Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

PROTECTING PRUE. ‘‘ What time did the kid telephone you?” “Eh? It must have been about four o'clock.” Mr. Greer’s eyes narrowed. ‘“‘ They weren’t married this morning, be- cause they were talking then about getting a license. And they weren’t married at half past five this afternoon, because, that’s when Armstruther came back here—and she hadn’t seen him since morning. The license bureau was closed long before that and they couldn’t get ’emselves legitimately married without a license.” ‘‘Well—no, apparently not.” “So if they’re on your damned yacht now, they’re there in a highly unmarried state!” Mr. head. ‘“No, you’re wrong about that, I’m quite sure. Prue thinks she’s advanced and so on, but she wouldn’t go to such lengths be- cause—” ‘“Where is this yacht?” Mr. Sneath smiled. ‘Well, that, of course, is a bit difficult to say. The last week, she’s been anchored in the Hudson off One Hundred and For- tieth Street, at the yacht club mooring. -But if Prue’s moving as rapidly as her room would seem to indicate, I’d say she might be halfway across the Atlantic by this time!’”’ Mr. Sneath chuckled. ‘‘ Most amaz- ing girl and always was—Prue! Can’t ever guess what she’ll do, even to a yacht.” “ Your captain hadn’t clearance papers?” Mr. Sneath looked somewhat perplexed. “Well, now, let me see. I believe he had!” “For what port?” Mr. Sneath, who obviously left the finer details of ocean travel to his subordinates, looked even more vague. “Why, Southampton, I suppose, old chap. That’s where we intended starting for to-day, originally—quite a gang of us, you know. Then old Nesbit tried to shine at polo and snapped a bone in his wrist, and he insisted on sticking in town until the beastly thing had begun to knit properly. So rather than leave him behind—” Mr. Sneath came to a halt. For the first time, it appeared, he became aware of the Sneath considered and shook his 911 emotional hurricane raging just behind Bartley Greer’s countenance. His eyes opened widely. ‘“ Well, but—look here!” he exclaimed. “It’s not possible that you’re another one of Prue’s victims, is it?” Bartley laughed shortly. “Not the way you mean, at any rate!” he muttered. ‘‘ Not—” and his words died out as he considered thoughtfully the rather savage visage of Richard Flynn. “ Had I better tell her father?” “That she got away from you again?” Richard asked. “ That’s true, too!” Mr. Greer muttered angrily. “All right, then! Let’s start!” As concerned Bartley Greer and his friend, the hard staring Mr. Sneath had ceased to exist. The ostensible protector of Prudence made the door with four strides and passed through—and now they were descending stairs again, and at the top Mr. Sneath stared numbly downward after them. “ There’s a yacht club mooring some- where around Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Fortieth Street!”? Mr. Greer informed the driver. ‘ Get there!” Very promptly the taxi clattered into ac- tion. Bartley Greer, rather curiously, seemed to have discarded all the tense effect as he landed on the seat. He leaned back easily, thinking hard, until Richard’s: “Getting ready for business this time, eh?” “Why?” “ There’s always something doing when you begin to grin like that,” said Mr. Flynn, with a flash of the old admiration that had been one factor in keeping them together. Bartley hitched about and faced his old friend rather gravely. “There'll be something doing soon now, or I'll be dead—one or the other. And there’s no real need for you to be mixed up in it, either, Dick. We're a lot nearer policemen and prisons than we have been at some other times. I’ve never floundered and fumbled around any job as I have on this one, and I’m telling you frankly that I won’t stop at any thing now short of cold-blooded murder. I’ll put that damned brat back in her home now if I hang for it. ComiclbooksS.€©