Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

A moment later the entrance doors flew open. Gerson and a sergeant of detectives sauntered in. Also, Officer Melloy stood stiffly in the doorway, on hand if wanted. Grebs and his orchestra played on, while the diners never lost a bite or a sip. The sergeant, however, lost some little poise when confronted by the Echo herself. Yet he and Gerson stood their ground. “This is a place of public entertain- ment,” said the sergeant, craftily, “so I guess we can come in for a sandwich or something, can’t we? a “And while we stay, we’d like to talk _ to one of your guests—a ‘bird we’ve just traced here.” As the detectives’ glances flashed from table to table, the sharp-featured young fel- low near Alan leaned toward the platform and his arm described a quick but apparent- ly careless semicircle, preparatory to his changing slightly the position of his chair. “That looks like our man,” whispered Gerson, now pointing toward the sharp- faced one—who, while expressing sullen re- sentment, accepted the officers’ invitation to walk with them to the corridor. There he was promptly “ frisked”’ for weapons and searched carefully. ‘“ He’s passed the swag along, of course,” the sergeant growled disgustedly. “Want tuh soich a few o’ them likely- lookin’ boids in there?” Gerson whispered into the other’s ear. The sergeant grunted dubiously. He was game enough to try ¢hat—but offending the Echo, and in her own “ house,’ de- manded more serious consideration. The Echo’s arm was long, and reached into un-~ expected places. It made him sufficiently uncomfortable to feel her eyes fixed grimly upon him. He decided that they could do no more, just now, without orders from someone “ higher up.” Growling a half apology to the Echo, he ‘then cursed heartily the sharp-faced young man and in disappointment withdrew, dgl- lowed by Gerson—with the young man in tow. Meantime, the Petrograd Inn seemed to have lost its solo violinist. Alan impul- sively had jabbed his violin into its open case, and—apparently unnoticed, save by THE ARGOSY. Charles’s quietly amused glance—had walked out. ‘I’m done! Ske can’t buy me—at any, price—to play in that nest of thieves!” he exclaimed, in scarcely suppressed fury, when he had left the hotel behind him. ‘I’m done!” his quivering voice repeated. He seemed bent upon impressing ‘himself with the fact. Nor, in making this decision, had Alan seen the “late editions,” which described the theft of the famous Irawadi Ruby, from the residence of Madame Reitelman. It made a “ good story ” replete with the sj ister history of the “ Irawadi "popularly known as the “ Buddha’s Curse ”—from the time a ticket-of-leave man originally had stolen it from the temple shrine of Shwe Dagon at Rangoon, when the white, English thakins had overrun Tenasserim and Arakan, in Lower Burma; through the subsequent period, during which it left a trail of disaster and violent death among its possessors; up until the recent purchase of the “ unlucky ” gem by the intrepid wife of the noted violinist. Madame Reitelman, for reasons that will appear, had not delayed in unreservedly en- listing the aid of a most comprehensive pub- licity, And the Detective Bureau, not to be outdone, claimed for itself in vociferous print that the “net of the police” was “closing in on the thief” whose identity was “practically known,’ and who prob- ably would be apprehended to-night or to-morrow. CHAPTER VIII. - GREASED WHEELS OF JUSTICE. “YES, yes, Anna; so you’ve told me, The loss of a stone so valuable is to be regretted, of course. But I must have my studio now, if you don’t mind,” Karl Reitelman broadly hinted, Unconscious of the storm gathering about his head, the master impatiently waltzed his spare, nervous person about the cheer- less studio; dipping into this corner and that—his fingers fluttering through sheaves of music transcripts. ‘Alan Dmitrieff is to be here—any min- COPMIC OOOKS (S (E@)