The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

GETTING AWAY FROM THOMPSON. cells—and that big fellow is the key to the outside door! Why haven’t I got ten feet of good stiff wire rolled up in my pocket, or —how many hairpins have you, Jane?” “You mean wire ones?” “Of course.” “None!” said Jane, sadly. “I don’t use them.” “Neither do I,” sighed Mr. Farnham, “but that needn’t stop us. Here! Wecan do without wire altogether. Here’s my key- ring—I can bend that into a hook.” There came a rattle of keys and a grunt or two. Inside Farnham’s cell the light flashed about and a sound of ripping fol- lowed that, and then: “She’s all rigged, Jane! They have nice, tough unbleached sheets on this cot, and I’ve got a line here strong enough to pull down the wall of the jail, once I land that hook! Reach around here, dear, and hold the light for me.” Cool, soft fingers met his own. He paused to press them, and then, with an ef- fort, released the fingers and considered the distance to the precious keys in the patch of bright light. He squinted, did Mr. Farnham, and reached one hand from his cell, twirling his hook, with its weight of perfectly respect- able bachelor keys. He sent the hook into the air and a length of fuzzy line followed it. “Can you beat that!” young Mr. Farn- hara cried jubilantly. ‘I landed them first crack!” . “And if you just jerk gently you can get them loose!” Jane added excitedly. “Vou’ll never see anything more gentle and deft than this jerk!” said Farnham. “Just about two minutes, and we'll be out of this!” He twitched, and the keys remained upon their hook. He twitched again and still they clung. For the third time, however, he twitched—and this time, with a tremen- dous jangling, the keys fell to the hard con- crete floor and Wilbur Farnham dashed little beads from his forehead. “T think that’s the most thrilling minute I ever spent,” said he. “Now we'll haul in!” No freak of Jane’s imagination had been that peculiar scraping sound, fifteen seconds back! There was a creak now, as the door of the jail opened suddenly, and a snap as the lights went up. Violently, Mr. Farnham tugged at his string, but it was all too late. 277 The official foot of Thornton Hill had landed upon the slender strand that might have saved them! CHAPTER XXI. TO BE IDENTIFIED AT SUNRISE. Will a little cry Jane had shrunk to the rear of her cell, but Wilbur Farn- ham remained in plain sight and through him the eye of the law drilled fiercely, bit- terly, yet triumphantly. “Didn’t get away with that, neither, did you?” Thornton Hill demanded. Mr. Farnham was discreetly silent. “You can’t put over anything like that on me!” the law pursued angrily, as he picked up the keys and—if minor jinglings told truly as he stepped out of sight for a moment—hung them upon another, more distant and quite invisible hook in the far corner. “You ought to know that by now!” “Oh, if you had only kept that ivory head on the pillow for another ten minutes!” came heartbrokenly from Farnham. , ‘“T ain’t been in bed, young feller!” the constable laughed harshly. ‘I had other things to tend to—such as keeping you from getting them keys and killing half the town before I got you again!” And here an entirely new voice spoke: “By crickey! ‘They do look desperate! ” Mr. Farnham’s tired and astonished eyes blinked at the person who had stepped to the constable’s side, the while keeping com- fortably near the outer wall. He was small, with a mighty shock of roan hair; he had a long, thin nose and a pair of shell-rimmed spectacles, which gave him the air of a peculiarly underfed young owl. He might have been twenty-four, and if the collar he had forgotten was no more immaculate than the shirt it failed to adorn, it was well that he had left it behind. Staring at the apparition, it seemed to Mr. Farnham that he had but one enviable quality; he was on the right side of the bars. | Still, he seemed to be an intimate of the gifted Thornton Hill since that gentleman had gone to the length of bringing him for a call at two o’clock in the morning. He stared owlishly as the constable’s rather airy voice said: “Yep! They’re about as desperate as they make ’em, but they didn’t git by me, Chester—you notice that!” Go VOOKS AMUG (C@