Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

THE MARK OF the mozo was responsible for the whole trag- edy. “Do you think for a moment that a jury would believe that?” I asked. “ Here you were found in that bedchamber with Pythagoras Awls. Pythagoras Awls has dis- appeared, whisked away perhaps. ‘“‘ Let us suppose that he is dead, that his body will be found, as we found the dep- uty’s body. Well, then, will a jury think you are guilty, or will they suspect the judge, who has been dead three weeks?” Pasqual looked at me dumbly. Evident- ly he was not capable of grasping the mean- ing of a speech of such length. It seemed very complicated, and also very threatening. His lips trembled again. ‘While he was in this mental torture, Cronk took advantage of the psychological moment, and asked: “ Just what were you doing in that room with Pythagoras Awls?”’ The mozo looked up to his mistress as though to ask her if it was obligatory to answer this question. She encouraged him with a smile. “Go on, Pasqual. Don’t be afraid. Tell all you know, and I'll help you.” : Between Cronk and me and Miss Shir- ley, the mozo was at a terrific disadvantage. 1 believe he told more because his mistress was there than he would have told through fear of Cronk or me. As you may have heard, detectives have long since discovered that a brutal third degree is often not so productive as a more kindly and confiden- tial attack. © “J will confess,” he said, wringing his gnarled, dry hands until the knuckles cracked. ‘“ I hide my money in thees room because I know it will not be molest’.” ‘We know that already,” Maizie said with a grunt. “J owe money to thees black hombre; I tell him I will get my money from where she is hid. He follow like coyote following sick steer. He come into the room. -“T tell him keep quiet for fear we awake se household. He mak threat. I give him very moch silver peso, dollars. He wants more, and beg him to go THE MOCCASIN. > F7or Poses: Bt 105 “ Then the candle she is snuff out—may- be by wind, maybe by Diablo himself. I hear the sound of two men tussle thees away, and that away. I hear the black hombre screech out for help. “Then I know the Diablo he is come back. The Maestro is walk’ on the earth again, for to kill some one to death. And I scoop up my money, and mak escape from the room. Ees all I know.” “Perhaps it’s all you know about the Diablo,” I said. “ But you know some- thing else, which I’d like to have you ex- plain. Just what secret were you bribing Pythagoras to keep?” ‘* Secret, sehor?”’ the man cried piteously. ‘** Pythagoras had a secret. He told us all, he had it—and that he would divulge it. He knew who murdered the judge.” “Por Dios,” the man shrieked, “I did not murder the judge—my maestro! You lie. You all mak terrible lie against poor ole Pasqual! I am out of my wits. I am craze’. I am loco with fear of thees house. To-day I mak escape from here—if,” he added, glancing up at Shirley, “ the sefio- rita she mak escape, too.” This speech moved me somewhat with pity. I gave the old fellow a chance to compose himself, but then I pressed on: “You haven’t told us yet what you were bribing the Negro for.” “ Bribe? Ees no bribe!” “Then what was the payment for.” “Bueno. Ees payment.” The mozo spoke as if happy to find the right word. ** What for?” He writhed again, cracking his knuckles. His eye roved toward his mistress piteously, as if begging her to intercede again. But this time she was obdurate. I be- lieve she had implicit faith in the old duffer, and was for that reason trying to get him to tell everything he knew, if for no other reason than to free himself from unjus suspicion. He thought a long time. I was confi- dent he was groping for some plausible lie. When he did tell us what the payment was for I could see no reason in the world why he had been so secretive about it. “T pay for a charm which the black am = , Via a an) J wi . Papi ie fis I ‘9 me te td ds comicbooks.com