Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

MOORS END. ‘“ For God’s sake, what is it?”’ he gasped. ‘‘I—I can’t see.” ‘Open the shutter,” I said in as matter- of-fact tone as I could, “then we will see. It’s probably a heap of old clothes.” But in my heart I knew better; and when Peter’s shaking hands had thrust back the shutters, I saw what I expected and dreaded to see; the body of a man lying on the couch. Peter gave a gasping sound, and Shirley clutched my arm. ue Oh, who is it?” she_cried. “Has he killed him?” I knew then what she expected to see; The body was covered with a long table- cloth which hid the features, but I felt sure that those features were not strange to Shirley. Had Uncle Gregory murdered his brother in a mament of desperation, and was this the reason why he hadn’t returned? No matter now, the first thing to do was to find eut if the man was yet alive, for there was an immobility about the still form that hinted at dreadful things. I crossed over quickly to the couch and drew down the covers. The man was lying on his back, and then I saw the reason for the stillness; he was gagged and bound so tightly to the couch, with such numerous layers of cord, that he could not possibly move. Only the eyes were alive, and they looked up into mine with such despairing, yet de- fiant, appeal that I felt my heart toyiched. The man lying before me, in spite of a ter- rible emaciation and pallor was almost the double of Uncle Gregory in features and general shape of the head. There was no doubt of it; this must be. the wicked nephew,. Shirley’ Ss father—he was nearly as old as his uncle—but how did he happen to be bound this way and so evidently half starved? . All these thoughts passed like lightning through my mind, Peter gave a cry and rushing forward dropped on his knees by the couch, began to unfasten the cords with trembling fingers. ‘Good God! moaned. ‘Peter, this must be Mr. Dean’s nephew,” I said, my brain a whirl of who has done this?” he igitized by (SO ogle 663 doubts and conjectures. But Peter seemed not to hear me. He had cut the cords that bound the gag, and I was shocked to see the blackened swollen lips. The man on the couch tried to speak, but could not do more than moan. Shirley, who seemed as dazed as I, ran to fetch a glass of water which she held to his lips; Peter, meantime ceaselessly rubbing the shrunken limbs—muttering in- coherently to himself.. The man closed his eyes and I thought he was gone, for the pulse showed only a flicker; there was a glass decanter, of what smelled like sherry, on a table and I gave him a spoonful. It seemed to revive him, for he opened his eyes again and tried to speak. I bent down close to hear the hoarse murmur. “Are you Carlos Brent? Where is he?”’ ‘““Uncle Gregory? He is gone,” I stam- mered. My words seemed to have a startling effect upon him. His eyes flashed and he fairty screamed in a sort of horrible rattle. “You fool! He is my nephew, Richard. I am your Great-uncle Gregory.” CHAPTER XXV. THE REAL GREGORY DEANE. , SHALL never forget the awful shock his words gave me, and, to judge from her face then, neither will Shirley. To-. gether we stared at the man on the couch, and our minds leaped back swiftly over the events of the last three days. It had been the nephew, then, Richard Deane, who had masqueraded as the real uncle and tricked us so skillfully. My face grew hot as I realized how I had lent myself to that trickery; had even offered to help to my own deceiving. Oh, he was clever, all right! And there could be no doubt that this was Gregory Deane; for Peter could be relied on to know his: own master; but he had never seen him and so the deception had proved easy. But, surely, Shirley must have known her own father; and yet if she had she was an even better actor than he, in not showing it. I remembered now her telling me that she had tried the stage once in her career. THE OHIO STATE UGOL SOOO