Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 3 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

THE TORCH. The weaver’s pasty face was a mask of abject fright when he found the soldiers were taking him to Wolff’s Tower. The men who brought him had to support his weight as they dragged him and pushed him along corridors and up stairs. When they reached the place they had been ordered to bring their prisoner they vented their relief by hurling him bodily to the hard floor. Solf looked up fearfully into the fate of Overcaptain Fortune. A moment later an- other joined the young captain, a white- faced woman whose hair was copper hued, clad in a twining gown of brilliant, change- able green silk. She eyed the shaking weaver with a hard contempt. “This is the man?” questioned Alda. “This is the man. Here, one of you guards, cut that rag that ties: his jaws.” The gag was taken from Solf’s mouth. His hands were untied. He rubbed his throat and waggled his jaw, but he did not dare rise in fhe presence of these Tower People. “Here, weaver, look—and listen to me.” Fortune took up a heavy sack and untied its mouth. He poured into his hand a gold- en stream of coins—the coin used by the Tower People. He jingled them delectably. “Look,” he bade, “ the sack is full. See how heavy it is!” Solf left off rubbing his jaws and stared. A hard, cunning look came into his glitter- ing eyes. “Here, in this sack, is the worth of a tower,’ Fortune went on. ‘“ There’s enough to make any man rich for life. Now, lis- ten, you dog. You’ve been licking your lips thinking about the loot you’ll take when the Folk rise—oh, we know, we know! D’you think we did not know al! the time the plans and plots you were making? “‘ Well, here’s loot enough to make any comrade’s heart glad. And down there at the tower entrance is a great, wooden door. You’ve seen that, have you? Tell me, did you ever see a man nailed against a door like that, hands and feet spread wide with great spikes driven through his flesh—dy- ing slowly, miserably? Ah, you have! Well, Solf, you’re lucky this time, for I’m going to give you your choice; tell us what 413 you know, and you'll be rich; refuse and you die. ‘Which will it be, money or the door?” Solf had no answer to give. He con- tinued to grovel and stare, his mouth hang- ing open. | ‘* Answer,” Fortune insisted, ‘‘ which will it be?” Still the weaver sat dumb. Fortune beckoned to his soldiers. ‘‘ Take this man to the great door—nail him up,” he ordered. . Solf threw himself, shrieking, upon the floor. ‘“ Wait, wait,” he babbled, “no, I'll do it—I’ll tell it—anything, whatever you wish. Let me speak—speak—” “Very well.” Fortune waved the guard back. ‘ Now,.lose no time answering me after this. About that meeting of the Folk early to-morrow morning: How do they go? At what hour? How many? Tell me the plan entire. And remember, we already have the story, so if you lie to us—”’ “T will. Dll tell the truth, all of it,” Solf gulped. “ Listen, I'll give every detail, but —give me my money.”’ Fortune shoved the heavy sack at the weaver with his foot. ‘‘ You soldiers,’ he bade, “ wait just outside the door, in easy call, and one of you inform Supreme Com- mander Wenn that we are awaiting him here.”’ 7 Shortly after midnight, throughout the Under City, began a stealthy movement. Silent groups of men assembled in shadowy corners. Everywhere there was a faint stir- ring and whispering, and the thrill of sup- pressed excitement. Unchallenged by any police guards, these groups began to move into the tunnels, each guided by one or more men who knew the secret paths. The gloom of the old bores swallowed them up, and those who stayed at home muttered prayers to speed their steps and bring them safely back again with news of the Torch. That night the abandoned tunnels swarmed with the men in blue denim. Silent companies, they passed slowly, fear- fully under Manhattan byways that were strange, until they came to the brightly lighted place of assembly and crewded slow- ly into the great hall beneath the ruins. Gomichbook (C@