The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

740 He pushed himself up from his chair; then he settled back again. He had thought of summoning Williams to explain the writing on the en- velope, but realized that his inquiry, after the questions he had already asked, would illicit nothing and might arouse curiosity. _ He compared the envelope on which the scraggly, uncertain letters ap- peared to the others in the rack. It bore the same water-mark, and he was sure that it had been taken from among them. He fastened his eyes and the mind that had mastered the big problems with which life had con- fronted him on the writing. A child might have done it. He could reach no conclusion; but that name, threatening all he had become, threatening the happiness inte which he had pushed his way with clenched teeth, stared at him from the thick, white paper. It was there. He could not get away from that. It was there, and he had no idea nor was able to form a guess at how it had come there. It was an unfamiliar script, but its menace was potent and _ throbbed about him with the silent chaos of ap- proaching destruction. It was to Hugo Barrington a warning that roused every energy of his powerful nature and stirred new feelings which he had never before experienced. For he loved Lucile with a concen- trated fervor that was like the flower- . ing of all the force, natural and culti- vated, of his being. Hitherto he had lived for power in the world of men. Now the world of men meant noth- ing. His world was one woman. Of all the soundless threats which the name on the envelope expressed, none equaled the possibility of losing her. With a settling of his features to a rigidity suggesting capacities for, holding what he had gained that prom- ised a titanic struggle with whatever tried to overthrow him, he seized the envelope and crushed it in his power- ful grip. THE ARGOSY. The gesture was terrifying in its significance. The smothering of a human being, the crushing of a com- bination of forces were expressed by it. And with it Hugo Barrington rose to his full stature physically and as a man of almost invincible fighting strength and ‘faculty. He pulled a handsome gold ciga- rette-case from his pocket and extract- ed a cigarette. He found a match and leisurely lighted it. Casually, as if neither the waiting bride nor the threatening envelope concerned him, he strolled toward the fireplace where masses of flowers filled the brick opening. ‘Then he re- turned to the desk, seated himself, and puffed contentedly. His unoccupied fingers reached for the envelope which he had tossed back on the polished top, and, as if he were half uncon- scious of what he did, he tore the paper to shreds. Still, with the same deliberation he went again to the fireplace, laid the little heap of paper on the hearth, and lighted it from his cigarette. With his eyes on the door, he stood with his foot ready to stamp out the tiny blaze should any one come. In a moment the envelope was ashes. With a long'-stemmed rose that he drew from among the flowers in the grate he flicked the charred paper and the light ashes back into the fireplace. He even looked at the rose idly be- fore he pushed it back in place. There was a completeness about the whole deliberate performance which .was a commentary on the way in which Mr. Hugo Barrington could attend to anything which held his interest. It was impossible to find in him one sign .of weakness, one slightest indi- cation of the relaxation and white ter- ror that had made his strong figure and face seem like the externals of another than himself. He returned to the desk and re- sumed the search which had been so suddenly interrupted. At last he found COPMICLOOOKS COL,