Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

THE YELLOW EMERALD. ‘And you think she will believe that— after living in New York City?” ‘“T know she will—she’s got to,” snapped Tarton. ‘‘Come! On second thought we won’t wait for her in the parlor. We wouldn’t, if you really were my sister. I'd take you up to my room, leave you to rest, with the door locked on the inside, while I alone bearded the lioness in her den. That’s more plausible because it’s more natural, and it’s better for you because you can start in recuperating without hanging around an hour or two and going through that em- barrassing explanation. You would prob- ably give it away, anyhow.” He slipped his arm under her elbow and steered her toward the steps. ‘It will be all right— don’t worry—Zaida.”’ She started. “You know—my name?”’ she murmured. “{ heard your—father—mention it. I think it’s wonderful! Mine’s Bruce. You ought to know your brother’s name,” he added, laughing whimsically. The door had opened without a shiver, and they stood in the hall, once more tread- ing on illicit ground, swallowed up in dark- . ness and characteristic smells — quite dif- ferent, it struck Tarton, from those of Zaida’s house. Shuffling with inch- ial he steered her toward the stairs. “Third floor—back,” he es with dry humor as they topped the second flight. “ Sorry, but it’s something—after all.” He started slightly, thrilled with sudden ecstatic joy at the silent pressure of her fingers on his arm. “Indeed it’s everything,” she breathed. “You can’t begin to realize what it means to me. I haven’t a single place—to go! And just to think that you’re doing this all, absolutely, in the dark!” They had crossed the threshold of his little room, and the door clicked softly be- hind them. Tarton snapped a match and the gas-light blazed out. With scarcely a glance about at its modest, threadbare fur- nishings, she went on earnestly, knitting her fingers painfully together as she stood be- fore him. ‘““You mustn’t think I don’t realize that you’ve had a perfectly terrible time,” she went on. “I can’t help feeling that it was my fault. If I hadn’t roused your curiosity by what I said about those dreadful maga- zines, you would never have advertised, and he would never have asked you there—all he wanted of you, you know, was to put you out of the way—”’ “Why?” he interrupted. ‘ What had I done? How was I dangerous to him?” ‘You were interested in those papers,” she answered in hushed tones. ‘“ You wanted to see them. That—nothing more —was enough.”’ ‘Yes, but why?” he insisted. ‘‘ What is in them? What’s at the bottom of it? Why did he kill—”’ She raised her hand pleadingly. ‘““ Please ’’—she begged—“ not now. I really—I can’t talk about-it. To-morrow,” perhaps. What I started to say was to tell you how perfectly splendid I think you have been to me—to do this when it makes everything so hard for you, and—-and then what you did before, when you were almost —killed. HE you hadn’t been there he would have—oh, I can’t express it—” She was getting hysterical again, Tarton saw, as the overwrought nerves jangled at the memories she was bringing back. He put his arm about her and led her to a chair. ‘ Never mind.” he soothed, “ it’s all right about me. I wasn’t hurt. ~And as for your part, [ would have died rather than not be there, Zaida.” His voice was suddenly ear- nest. ‘ And it’s coming out all right—for both of us, I know. Don’t explain now. Lie down and try to sleep. Here is the key. I’m going down. Later, toward noon, I’ll send Mrs. Contestable. And you mustn’t be afraid—she’ll love you if you smile.” He had slipped the key into her fingers and gone out, closing the door softly behind i Saeed —_—_——_—_—_—_ CHAPTER VII. AN INTERRUPTED EXPLANATION. AN hour and a half later, Tarton, having dealt a hand to Mrs. Contestable, who was fair, fat, better than forty, and French- ily impressionable even after a quarter of comicbooks.com