’t sober up.” ‘““T’m not worried about that,” Lathrop leaned back against the table. chairs, gallows, guillotines, they’re just scarecrows to keep morons from losing their tempers. I’m not angry with you any more than the man who throws the switch is angry at the poor dope fiend in the chair. You won’t be murdered. You'll be executed. I’ve planned every detail of this thing as There'll te no mysterious clews, no finger prints or third degrees or alibis when I’m through with you.” Freyne wasn’t smiling now. He lay still in the chair, a little pale. “They'll get you though,” he said. “ You'll smell that leather helmet and the 2 breath of the fellow that wore it last. They'll etn ‘“* Electric. get you, just like the rest of the wise guys that try to beat the game.” “You think so?” “T know it. They'll get you.” “ We'll see.” Freyne grunted a laugh. ‘ Yes, and even if you shoot that whole clip into me, when they do get you, Ill know it, wherever I am. Yes, and I'll laugh and you'll hear me. When you shuffle up to that wicked wooden chair, I'll laugh like hell, and you'll hear me.” ‘““ When you’re dead,” Lathrop said, “ and I leave here, they won’t even look for me. The poor rats that get caught haven’t the brains to think their way out. I’m not going to die for the pleasure of killing a thing like you. I’ve thought my way out.” “You think you’ve thought it out till you find somebody who can think better than you do,” Freyne said. ‘““ For instance,” asked Lathrop, ‘‘ some fat-head New York detective?” ‘“ Anybody,” Freyne answered. “ Any- body can think better than you do as long as you’re thinking crooked. You may not be a moron, but as long as your head’s full of a crazy idea like this, anybody who thinks straight can put it over you.” Lathrop leaned away from the table and stood up. “Well, you can’t,” he said®‘ because you won’t be here.” Freyne went right on. ‘ You’ve heard them say ‘murder will out,’ haven’t you? That's not a fairy story, it’s a fact. Every dirty trick turns up sooner or later, same reason a dead thing floats—because it’s rotten—rotten like your ‘ brains.’ ” “You go sit over there at that desk.” Lathrop pointed the way. ‘What for?” Freyne asked without mov- ing. 3 “ I want you to write something,” “ What?”’ “Notice of your suicide. Then your ‘straight thinkers’ won’t have to think about me.” “Oh,” Freyne sneered, “that’s the scheme of the master mind, is it?’’ He sank deep in the chair and crossed his feet. ‘“ Well, you can go straight to hell. There’s no use talking to you. Yourre either full L] CORMIC OO KS; CO)