Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

838 of the sections of the roof a trapdoor was visible. “ There’s a space above, then?” said Win- ter, fastening instantly on to the only pos- sible place of concealment. “Yes, to give access to the lead covering in case of any leakage. It’s bolted from the inside, however, so— No, by Jove, it might have been fastened by an accomplice. Let’s have a peep-o!” Without waiting for permission, Glen mounted a chair, shoved back the bolt, which was stiff, and needed a good deal of force and twisting before it would budge, and, by using the top of a bookcase as a ladder, thrust his head and the policeman’s torch through the opening. He reappeared instantly. “Gee!” he cried. “I’ve disturbed the dust of ages in there. Do you think it’s ab- solutely necessary to examine such a cock- loft?” “IT fear it is,” said ‘Winter, “Still, it isn’t your job. Let me or the policeman—”’ ‘Oh, I’m a star performer at this sort of thing, but I don’t want to spoil a perfectly good dress suit. It’s the only one I own.” Suiting the action to the word, he came down, stripped to shirt and underclothing, and was up again with surprising nimble- ness. -Soon he vanished, and the two men below heard him passing carefully over the somewhat difficult slope of the wooden roof. Suddenly the policeman touched Winter’s arm, and said in a hoarse whisper: “Beg pardon, sir, but one of our men, crossin’ the Slea bridge soon after eleven, saw a light flashin’ from the castle. From what he told me I imagine it kem from this very spot.” Winter admitted afterward that he was beginning to hope the Lanson Murder Case, as the affair was entitled by the newspapers next day, would not develop any more puzzling features before midnight, at any rate, yet here was a country policeman breathing into his ear yet another almost bewildering bit of evidence. | ‘A light?” was all he could mutter, gaz- ing at the man so fiercely that his informant flinched. “ Yes, sir. That’s wot it was—a regular flash light, shown three times. We cuc-cuc- = ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. couldn’t tell you sooner—never had no chance, we hadn’t.” ‘Not a thing up here except the afore- said dust,” came a hollow voice from above. Winter sprang to the chair, and thrust his head and shoulders through the trap- door, thereby greatly surprising the police- man, who had noted his labored breath after mounting the main stairs. ‘““There’s no way out, I suppose?” he said, turning to where the concentrated gleam of the torch lighted a circle of stout timber and sheets of lead. “No. Not even a ventilation hole, or we should find a thousand bats in resi- dence,” replied Glen. ‘“ Look here, you’d better not take my say-so. If you can squeeze through that manhole you can lean forward and survey the whole of the accom- modation. I’ve collected nearly all the dust round about the locality.” “TY think you would prefer it,” agreed the detective, drawing himself up with the ease of an athlete in good training, and thus astonishing Glen in his turn. The latter, of course, stood almost in darkness, as the queerly shaped inclosure of a dome within a dome reflected no light, and the rays of the torch illumined only a tenth part of the interior at a time. Indeed, a more penetrating radiance came through the trapdoor when Winter’s bulk was re- moved from above it, and Glen then became visible, offering a strange resemblance to a white marble statue. ‘We must make quite sure of this place now,” said Winter. “T’ll tell you why when we go down.” For answer, Glen swept the torch slowly into every nook and angle. ‘“‘T’m an old hand at this game,” he com- mented with a half laugh, which he convert- ed into a cough, obviously remembering the nature of the quest he was engaged in. “Searching boche dugouts by candlelight helps a lot, you know.” But Winter persisted. Somehow, he felt in his bones that despite the rusted bolt and the hermetically sealed aspect of the roof there was a sense of mystery about this lop- sided abode of everlasting night. Its vault- like gloom might not have been dispelled for centuries. ‘Though thrust high in air, Oo Comicbooks (C@