The Argosy, January 1907 — page 190: what you’re looking at

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

THE LETTERS MARKED XxX. BY EDGAR FRANKLIN. A mystery that piqued the curiosity of even a professional detective during a period which he had resolved to devote to rest and recuperation. R. JORDAN regarded his dezt- fasse and reflected silently that the Union Club was about the only place in Craftsburg where one could obtain palatable black coffee. Then his thoughts swerved about, and a little smile appeared on his lips. ‘“So you really have developed into a full-blooded sleuth-hound, Dick?” he remarked softly. Bridger, the detective, shook his head rather hopelessly. ‘“T really have,” he said, “and I’m wondering how many more times it is going to be necessary to remind you that { am here for a little vacation—that I journeyed to this pleasant city to see you, among the other noteworthy sights, upon the sole condition that my occupation shouldn’t be discussed.” | “ Bosh!” ‘No bosh about it, Tom. I came up for a couple of weeks of real rest. I came up to be free from the several hundred varieties of crime and mystery for a little while.” “But the mysteries you tackle must be so fascinating, you know g “They are—very,” said the detective dryly, “ but you get tired of them, just the same. I’ve left mystery to the folks down in New York who are trying to see me, and who are spending their time wondering where the deuce I’ve gone.” “ But still = “Look here, Tommy! Do you sup- pose I came up and registered as ‘ Rich- ard Standish’ for sheer amusement? Aren’t you aware that I have gone to the length of sailing under -my middle name for the solitary purpose of not being found until my brain-matter has worked off some of the effects of several years of robbery and murder? All right, then. Let’s drop it and talk about some of the people you butcher in the course of the day’s work. How about that man whose © ? leg “ Drat his leg!”’ rejoined the doctor unfeelingly. “Ud rather talk about your werk, Dick.” “In spite of my frank aversion to the subject?” “ Exactly,” grinned Jordan. He had left the university medical school in the same class that witnessed the taking of Bridger’s law degree. They had been chums for four years then, and no formality could exist be- tween them. For a minute or two the men looked at each other. Bridger shrugged his shoulders. ‘My dear and respected Dr. Jordan,” he remarked wearily, ‘“‘ I seem to recall that you rarely stuck to a thing without a purpose, and I seem to recall, too, that you had the devil’s own_ persistence. What the deuce is it you want me to tell you about? Murder—arson—bank robberies—freight wrecks?” ‘Not necessarily.” “Well, then?” Jordan smiled at his cigar. “ Dick, I know you'll be tickled to death. I—well, I was thinking of con- sulting you about a mystery of my own —free of charge!” “Oh, Lord! Do they have mysteries even in the beautiful city of Crafts- burg?” “They do, and I think it has been downright decent of me not to mention this one in the four days you’ve beer here, my friend. Will you hear about it?” “Have I any choice?” “You have not!” said the doctor. He felt about his pockets for a little, and finally produced half a dozen let- ters. The envelopes were of the con- ventional stamped pattern issued by the government; the stamps had been can- celed. Jordan sorted them over, and finally tossed one across the dinner-table. b] Eomicboo (E)