Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

SOMEWHERE broke off, gazing at him with wide, startled eyes. “‘T see it there in the cards.” He waved his hand toward the layout on the table. ‘And I see much more. I see the death of madam, the prima donna, and also of your parents. You are all alone in the world, and, eager to advance your career, do not know which way to turn. “Then ”—he paused and studied the cards anew—‘ the son of the old prima donna proposes to look out for your inter- ests. He has always been a sore trial to his mother, and has run through practically everything she possessed; but he persuades you to turn the little property left you by your parents into cash, saying that he will add an equal amount to it, and thus finance your ambitions. According to this arrange- ment, he is to share equally in your earnings and draw a salary as your manager besides. “ But,” said Mickey, “he lied to you. He did not put up the money himself, as he claimed. Instead, he went around to the people of the village who loved and be- lieved in you, and raised a fund which, as your manager, he has obligated you to pay back.” The accompanist who had been sprawled out over the table, with his venomous eyes fastened on Mickey as he listened to the recital, suddenly reared up, a twisted, mur- derous expression on his bloated face. His hand shot to the back of his collar, and there was the flash of a steel stiletto in the air. But viper stroke aimed at Mickey did not reach its mark. Slim, standing just be- hind the man, gripped down on his shoulder just as the knife was thrown, and the weapon, flying out of the fellow’s hand, did a curious flip-flop in the air and fell point downward to transfix three cards and stick quivering in the table. Ilsa shrank back with a scream, covering her eyes with her hands; but Mickey coolly reached over to jerk the dagger free and remove the cards from it. _ Nobody saw the deft sleight of hand by which he substituted three other cards for those actually impaled upon the slender blade. To those watching, it seemed as if he picked them off the stiletto. 2A : IN NEVADA. Dramatically he threw them down one by one on the table, face up. First, the king of spades; then the ace of spades; then the two of spades. Fixing an eye upon his assailant, still stoutly held by Slim, he pointed with his forefinger to the king. “That means you,” he said, “ dark- haired and swarthy. And this,” indicating the ace, “means death. The two-spot means that it will come to you within a two—two days, two weeks, or two months, I cannot say.” Luigi at the prophecy turned livid with fear and stared despairing at the three fate- ful cards. Then, with a shudder, he slumped down, his head huddled in his arms on the edge of the table. “What shall I do with him?” glanced across at the sheriff. The latter, who had not shifted his posi- tion throughout the exciting interlude, flicked the ashes from his cigar. “That’s up to you, Mr. Easterner, I guess,” he drawled. ‘‘ Want to make a complaint ag’in’ him?” There was an ironic note in the ques- tion that’ told Mickey he would gain little satisfaction by appealing to the law. The law in Quoonah was Sheriff Daggett, and his sympathies were evidently more with the other side. “Let him go, Slim,” Mickey therefore directed curtly. ‘I don’t need to call in any help to protect myself from vermin like that.” And as he spoke, he contemptu- ously flung down the stiletto on the table, and again picked up the cards. “Now, Miss Calder,” he said, “if you will cut again, Ill finish telling your for- tune. Or perhaps ”’—a suggestion struck him—“ you’d prefer more private surround- ings, where everybody can’t hear what I tell you, and where we won’t be so subject to interruptions. “How about that place yonder?” He jerked his head toward the side room with the calico curtains across the doorway, in which he had first seen-her. Then, as she assented to the proposal, he turned to the sheriff. “You'll excuse us, won’t you, sheriff?” ‘“* Don’t know as ’twould make much dif- Slim CORMICLOOOKS 497 (E@)