Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

THE YELLOW EMERALD. into the leather easy chair, pulled the light over, and opened the first magazine. But the action was mechanical. He was. far from being in the frame of mind to attend to the mysteries of Egyptian fetish-worship —that being the nature of the article he had been seeking, and for which he had wanted the papers. His eyes strayed up and roved around the room. Books, books, books! Fine furni- ture, inwrought gold bric-a-brac, Oriental rugs, Egyptian statues, over there a painted mummy-case —a perfect scholar’s den, sunken down in the ruck and smells of Pear- main Court! And the master of it, who—as now seemed probable—was this terrific old man with his lion’s hair and his serpent’s eyes, his frowzy coat and baggy trousers, and his visélike, murdering hands— Who, what then, was the other one, whose body still lay, doubtless, under the white table-cover in that front reoom—whose neck had been twisted like a chicken’s? As the full significance of the thing, and of his position, swept over Tarton, he sprang to his feet. It was impossible! It was frightful! He felt that he must dash from the house—he could not endure it a moment longer. Then he slowly sank down again, gasp- ing. It had occurred to him that it wouldn’t do to leave so abrupthy—he must at least glance at the magazines. It would prevent the fellow’s suspicions from increasing. He might, after all, look at the piece he wanted for ten minutes or so—he ought to wait as long as that. And accordingly his glance had returned to the volume, where his finger held it open. That was the moment when he had gasped. And the reason was the warning that was stamped across both pages in purple ink: THIS BOOK IS THE PROPERTY OF THE ——-—— PUBLIC LIBRARY AND IS NOT TO BE REMOVED THEREFROM FOR ANY PURPOSE WHATEVER. The words sprang out at him accusingly. One of the stolen books! One of those the girl had known of—and had told hjm not to try to see! f He threw it on the floor and picked up another. Fhat was the same—from a differ- ent library. Feverishly he ran through the pile. Purloined, every one! He remembered that the big man had taken them from a bookcase somewhere. His heart was racing as he got up, searched, and found it. There were more and more of them—so many that he gave up trying to count and fell back breathless. It was quite evident what the truth of © the matter was. In some way there had become published in that queer, dry-as-dust old periodical, an article objectionable— damaging, disastrous, rather, to this man. It was of first importance to him to get it, as far as possible, out of the way. There- fore he had gone from city te city and from town to town, gathering them in. Tarton had found the names of half a hundred places. And many more with no_ mark whatever on them. ‘hese, no doubt, were from private individuals—got by some trick or other. . Sitting on the floor before the bookcase, surrounded by the piles he had heaped up, ~ Tarton ran throwgh the pages of one of them. His curiosity was rampant. No matter what might happen in ten minutes, he would satisfy himself about this one thing, and see what it was. But he did not. There was nothing. Nothing that by the wildest fantasy of imagination could be twisted into facts either valuable, injurious or dangerous. Reports of committee, min- utes of society proceedings, technical dis- cussions, abstruse anthropological questions —the regular run of uninteresting fodder. The book dropped from his fimgers. Queer! He glanced round at the door. Still open. The house was quiet as a tomb. Per- left him. He smiled dryly at the idea. Well, anyway, there was the article he had wanted—his article. He might as well take a little while more and go through that. He would never have another chance! He went over to the big chair, opened the book, and began to read. The article was absorbingly imteresting. It was just what he wanted—and much longer than he had supposed. = Without once looking up, he read it com- = ig Gomicboo!