The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 4 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

622 The brandy half restored Tom’s senses, and he lifted his right hand. Then Wade made the discovery that the hand was tight- ly clenched around one end of a short iron bar. Plenty of pieces of pipe and iron bars may be found where cutting and fitting pipes and anchorages have been going on for months. Joyce was distracted with terror and an- other kind of fear. Terror of the police, and fear that Tom was seriously, if not mortally hurt. The iron bar in his hand was clear evi- dence to her excited mind that her brother had killed Batterson. That it had been done in a fair fight she had no doubt, but who could prove that? Wade was scarcely more competent to reason than she. He was young, a good and careful driver of automobiles, but his experience in the employ of Mr. Kendry had not brought him face to face with any such horror as this. His knees were trembling, and his blood was chilled. He had no advice to give, no older wisdom to superimpose upon her girl- ish and half hysterical impulse. “Hospital?” he questioned, thinking that this naturally would be her first thought. But thoughts far different were coursing like liquid fire through the girl’s frantic brain. She loved Tom, that was true. But there were her father and mother to be con- sidered. Joyce, nothing of the conversation held that morn- ing at three o’clock between Fanning and Tom on Throggs Neck. How many people had heard Tom threaten Batterson. Joyce did not know. Tom was not a reticent person. “Ts he much hurt, do you think?” she asked Wade. “T don’t think so, Miss Kendry, There’s some blood and a few cuts. No smashed skull, or anything like that.” “Let’s get him into the car before some- body comes.” Between them they lifted Tom, who con- tinued to improve under the stimulating effects of the brandy, and he even contrived to help himself into the machine. “Sit with him, Ill drive,” said Joyce. With Tom’s head resting on his shoulder Wade sat quiet in the rear, and under the skilful guidance of Joyce the red car moved swiftly from the scene. it must be remembered, knew THE ARGOSY. Neither Joyce nor Wade, in their excite- ment, had noted the strange fact that Tom was in his shirt-sleeves. CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH TWO MEN RUN. REGORIO ATTULA had had his cus- tomary amount of morning stimulant, and went back to his shanty. Except for this stolen half hour of relaxation Gregorio was a watchman who was zealous in the performance of his duty. And it was his habit, upon his return every morning from his visit to the corner, with his strength revived, and his courage unquestionable, to make a tour of the prem- ises and make sure that all was well before his relief arrived. And so, this morning, having reached the scene of his labors, and passing a red car on the way, Gregorio first went to his shanty to make certain no loiterer or tramp had taken lodgings there. Finding this all secure he mounted the highest remaining point of rock and examined the landscape with a critical eye. The great derrick was still in place. No one had stolen that in his absence. No one had even disturbed it. No one was in sight. The irregular piles of broken stone, and the regularly piled building blocks were just as they should be. Then he went to the office. The body of a man lay on the floor. There was no doubt that he was dead. Gregorio had seen a good many dead men before he came to America. Whether he came from Sicily or Naples does not mat- ter, and was not known. But he knew a dead man when he saw one. For a moment he stood with his mouth agape, his eyes bulging from his head, his tongue dry and swelling, a cold perspira- tion oozing from his not very clean skin, and his fingers going open and shut in a nervous paroxysm. Then with a horrified exclamation he ran. Visions of the New-York police, of whom he had heard the most terrifying tales, and the sight of a single one of whom in uniform made him spit on the ground and caused his teeth to chatter, filled him with an un- holy fear that made his heart almost stop beating. But he ran. ‘Gregorio had learned to be a good run- ner in his native land. If he wasn’t run- COMICOOOKS (©