Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

THE THREE HOSTAGES. But the wine put new life into him. He found he could use both arms, and he began wolfishly on the omelette, making a rather messy job of it. By this time he was feeling a remarkably vigorous convales- cent, and he continued with the cold meat till the cramp in his left shoulder forced him to lie back on the pillows. It soon passed, and he was able in fair comfort to finish the meal down to the last lettuce leaf of the salad, and the last drop of the claret. The Turpin who reclined again on the bed was to all intents the same vigorous young man who the night before had stumbled through that fateful door into the darkness. But it was a Turpin with a profoundly mys- tified mind. He would have liked to smoke, but his cigarettes were in the pocket of his dress clothes which had been removed. So he started to do for his legs what he had already achieved for his arms, and with the same happy results. It occurred to him that while he was alone he had better dis- cover whether or not he could stand. He made the effort, rolled out of bed on the floor, hit the little table with his head and set the dishes rattling. But after a few scrambles he got on his feet and managed to shuffle round the room. The mischief was leaving his body—so much was plain, and but for a natural stiff- ness in the joints he felt as well as ever. But what it all meant he hadn’t a notion. He was inclined to the belief that some- how he had scored off his enemies, and was a tougher proposition than they had bar- gained for. They had assuredly done no harm to his mind with their witchcraft, and it looked as if they had also failed with his body. The thought emboldened him. The house seemed quiet, why should he not do a little exploration? He cautiously opened the door, finding it, somewhat to his surprise, unlocked. The passage was lit by a hanging oil lamp, car- peted with an old-fashioned drugget, and its walls decorated with a set of flower pic- tures. Turpin came to the conclusion that never in his life had he been in a dwelling which seemed more innocent and homelike. He considered himself sensitive to the nuances of the sinister in an atmosphere, 139 and there was nothing of that sort in this. He took a step or two down the passage, and then halted, for he thought he heard a sound. Yes, there could be no doubt of it. It was water gushing from a tap. Some one in the establishment was about to have a bath. Then he slipped back to his room just in time. The some one was approaching with light feet and a rustle of draperies. He had his door shut when the steps passed, and then opened it and stuck his head out. He saw a pink dressing gown, and above it a slender neck and masses of dark hair. It was the figure which he of all men was likely to know best. It seemed that the place for him was bed, so he got between the sheets again and tried to think. Adela Victor was here; therefore he was in the hands of her captors, and made a fourth in their bag. But what insanity had prompted these wary criminals to bring the two of them to the same prison? Were they so utterly secure, so confident of their power, that they took this crazy risk? The insolence of it made him furious. In the name of every saint he swore that he would make them regret it. He would free the lady and himself, though he had to burn down the house and wring the neck of every inmate. And then he remembered the deli- cacy of the business, and the need of exact timing if the other two hostages were not to be lost, and at the thought he groaned. There was a tap at the door, and a man entered to clear away the supper table. He seemed an ordinary English valet, with his stiff collar and decent black coat and smug, expressionless face. “Beg pardon, my lord,” he said, “ at what hour would you like your shavin’ water? Seein’ it’s been a late night I make so bold as to suggest ten o’clock.” Turpin assented, and the servant had hardly gone when another visitor appeared. It was a slim, pale man, whonv he was not conscious of having seen before, a man with gray hair and a melancholy droop of the head. He stood erect at the foot of the bed, gazing upon the prostrate Turpin, and his look was friendly. Then he addressed him in French of the most Saxon type. L_] COMmMicloOolkks O