Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

484 Sandisfield savagely bit the end off a fresh cigar. “T’m not beefing about the money,” he snapped, ‘‘ but I’m sick of being the goat whenever you let a quart of rotten whisky blunt your poker sense. It’s only on Jan- ice’s account I’ve been decent with you so long.” Lamberton’s eyes narrowed the merest trifle. “T’m giving Janice part of the credit,” he said, “‘ but most of it rightly belongs some place else—my knowing that you’re so familiar with the private entrance to one or two gay joints in town. We savvy each other, Mart. Damned well, too. I ain’t blind to facts that a certain party don’t even dream they exist. What chance would you have with my fair cousin if I tipped her off to the kind of dames you’ve been trotting around with? Put that in your pipe and take a good long draw on it.” “Think you’ve got me, do you?” Sandis- field snarled, his florid face reddening still more in a blaze of passion. ‘ How long do you think I’ll stand for this leg-pulling stunt?” ‘“‘ Forget it, Mart!” Lamberton told him with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘“‘ I’m a rea- sonable man, and I’m not bleeding you ex- cessive, all things considered. You can af- ford it easy. Ain’t Janice worth a few dol- lars now and then?” “Of course she is!” Sandisfield agreed, cooling off a trifle. ‘It’s the principle ’m kicking about. I hate like hell to be held u ia i” Nobody’s holding you up, Mart,” Lam- berton observed mildly. “I never made any threats, did I?” “‘ You better not!” and Sandisfield’s tone was again savage. ‘‘ As it happens I’m in a position to do a little of that myself. You’re pulling a baby game—the pot call- ing the kettle black.” “Just what’s back of that remark?” Hugh demanded coolly. “Just this,’ Sandisfield replied with equal Sboliiess: “that I can send you to State’s prison any time I take a notion.” A little of Lamberton’s nonchalant bra- vado vanished; a shade of uneasiness glowed ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, momentarily in his eyes. in good natured derision. ‘“That’s a hot one, Mart!” he jeered. “Tell another.” ‘““Pve been checking up on you, young fellow,” Sandisfield went on remorselessly, “and I’ve learned a lot. In the five years since Joe Lamberton died you’ve blown the twenty thousand he left you, twelve thou- sand I contributed, what you took from the supposed Boxed J L profits—and about twenty thousand besides, more or less, though probably more.” “You're raving,” Hugh said, with a pre- tense of indifference that did not deceive his companion. ‘‘ Where would I get any extra twenty thousand?” “You stole it!” Sandisfield declared shortly. “That’s a lie, you skunk!” Lamberton frothed, his sang froid wholly gone. One hand rested on the butt of the .45 slung at his hip. “Cut out the rough stuff,’ Sandisfield advised him coldly. ‘ Things have come to a show-down between you and me, and we might as well put our cards on the table.” ‘““T never stole any money,’ Lamberton repeated doggedly. “No?” There was a sharp edge to the speaker’s voice. ‘‘ Might be you’ve got an- other name for it, which don’t alter the facts a lot. How about the two thousand steers you shipped from the pens at Baker’s Siding last fall? Forget to include the re- ceipts in the annual report of business done? And how about the faked statements you’ve been getting from that crook pardner of yours at the stockyards—one set for your- self and one for the estate? You didn’t steal any money from Janice! Oh, no! Not cash money, just steers!” In the face of this damning dintoe Lam- berton was silent, his eyes unable to meet the accuser’s. “You're a fine sort of chap,” Sandis- field resumed. ‘ You're the legally appoint- ed trustee of an estate, and you misap- propriate funds from it for your own use. And you were fool enough to think you’d get away with murder = that! It’s hard to beat!” Yet he laughed (e(0) DOOKS (E@