Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

HIS SERVICE TO FOLLY, uses,” he said. ‘“‘ But the stakes for which you play, who holds them?” * You may hold their meaning in your mind, Gefondo. ‘A wife for me —or death. Life—or love. What bet- ter stakes could a man play for? Shake, monsieur le baron, and shake skillfully. You have all to gain and only a maid to lose.” Basil shook first, and when the cubes rolled out of their box in the baron’s hand, he shouted shrilly. “Three times out of five,” he called. “I give every man a chance.” Again they shook, and again he won. Gefondo leaned over the table, his breath coming in a quick hiss, his eyes shifting to watch the faces of both men and the cast of fate. Basil, instead of shaking the dice from the box, poured them into his palm and rolled them. They fell, double sixes, the number upturned by the baron. Again he shook them and they rolled along his fingers and remained the same. He looked inquiringly at the baron, who watched his own thick fin- gers and appeared not to observe Tre- lawney. Gefondo leaned still closer, his chin on his wrists, nor would he glance at either man. He was like a cat watch- ing the antics of mice. Basil tossed the dice from his fingers, high in the air, and they-spun and dropped on his spread palm, and again the double-six was turned up. Then he tossed them on the table, turned to the door, and wrenched it open. He stood, clasping its frame edge and looked at the baron. “The wager is off, monsieur,” he said. “One may gamble with fate loaded against him, but not cheat where a woman is concerned.” His hand pointed to the open door- way. Fora moment De Banana gazed at him as if he did not understand, then purple crept under his dark skin and his thick lips drew back. “You dare to say that I cheated? at) Whelp!” His hand flew to his side and came away with his sword. Basil slammed shut the door and faced the empurpled man, with his own slender Damascene blade shining as he held its tip and bent it in an arc of light. With a foul oath the baron slashed at the steel bow before Basil seemed ready, but he was not quick enough for the youth, who had learned his fencing under a master of the art in France. There was a twinkling of steel; sparks; the sharp tinkling of metal as he honed the sword of the baron much in the way a man sharpens a knife. He kept it fairly stationary before the owner’s nose, so that De Banana had no chance to lunge. Then, as the sharpening worked lower, nearer the hilt, the baron’s sword suddenly leaped from his hand and flew upward. It chanced that the mizzen boom, with its great sail furled on account of the gale pursuing them, lay directly over the open skylight above De Banana’s head, and the point of his sword entered the big pine spar. It hung there, quivering, and sway- ing with the motion of the ship. The hunchback leaped from his crouching position by the table, and his face was twisted in a silent explosion of mirth. He wore the countenance of a devil. Basil waited, again curving his blade daintily between his hands. “Your sword, monsieur, seems to have flown a little"high, but no doubt you can use that dance step learned on deck and show pretty heels in doing it, Let’s see how well you’ve grasped my lessons. Jump!” His sword wreathed light about the baron’s ankles. ‘There came a squeak as its tip drew a little blood through the silken hose, and the thud of heels and grunt of the man as he leaped and missed by a hand’s breadth the hilt of his sword. “Higher, monsieur!”’ Trelawney broke into that air he had fitted to words of his own verse, and he sang as ad comicbooks Gol