Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

PROTECTING PRUE. gled with the gentle lapping of the river’s wavelets. ‘Hey, there! You ain’t allowed down here!” “The night watchman?” Bartley queried. “I certainly am, and—” “The tender from Mr. Sneath’s yacht is waiting for us,” said Mr. Greer. ‘“ Why did you have your gate locked?” “The Myrma’s tender?”’ “ Of course!” “It ain’t waiting for you, mister. The Myrma went down the river more’n an hour ago.”’ ‘She sailed?” “She sure did!” said the watchman. “But she can’t have done that, you know! She’s got our baggage aboard. She—she didn’t go without her party?” ‘““T couldn’t say,” the watchman grinned, less ferociously. ‘‘ Couple o’ girls and a big man went aboard a little after eight. That’s all I seen. I should say they must ‘a’ had the anchor up about as soon as they did the tender.” Even in the gloom one could sense the vastness of the annoyance that was Mr. Greer’s. “Well, it was done for a joke, of course, but I’m too tired to see the funny side of it to-night,” he muttered. “ Upon my word, I think we'll let them have their confounded cruise to themselves and—oh, well, we can’t do that, of course. I say! Find me a motorboat, will you?” ‘To catch Sneath’s yacht?” ‘“* Naturally!” The watchman scratched his head. “ Well, I dunno,” he muttered. ‘“ That ’'d take some boat, mister; th’ old Myrma dropped away from here like she was going to a fire. *‘Nother thing, this ain’t a boat livery. There’s nothing but private craft here.” “1 don’t care a rap what’s here! Get me a boat and somebody to run it, I tell you, and it “ll be worth your while. Here! I’d better make it worth your while now, eh? There’s twenty to start you moving— and I’ll hand a hundred to the fellow that puts me alongside Sneath’s boat!” ‘“ Aha!” mused the watchman and 8A 913 smiled. ‘ Well, Madison’s Cherokee is tied up here to-night and his mechanic sleeps over the machine shop. I'll see whether he wants to take a chance on get- ting fired for a hundred dollars. Wait a couple o’ minutes.” He hurried away. Some seven minutes later Bartley Greer and his old associate swirled out into the river, comfortably hunched down behind a windshield, while twenty feet ahead a lean, overalled young man in oilskins went about getting the limit of speed out of twelve cylinders that had been written up repeat- edly in the motorboat magazines. And the limit of speed for these partic- ular cylinders was indeed a thing to set the blood atingle. A wall of water rose on either side of the little boat as she settled down to business and Bartley Greer laughed contentedly. Flynn failed to laugh. “ What happens when we do overhaul her?” he asked. ‘* Just exactly what do we do?” ce Ves,”’ “T haven’t a suspicion of an _ idea,” Bartley grinned. ‘‘ We’re going to do just what we’ve done several times before: get our hands on the goods first and then find out how we make the getaway with them. There’s only one thing I can guarantee, Dick: I’m going to take that kid home!” ‘“ And Wayne!” “And Wayne, if you can make her come.” ‘“ That’s just what I’ve been wondering,” Flynn said feverishly. ‘“ How much influ- ence that fat crook really has over her! Y’ know, Bart, once or twice I kind of thought he had some sort of hypnotic—” The Cherokee’s driver pushed the throt- - tle to the very top just then, drowning all other sounds in the roar. Mr. Greer sat back with a small sigh of relief. He was not greatly interested in Wayne Leigh or in the astonishing effect she seemed to have upon his old friend. He was not even interested in the peculiar Prudence, save as a parcel of humanity which he positively was about to return to its proper guardian. Strange it might be, but even in this, © oO Comicbooks C@