Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

THE center of the huge Oriental rug. A few fine pictures were on the walls, and among them were hung various curios of art, obviously of Far Eastern production. Over the mantelpiece was a sword with a bronze blade and a hilt of gold inlaid with ivory. Below it several images, among which Tarton recognized the figures of some old Egyptian gods, were scattered about. More of these were lying in disorder on the table, on which Tarton saw also a cluster of flowers and a cigar stand, with the tray half filled with ashes. But as he looked more closely, several curious features, one by one, stood out. The flowers had been originally in a tall vase, but this was féw overturned, and the blossoms scattered in disorder. The water from the vase had made a dark streak across the white table cover and was still dripping slowly from one of the corners to the floor. The tobacco stand was upset and several of the cigars had fallen off. Not a single one of the small statues was on its feet. The table cover, instead of being smooth and square with the top, had been pulled far over to one side, wrinkled, gathered in a knot, in fact. Several of the books had been thrown off. Two chairs were lying on their-backs. A corner of the rug was pulled awry. Something like a shiver flitted down Tar- ton’s spine as he took two more steps, paused, caught his breath, and went on. His senses were working rapidly, quivering- ly alert. Beyond that table, on the floor— Unconsciously holding his breath, he walked quickly forward, turned the corner, and snapped the light down to his feet. But before he had done that, his toe stubbed gently against what lay there. The man was stone. dead. : His neck appeared to have been broken, for as he lay on his side, his head was twisted back and around till the face stared at Tarton from square over the left shoul- der. It was a ghastly, mocking face, the eyes still open and distended, the tongue protruding. His clothing was in order; no other signs of violence were visible. Only that terrible twisted neck and shocking grin. Shuddering, his knees weak, Tarton made ae © ARGOSY. a hasty examination. The man’s garments were in good condition and of stylish cut. His linen was snowy white, his shoes of an expensive model! and quite new. Obviously, he was of the upper world—like his house rhere, a rank paradox in the surrounding maze of slums. Robbery had plainly not been the mo- tive, for his watch and jeweled scarf-pin were in place, and from the inner pocket of his coat protruded the end of a black wallet. Yet he had been killed, fiendishly, in his own house, his neck wrung like a chicken’s! Tarton gripped his teeth together to keep them from chattering and started to retreat. | His head was whirling. To come to this place in answer to a letter, to force his way illicitly in, to find it a house of refinement and luxurious equipment—for these parts a palace—and the proprietor murdered! Fifteen minutes earlier, he would have plunged square into it—perhaps to be dis- covered, before he could get out, by a po- liceman. The light of the flash would have been clearly visible through the front win- dow. Perhaps even now, before he could get out, the alarm had been given. Yet the situation was not without its grim humor. This was what had come of disre- garding the girl’s warning. And his maga- zine article! Gone for good! He had put the table between himself and the ghastly thing that lay there, crossed the threshold into the hall, and was about to press the button of his flash to find the door knob, when, at something dimly but surely heard, he halted, palpitating and rigid. From somewhere behind him a door had squeaked softly as it was opened, and whispered voices conferred briefly and then ceased. Tarton faced them. The police! Another pause, and footsteps crossed the floor. There was the scratching of a match, and a gas-jet flared out dazzlingly. A man stood beneath it, peering at him. . Tarton caught his breath. «The fellow who faced him at perhaps twenty feet dis- tance was an astonishing figure. He was beneath medium height, but tremendously broad and stocky, with a square, massive head like a lion’s, out of which a pair of steel-blue eyes glowed ferociously. comicbooks.c P s oe s - - ; — ae i a a eee _—, i " —_. = > =) - — - red Wy 4 TA A ee ee, ee ne at b a v *% } h a 4) wei) lee ‘ rhage . th peas y ene Na PINON tar RON ii ey Wk ial ee Tt wy)! é ~~ ‘ Yr aR y Wein / # TG) } AY TL ey ma ee Si eol es ah it ns Ie oP ee a (