The Argosy, Vol. 83 No. 1 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

6 THE ARGOSY. might have known! ‘These things don’t happen by chance!”’ CHAPTER II. MYSTERY. as You spoke of your grandmother,” said Exmoor, after a long silence, as they breasted another hill. “It is as distasteful to me as it must be to you, to have so much mystery, but if it is neces- sary for me to meet her, would you mind introducing me as Mr. Tarleton? Of course if I have stirred too much suspicion in your mind, it is not too late for me to leave you now. It would be the decent thing for me to do, without doubt.” “Your actions, and the things you have said, could hardly inspire confidence,” Jerry returned frankly, “but my invita- tion still stands. You cannot yet take care -of yourself, and I wouldn’t think of leaving you alone. I will try to speak of you as Mr. Tarleton in future, and I suppose I have no right to concern myself with your affairs. A man shouldn’t demand refer- ences from a helpless traveler who claims his hospitality.” The other murmured some casual ex- pressions of gratitude, but he was still ill at ease. “Pardon me again,” he said, “‘but in re- gard to your servants: I suppose they will be quite likely to see me?” “We have no servants,’ Hampton re- sponded gravely. ‘My grandmother and I live alone.” Exmoor did not conceal his surprise. “T mean no offense,” he said apologeti- cally, “but from your manner—everything about you, you know—I had you placed in some old manor house—something like that castle we passed back there. I don’t mean you to take that as idle flattery, either, Mr. Hampton.” Jerry laughed, but with little humor, and shrugged his shoulders. “You must prepare for a rather start- ling disappointment, Mr. Tarleton,” he~ze- joined. ‘We do not live in any castle.” They finished their climb and crossed another small plateau while they were talking, and they came presently to a tract of land enclosed on its four sides, appar- ently, by a high board fence. The fence was lavishly, but not esthetically, deco- rated with glaring designs and vivid splashes of the primary colors, and one who gave it his attention was urged to give trial to sundry beverages, cereal-foods, patent nostrums, and an_all-surpassing brand of chewing-gum. Exmoor noticed the militant advertise- ments and smiled. “Such things as that rather jar the har- mony of a Rhineland or a Scottish land- scape, don’t they?” he remarked. Jerry laughed bitterly. “How would you like such a wall as that around your castle?” he inquired. Exmoor looked at him curiously. © “I. don’t quite understand—”’ Jerry stopped abruptly at a door in the fence, cleanly flush with its surface and almost concealed by the gaudy poster pasted over it. “This is the entrance to the courtyard of my castle,” he announced. Exmoor was amazed, but he concealed his feelings carefully. “Good cheer and hospitality depend on the host, and not the surroundings, Mr. Hampton,” he said cheerily, and followed his guide through the aperture in the fence. It was darker in the large rectangle en- closure, but the rays from a solitary street- lamp outside the fence lighted up dimly an extraordinary scene. A populous city block, with all the at- tributes of congested urban life, picked up and transplanted to a spot in the middle of a desert or of a forest, would be start- ling and incongruous to contemplate: this scene was the reverse of that, but it was no less astounding. A tiny, rather ram- shackle farm house, with crumbling shin- gles and weatherbeaten sides, stood near the middle of the rectangle. Smoke curled lazily from its low chimney, and a light shone from one of the two front windows. COMMICLMOOOKS (C@)