Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THE INNOCENT, 221 “Well,” he decided, “‘ things are not so bad, after all!” The doorbell rang again. It was another telegram. He settled himself into the chair and opened the missive: Steering gear broke. The damn thing went off a cliff on the ridge road. I hope you choke. SHORTY. VIII. oF THERE being nothing to do about it, Steve burned the cheerless message and tried - to gleam some intelligence from the news- paper’s comic strips; but a restless forebod- ing assailed him, so that shortly he paced the shining floors and began to potter around flawless furniture, dainty vases, rare pictures, and a hundred other objects which gave him a wonderful education in interior decoration. “But why didn’t she sell some of this stuff and keep out of that other business?” he wondered. Paula had not told him that the place was already mortgaged. She forbore to explain that the loss of a few of these pre- cious articles would take something from the effect of the whole house, so that she might as well let everything go at once, if it must go. He could not have under- stood this elusive cultural point. He merely saw what he saw, smoking a cigarette and pawing things over. He jiggled a fine black Chinese stand full of craven dragons until he remembered that its fragile vase, in solid colors blending from black to blue to soft orange, contained his loaded revolver. He jerked his hands away and started toward a deft gilt framed pic- ture of a California poppy field. The bell rang again. He looked at the great clock with its leisurely pendulum. I¢ was almost six. Impatiently, realizing that he had now wasted too much time, he went to the door and opened it. Four men faced him, a huddled mob bunched on the top steps like a football wedge waiting for a signal. One was the man whom Steve had chased down the street when Slim and Shorty had departed in their luckless auto! ‘Well? What is it now?” barked Steve, in consternation. : ~ a ; ; t < a Se ie ie = <r ? _e an ae x - en ie ~ + aneet - on he ~ S a a = ~~ “ a. Ge < — tt FE en ae a Oe 2 ee ~ * Oe Per age AS ; << a or The foremost man, a burly fellow in an ultra-fashionable but very baggy brown suit, laid his broad-toed foot in the doorway. ‘““T wanna see Paula Kane!” he growled. ‘““She’s not in. Get that foot away.” “Is Steinemann in?” “No. I’m all alone. Good day.” “Qh, no. There’s been too much funny business around here, mister; we’re goin’ to snoop around for awhile! We’re going in!” “What for? I haven’t invited you.” ‘Don’t get hard-boiled, now! Get away from that door!” The intrusion made Steve feel the right- eous indignation of a landed proprietor. — “What? Say—since when do they allow gangs to run hog-wild into people’s houses? Get out of here!” The leading man jerked a thumb toward his friends. “* Aw, let’s go!” The four of them shoved forward. Steve tumbled backward though not -before his quick eyes glanced hopefully up and down the street; but the charge of the quartet was so abrupt that two pedestrians and one uniformed chauffeur failed to notice any untoward incident on this doorstep. The door banged shut. The burly man’s three associates grouped around him. The person whom Steve had once pursued, a slim and tallish fellow with blue stubble on his jaws, jerked an accusing finger toward the ranchman. “That’s the mysterious guy hangin’ around here all week! He’s crooked! Make him cough up what he knows, Mike! We’ve got him where we want him?” Steve felt tempted to make a rush for the vase which held his revolver, but it was beyond the others and would require patience and technique before the pistol could be fished out of the vase. Regretfully he was forced to face the visitors, standing at bay in front of the stairs. “ You’ve got a lot of nerve!” he observed. “What do you expect to get out of this?”’ ‘““ A lota things!” growled the big fellow, | whose brow was low and covered by heavy black hair, disclosed when he doffed his — battered hat. ‘‘ Where’s Steinemann? I suppose he ain’t been here, hey?” “He has. He went away.” ‘comicbooks ‘com: - an ee izes? a Wey ne >) 2 ae NE Fas Se 20 go — = © alll pee ae Oe ee of oe ee tT EY), 4 2 Ae OS — Ls -, -