The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

38 “Sure. I brought in ten _ bottles. There’s four left.” ‘““Chase yourself out- and get another two,” the chauffeur directed. ‘‘ Git some of these empties out of the way, too; they’re kicking all over the floor.” “Wait,” said the smaller man, and in the stillness a gurgle sounded, music to the ear of James Bowen. For now, in sweet unconsciousness, each of the pair was digesting as tidy a dose of morphin as could be given him without the risk of permanently detach- ing his soul from his body—nice, fresh morphin, too, the good doctor reflected cheerfully, which had come to Hallas only the week before his leaving. And it should work rather quickly, too, he thought. The gentlemen, very likely, had been up and about all day; they looked rather tired, and they had been consuming the brew of the hop, which was also likely to coax them toward slumber. When steps returned from somewhere at the rear, and chairs creaked again, and he caught the twin pops of opening bot- tles, Dr. Bowen sat down comfortably on the soft carpet. He had really nothing to do now but wait. Wits, muscle, and a little medical knowledge had furnished everything but the crowbar needed to pry out some of the window-boarding or a key to open a door to freedom. Time wore on pleasantly enough. Per- haps even Miss Catterson had fallen asleep up there; she was soundless as the butler himself, long since succumbed to hyoscyamin. Nor were the pair below nearly so talkative these last minutes. They had taken to yawning audibly; in a disconnected, wondering way they men- tioned the extreme sleepiness that had come upon them—and then, after another wait, it seemed that the smaller man had collapsed, because there was a thud and a quantity of drowsy protest in the chauf- feur’s tone. Far away a big clock struck the hour of three. Dr. Bowen, eyes opening a little, risked going half-way down the THE ARGOSY. flight; and he smiled happily and con- tinued to the bottom. The small man was comfortable on the floor; the chauffeur leaned against the wall, mouth open and eyes closed. The kindly doctor whistled as he examined the pulse of each and trotted cheerily to the basement door. Here, at least, there was a key on the inside. He turned it and walked into a black vestibule where stood another door and another key. He opened that as well and, striking the good open air abruptly, devoted several seconds to deep breath- ing as he tried the lock of the iron gate. It was a sane lock, perfectly willing to open as he turned it back. Whistling still, James Bowen mounted to the musty, dusty setting of the jewel that was Helen Catterson. . ‘Come, please,” he said very gently, “we're going now.” CHAPTER XV. AGAIN NIGHT WANDERERS. ‘THE answer to the mystery, should it ever come, must come later; the menace of three inexplicable citizens had been drugged out of existence; the path to freedom was clear. So that Dr. Bowen’s attention, once more, was all for Helen Catterson and active wonder roused within him at her sudden start and the expression of the eyes that turned to him. They were startled and incredulous, but they were not insane—again he could have sworn that much! A dim, small suspicion gathered strength and _ still more strength; quite unsmilingly he stepped to the girl and looked steadily at her. It was upon the tip of his tongue to in- form her that she was shamming and note the effect—but the vagueness was back again, and the monotonous voice was asking: “Can we go now?” “We can,” said Dr. Bowen. COMIC OOOKS (E@)