Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

550 like some monstrous beetle came lumbering past in the bright glare of sunlight, and as McCarty swung himself aboard he glanced back at the house which he had just left. The lower windows were shrouded and blank, but at one of the upper ones he caught a glimpse of a wcman’s white face Staring: down at him. As she caught his eye she withdrew hastily and the curtains were drawn together. Who could she have been? He had left Mrs. Creveling still seated in the throne chair in the hall, and he was certain that the -face he had seen was a rounder, more youthful one than the thin, acidulous countenance of the cook. Had some wo- man remained concealed in that house, despite the rigorous search of the men from borough headquarters? He felt an impulse to descend from the bus and return to investigate, but a second thought restrained him; Mr. Douglas Waverley had named a half-hour later for their interview, and he had stated with evident reluctance that he was at the Bel- terre Hotel. McCarty had a theory of his own as to that, and he must reach his des- tination as quickly as possible in order to put it to the test. On alighting from the bus, he entered the lobby of the hotel, but instead of ap- proaching the desk to announce himself he strolled to the news-stand, purchased a paper, and dropped into a chair by the less conspicuous side entrance of the huge hostelry. The lobby was astir with early- risen patrons departing upon the business of the day, but few people entered from the street, and these McCarty regarded with swift appraisal from behind the screening folds of his newspaper. At length a taxi grounded against the curb, and a stout man alighted, carrying a small bag, which he impatiently refused to deliver into the hands of the porter. McCarty eyed him as he strode past and over to the desk, where he leaned across the counter and spoke to the clerk in a hurried undertone. At the latter’s shake of the head the newcomer scrawled his name hastily in the register and, turning, followed a bell-boy to the elevator. - brought, not a message.” ¥ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. He was apparently about forty, and the small, light-blue eyes set in his smooth, red face reminded McCarty somewhat irrele- vantly of those of a pig. The latter wait- ed for a few minutes, and then, rising, tossed his paper aside and walked over to the desk. Two more arrivals had made their appearance and registered in the in- terim, but above theirs the hastily written signature of the fat man stood out boldly, and McCarty smiled to himself. His the- ory had proved to be a correct one. “Will you be sending word to Mr. Douglas Waverley that the man he expects is here?” he requested. The dapper young man_ behind counter raised his eyebrows. ‘What name?” he snapped. ‘“‘T didn’t say.” McCarty smiled bland- ly at him. “ You'll be sending the message as I gave it, please.” the His tone was quiet, but there was a ring. of authority in it that the clerk recognized, and with a shrug he turned to the girl at the switchboard. “You can go right up.” to the counter once more. four.” McCarty alighted from the elevator at the eleventh floor, and knocked at the door of apartment No. 4. ‘“Come in.” It was unmistakably the He returned ‘* Suite eleven- - same voice which had talked to him over — the wire at the Creveling house. McCarty obeyed, and his eyes twinkled anew as he glanced about him. The room was in disorder with clothing and news- papers scattered about, and through the connecting doorway he could see the bed with its covers thrown back over the foot and its pillows rumpled. Before him the stout, red-faced man stood attired in bath- robe and slippers. “Youre from latter demanded. ‘“‘Pve come straight from her house, Mr. Waverley, though it’s questions I’ve McCarty’s man- ner was respectful, but the twinkle had died out of his eyes. “If you'll answer me straight I’ll not keep you long, sir, from the sleep you must be needing.” * * ‘Who are you?” Mr. Waverley turned Mrs. Creveling?” the 410 AE UNG LE WOOK = nie ws CO THE OHIO STATE L INK