The Argosy, January 1907 — page 202: what you’re looking at

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

384 No question about it; we had stum- bled upon “my lady’s” boudoir. The atmosphere of feminine refinement was most manifest, to say nothing of certain articles of apparel of which I will say nothing. “Well, it’s out!’’ exclaimed the little fellow. I don’t know whether he referred to the fire or whether he meant to indicate his next move. Certain it is, however, he lost no time in getting out. - He brushed by me, thumped his way down-stairs with remarkable celerity, and I could even hear the trot he as- sumed as he made off into the stillness of the fast-closing night. And then I caught the swish of a skirt. I trust that’s the proper term. Anyway, I believe I’ve read it somewhere. She appeared from an adjoining room the door to which had been latch-to. I attempt no portraiture. Imagine your own ideal; transfer your view-point to mine. You have her. Nor were her charms lessened by the flush as she caught sight of me, the charred curtain, all. I explained. “It was those curling irons.” She went to the cause of things with acu- men. Then she turned and thanked me. Truth compelled me to tell of the little fat man’s share, and, the next moment, I was mighty glad I had. For she had turned toward her dresser. A little “oh!” of mingled surprise and alarm escaped her. ‘“ May I ask the trouble?” I ventured. “It’s gone! ” “What, mademoiselle?”’ I’m _ not really French, but I look the part. “The ring,” she vouchsafed. And then I thought I began to see a little clearer into the fat little gentle- man’s character. Upon conference I was delighted to see that she agreed with me, for she could well have painted me with the same stick. ‘I’m no exponent of deductive inves- tigation, but I assure you I'l] do my best. I'll certainly know him again. I’m your detective from this moment.” “Thank you,” she said simply, and added with something akin to a stam- THE ARGOSY. mer: ‘ You see, it isn’t the value of the stone; it’s the peculiar circumstances ; rather a personal matter, you know.” I thought I understood, though it cer- tainly did dishearten me to do so. I don’t care who knows it; I fell in love with her the minute she had glinted those _ heavy-fringed orbs my way. And so I left her and started my search. ‘ No, I did not count the number of nails in the heel of the footprint where the fellow had jumped the last four steps from the stoop, and had landed his left hind foot on an eight-day-old news- paper that had lain invitingly beside the mud-scraper, rendered pulp-like by the shower of yesterday. I did not indulge in any science-of- deduction tactics. No, I met him prosaically in the lobby of the hotel, where it appeared we were both stopping. At first he tried to elude me. this impcssible, he blurted out: “ You see, | had spent two sleepless Finding nights, for, after I had sent her that ring, more and more I began to see she wasn’t just my style. In my letter I had given her until to-day to reply. Besides, I really can’t afford to marry; fact is, I bought this sparkler on credit, and that worried me some, too.” He looked up to see how I took his revelation. ‘Do you mean to tell me that that ring was sent by you to Miss 2 ‘Dorothy Machant,” he prompted. &e Ves.”’ “What will you take for it?” I asked. “I owe seventy-five on it.” “Hundred and twenty do?” = You Det!" I counted out six yellowbacks, for I had just sold a piano. ‘That’s my line, you know. On the sidewalk I beckoned a surrey driver and gave the address. She was in. I was discreet in expla- nation. Finally I exhibited the ring. ‘““Good!”’ she cried delightedly. “Now, I can send it back to him in time.” “No, you can’t,” I answered. ‘At this new phase I overcame all dis- cretion in my explanations. EORNICLOO (E©)