The Argosy, September 1915 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

ONE-CYLINDER SAM. wharf, yet Miss Chalmers was deter- mined to be concealed. There could be no backing out now. She looked quickly about her. Close to the wharf, at the very edge of the water, she now observed what looked like a boat-house. She sprang toward it and stepped out upon a small float that waf anchored in front of it to find herself barred from refuge by padlocked doors. The lanterns were now close. to the wharf. Miss Chalmers had no time to waste picking a lock, even if she knew how.: She slipped around the corner of the boat-house and flattened herself close against it, trying desper- ately to breathe noiselessly. A moment later there was a shuff- ling of feet on the wharf, then an ex- clamation of surprise in a man’s voice. Her curiosity urged her to risk a peep. Very cautiously she advanced her head beyond the corner of the building that screened her. What Miss Chalmers saw shocked her. Three men in pajamas, each car- rying a lantern, were standing upon the wharf. Their feet were shod in bedroom slippers. Two of them car- ried walking-sticks gripped tightly at the wrong end, evidently intended to perform service as clubs. The third had a revolver. She was shocked, not because she regarded pajamas and bedroom slip- pers as improper, but because they seemed so utterly common, so _ ple- beian, so lacking in anything that ap- proached character or smartness or form — in short, to the eyes of Miss Chalmers they were sheer vulgarity, even though of possible utility. She shuddered a little. One of the men she recognized; it was Mr. Witherbee. She was well aware that Mr. Witherbee was stout, but not until now did she realize that he actually bulged. It was the first time she had ever seen a fat man in pa- jamas, and she was impressed with the fact that the effect was more robust than artistic. : 235 One of the other men was tall and blond, with a drooping mustache. His pajamas were far too short in the legs and his bare ankles were inelegant. The other man had his back toward her. She thought he might be Tom Witherbee. He looked more fashion- able than the others. It was also he who held the pistol, which, perhaps, gave him just a suggestion of devil- may-care. The three men were gravely regard- ing the six trunks. Miss Chalmers caught her breath. ‘ Too late now! She could never dis- appear from Witherbee’s Island and explain those trunks. Yet she knew this, too; she never, though the heavy- ens might fall upon her otherwise, would step forth and proclaim herself to three men in pajamas. Mr. Witherbee advanced to the nearest trunk and inspected it by the light of his lantern. “Well, what do you know about that!” he exclaimed. “*Pon my word, I know nothing whatever about it, my dear fellow,” said the tall one. “These are Miss Chalmers’s trunks,” declared Mr. Witherbee in a voice of wonder as he examined an- other. The young man with the revolver made an inspection of his own and avowed that Mr. Witherbee was right. The tall one stroked his mustache and said nothing. ‘But she’s not expected till to-mor- row!” cried Mr. Witherbee. ‘“‘ How the deuce did her trunks get here?” “Must have sent them on ahead,” observed the armed one. “But who brought ’em? When? The boat didn’t stop here to-night.” Mr. Witherbee stared at the trunks in succession and juggled one of them as 1f to assure himself that it was real. All the time he was muttering. “Well, this isn’t finding the bur- glar,” remarked the man with the pis- tol. “He’s probably gone by now, anyhow. Ah-h-h—lI’m sleepy.” E@PMICLOOKS (C@