Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

286 Saddler sat back as though struck; Druce’s identity, as much as his words, was responsible... ‘‘ John—Jack Druce!” he mumbled, hardly able to recognize the dilapidated figure. Druce’s head bobbed with a fierce assent. ‘“ Yes,” mumbled Saddler in drunken cor- roboration, over-riding his habitual re- ticence, ““Ernshaw’s by no means a clean _ potato—been in some queer deals back East, I believe. Slugged a man and beat it South.”” A moment’s pause and he dis- closed further: ‘“‘ He beat up a woman in this office last week!” Druce pushed back his hat. rotter!” he gritted. ‘“T’m frightened of him!’ Saddler ad- mitted, with unfeigned simplicity. ‘‘ I came in upon him,” he explained. He wet his lips as- he finished and drew his hand sud- denly across his chest. “ Heart trouble!” he mumbled. ‘“ Fungus on the heart!” “ Should cut it out!” Druce inferred, nod- ding to the bottle. The elder man gripped his chair, a spasm passing over his face. ‘‘ Bad—damned bad!” he breathed. ‘“ That’s why I was go- ing to finish it to-night!” The young fellow shook his head in pro- test. ; Saddler sank in his chair until his chin rested on his chest, his vest streaked with cigar ash, his linen soiled, and his hair a tangled mat. Slowly he raised his eyes un- til they rested on Druce’s face, fear, abso- lute abandon possessing him, His mouth opened with a helpless leer. “ The-drink’s all gone. It'll wear off, and then another night of hell! Give me the gun quick!” he entreated. “ It’s my heart!” Druce stared at the horrified face as he might at a dog in agony. “T can’t!” he managed. ‘Good God, man! This is hell—a living death! Worse than a condemned criminal, He’s strong, I am weak here, here!” he cried pressing his hand to his heart. “TI eat and move with it hanging over me. I wake unrefreshed, with the thought that it will fall to-day—l am trapped! Trapped! Don’t you understand?” he implored huskily. John Druce stood riveted and dumb. “ The — THE ARGOSY. “Give it to me! For the love of God, do!” He leaned heavily forward, his face setting -a dull red, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. ‘“ You’re fanciful—” urged the listener, ‘‘ vet outside some hot coffee! It’s a life- saver.” 2 ; ‘TI don’t want a renewal! he stormed, rising shakily. ‘“ Here’s your price—if it’s money you want!” ' He dug his hand clumsily into his pocket and fished out gold and silver and sprinkled it on the desk in contempt.-’ “ There—blast you! I'll double it if you'll shoot me! Yes, shoot—” Druce stepped back as Saddler lurched forward, with difficulty maintaining his feet. - Quick—quick! And beat it!” his words were becoming incoherent. ‘Terror changed his eyes to a glassy stare, his neck was corded and his face purple. His hands rose and he gripped his throat. He staggered, spun half ’round then fell in a shapeless heap, his lips flecked with blood. Druce, horrified, stepped to his side. ‘Tm all in—” gurgled Saddler. A convulsive movement, a burst of blood and he rolled limply onto his back. He was dead. ‘Poor devil! And to think I envied you!” escaped from Druce as he regained his feet. To his back was the money, he turned and occupied the seat at the desk, but reached for the telephone. His movements were arrested, there was footfalls on the stairs. His face set ashen gray, his eyes shining like coal, he waited. A moment later and a tall, lank man verging forty stood in the doorway, his steely eyes taking in the figure at the desk and the heap on the floor, his slit of a mouth tightening. His hand flew to his hip. - ‘Drop it!” the werds came from Druce. The man was Ernshaw. He had drawn his revolver in a twinkling, only to find himself covered. Two shots rang out. Ernshaw had fired from his hip, the bullet taking the neck off the bottle and COPNICLOOKS Damn you!” COM