Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

| THE SECOND-SEER. of his old white coat. Even Bodoni, the fruit vendor, got an illuminating answer to the effect that his wife Rosa could sell bananas faster than he could, if he only would leave her alone. But there was a trick in it, somewhere. The chief, becoming impatient and curi- ous, wrote a question himself. He watched the hat-bearer carefully, saw him mount the short steps to the stage, lay the derby down for a moment while he readjusted Ruth Mauve’s blindfold, and then take up the hat again, extracting therefrom divers. and sundry written inquiries, which he waved successively over the head of the medium. The chief signed only his initials to the question. He waited skeptically while other people’s minds were being read, and had begun to feel personally assured that Ruth Mauve was a fake, when she announced excitedly: “Tam in touch with B! with G. G. B.!” The chief of police shivered violently. “G. G. B. holds a responsible position in public life,” continued the telepathist. “But he does not want it known that he has propounded a question. He is ashamed of appearing superstitious. I—” While the medium paused, Chief Bkog- gan had the unpleasant impression that he was the cynosure of several hundred eyes. He actually felt himself blushing. ‘““T shall not call his name,” Ruth Mauve resumed, ‘‘ because he seeks to deceive me, to keep his identity secret. He asks: ‘ Shall I be reappointed?’ My answer, G. G. B., is—you will be reappointed if you over- come the influence of a certain man high in your organization who is secretly your enemy. He is seeking to prevent your re- appointment. He hopes to get your posi- tion himself.”’ The chief had enough. As soon as another question had been proposed and was being answered by the astounding Ruth Mauve, he rose incon- spicuously from his seat and sought ‘the outer air. It was good, too. He felt that he wasn’t blushing any more. He could not remember having blushed ever before in his career, and he was thoroughly mortified over his exhibition of weakness, merely be- I am in touch cause this Ruth Mauve had happened to guess— Had she guessed? Who was the plotter, “‘ high in your or- ganization,” of waom she had warned him? The-chief was profoundly puzzled. He had jailed many a burglar, many a yegg- man, many a pickpocket, many a dangerous and suspicious character. He knew life as lt was written on the docket at police head- quarters, but he’d be durned if he had ever come across a proposition like this. Even if there had been some trick about the pad on which he wrote his question, how could this stranger guess his name, his position, his private business? At police headquarters he was relieved to find Chief of Detectives Arthur C. Bendle- worth, a sleuth of no mean scientific knowl- edge. “Do you know anything about tele- pathy, Arthur?” queried the chief of police, nervously. “Sure,” grinned Bendleworth. “I ar- rested three fortune tellers last week who claimed to be telepathics, but they didn’t have anything but a greasy pack of cards each, and no license at all. Of course, I couldn’t say how many superstitious fools they had stung, but they didn’t have any license to tell fortunes, and that was enough.” ‘Well, I want you to investigate this Ruth Mauve,” said the chief, dodging the sting in Bendleworth’s words. ‘‘ She’s paid her license, but she knows too damn much to be an ordinary crook. You've got to watch her, or she’ll kidnap your wife and children and sell them for Egyptian mum- mies. She’s got a stand down at the Ma- jestic Theater.” The chief of detectives took it upon him- self to investigate Ruth Mauve. He went in person to her next public séance, but he did not notice that Chief of Police Broggan was sitting unobserved in the rear of the audience. Bendleworth waited, bored and impa- tient, while numerous inquiries written by the spectators were answered mysteriously by the seer. Then he wrote a question on a blank card, purposely not using the pad provided by Ruth Mauve’s agent, and Eomichbooks.« 295