Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

A SWELL HIDING PLACE. who to check up on. Them crooks is livin’ here as city people. You c’n bet on that. And the way they git theirselves up now days, they might be the respectablest out of all the sixteen, eighteen hund’ed that’s here.” “At that, they might come over from Tom’s Lake. Thirty mile ain’t much,” “No. It ain’t. You better keep y’r eyes peeled f’r any car that drives in here frequent—I mean that you ain’t sure belongs to some o’ the folks here. Kinda watch out that way, Jim. I’m goin’ t’ try t’ figger things out. We gotta land them devils.” “All right, chief,” Jim said, and Poley withdrew. TI. PoLt&y forthwith repaired to his home, a small frame cottage on the edge of town where was ample space for garden and chickens, to say noth- ing of a decent orchard on the hillside behind the dwelling. There was a workshop, too, in the barn. And here, during the winter months, Poley re- conditioned furniture. In this pursuit he drew a good clien- tele from among the city folk who would leave chairs and tables, damaged in the summer, to be restored against the next season. Myra Burden, past middle age and matronly enough to satisfy even a body of female reformers, looked at her husband with something of concern. She knew what Thursday had come to mean and always was ready with the comfort which her denunciation of Clem Pitts brought to Poley. ‘To-day as he handed her the papers without comment, she began: “‘ Well, what has the snapping little poodle dog got to say for himself this week ?” Poley almost smiled. “ That’s jes’ what he is—a snappin’ little poodle dog! You got him right, Myra, you have.” *. Her ample cheeks fiushed as she 551 “Don't you care, Poley,” she “You'll show the little snip up read. said. yet.” “You know how I gotta do that, don’t you?” he asked. She nodded. “ You’ve got to nab the thieves. You know and I know that Clem Pitts don’t amount to a hill of beans. But there’s a lot of people who don’t. So the only way to put him in his place is to lead him up to the lock-up and show him a real, live burglar.” “‘ That’s what. Wal, this afternoon I'm goin’ over the ground again. They must be somethin’ to go on, some- wheres.” “You'll get ’em, Poley,” she said confidently. “I know you will. I got new apple pie for dinner.” Poley went over the ground thor- oughly enough. But it would have taxed a far more astute brain than his to glean anything from the barren soil in which he worked. No unusual sounds had been heard in any of the houses visited; no strangers had been observed in the neighbor- hood. No telltale articles had been dropped by the rogue or rogues, and nothing had been marred by jimmy or chisel. No clews. It was several days later, when Chief Burden had about given up all hope and was breathlessly awaiting a fresh defiance of his authority that he chanced upon what appeared to be the hottest of hot tips! Scraps of paper with writing on them were, it is fair to assume, no less interesting to Poley than to most hu- man beings. Thus, when he literally stumbled upon a half sheet of letter paper, evidently let fall at the public desk of the post office, the chief with- out hesitation picked it up and ac- quainted himself with its contents. Which, it may be said, were brief and startling. Especially to Mr. Burden. Apparently the thing was part of a letter; it had been detached and. the EO PMIG MOO KS (E(0)