Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

298 chief’s chair, and strove to look uncon- cerned. “This yours?” demanded Broggan, hold- ing out the heavy envelope. “ What is it?” Bendleworth took the package gingerly. “Open it and see.” Chief Broggan watched him grimly while he explored the envelope. Bendleworth flushed and paled. ‘“‘Where did you—get this?” he blustered. “ This is my affair!” “And mine!” The chief’s jaw bulged forward. ‘‘ You’re going to withdraw that application—and those charges! Get me?” Bendleworth groped helplessly for the proper word. “T guess I won’t,” he snapped. “ If it’s a show-down between us, all right! You can answer those charges before the police com- missiona’ ‘“ You’re going to withdraw those lying charges!” shouted Chief Broggan, pounding angrily on the desk. “ Either that, or you’re going to explain what you know about a certain Fourth Ward alderman who went to Honduras!” The effect upon Bendleworth was electri- cal. He looked furtively at Broggan, shifted his eyes to the documents in his hand, and all at once lost his affected air of sang froid. ‘““Who’s been telling you—that—chief?” ‘“Never mind who! I knew there was hush money in that affair. I knew there was graft in this department. And now I’ve got the dope! Say!” He leaned closer to Ben- ' dleworth and hissed: “ Do you want to go to San Francisco to-night? I hear there’s a good opening out there, for the right man.” Bendleworth’s face lighted hopefully. “Sure, chief! You’re a sport! I know I did you dirt, but I’m sorry as hell for it. Til retract those charges! I'll tell ’em I lied!” “Write it now!” commanded Chief of Police Broggan. So it came to pass that Arthur C. Ben- dleworth, former chief of detectives, went Far West on the midnight train. Ruth Mauve was bringing to a close a marvelously successful engagement of two THE ARGOSY. weeks, at the Majestic Theater. Everybody in town was talking about her amazing per- formances. Everybody was convinced of her supernatural powers*® from Chief Brog- gan, recently reappointed head of the po- lice department, en down to the stage hands who helped her arrange for her act. With one exception— William Togley, some time street-car motorman, bartender, private detective, and recently a member of the International Union of Theatrical Stage Employees, waited on Ruth Mauve and her manager. “Now I want my rake-off,” he an- nounced coolly. ‘ You’ve paid me a fair salary while you’ve been here, but I’ve done work for you that nobody else in the world could have done. I even fixed it so you could get in strong with the police. I want one thousand dollars bonus, or up goes your little show in the air!” Ruth Mauve’s manager, a sophisticated box-office savant, was used to dealing with disaffected employees of Togley’s type. ““ Now listen,” he argued. ‘‘ We’ve been decent to you. We’ve paid you one hun- dred dollars a week for working four hours a day, and pretty light work at that. You don’t think we’re running a moving-picture joint, do you? I'll give you a hundred extra, just to show you I’m a good fellow.” “You'll give me a thousand!” ‘You go to hell,” urged Ruth Mauve’s manager. : Ruth Mauve went to the next town one night earlier than anticipated, and William Togley went to the chief of police. Broggan recognized him, after the stage assistant had helped him refresh his memory. ‘* Sure, I was on the force,” said Togley. ‘“T mopped up, too, till that dirty loafer Bendleworth fired me.” “Well? Want another job?” Togley grinned. “Naw. I want to put you in to some- thing rich. It ‘Il make you strong with everybody in town. It might make you na- tionally famous.” ‘What you trying to hand me?” “ Just this: Ruth Mauve’s a damn crook and a fake, and I’m the only guy that can prove it. She couldn’t no more read your _ Ss | — se ft int <n — - Pp p