Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

swered, “I’m going to bust her open and see.” “ Hold on a minute, Pete. hairpin, miss?” Miss MacTavern produced a hairpin. Sparks took it and picked up a large sheet of blotting paper from the desk. He had all the manners of a Houdini about to transform a peanut into a flock of pigeons. Rutledge and Miss MacTavern watched him apathetically. Neither was in the mood for a display of magic. Sparks slipped the sheet of blotting paper through the crack at the bottom of the door, then worked the hairpin about in the lock. After a minute of intense and concentrated jabbing, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, and very care- fully drew the blotting paper back through the crack. The key to the door lay where it had fallen upon it. “ Kid, where in hell did you learn how to do that?” Sparks had the grace to blush. “Tt had a shore job once.” He added, trippingly: “‘ The sea’s more healthy. Well, now that we’ve got this here key, what are we goin’ to do about it?” “Open that door and get out.” “ Sure—promenade the deck, I suppose, until they lead us, tenderlike, by the mitt back again! Nit! Say, Pete, if you got anything above your neck but your head now is the time to use it.” “You two come with me.” Rutledge took the key and carefully opened the door, inch by inch. It opened, as they knew, directly upon a passage. The passage was dark. They passed out into it. Rutledge closed the door and locked it You got a again. “We'll take the key with us,” he whis- pered. “They'll look around for it first, thinking some other one of them has it. It may give us just the extra time we need.” “ Say, time for what?” Sparks hissed. “ Shut up, kid—come!”’ They stole along the passage. It ended _ in an open doorway leading out onto the _ forwar vse Great gusts of cool.-wind ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. windlass, the dim form of a slr on ok i! out could be seen. i hs Rutledge went forward alone. He er upon the sailor. He waited until the se came abreast the windlass in his patrolling. With a quick lunge Rutledge grappled him about the knees and hurled him sidewise before he could cry out. The sailor’s fore- head came up against the niggerhead of the windlass with a sharp crack. Then he lay, very limp, upon the deck. Rutledge lowered him over the side, and returned to the two who were waiting. “ Sparks,” he whispered, “ you remem- ber saying to Harris, when he searched the China Queen, that if you were the fugitive you’d hide by riding one of the flukes of the anchor? Well, that’s what we’re going to do now. Are you game, Mary?” * Yes, Peter.” “Good stuff—now listen! Il lower Sparks down first. When he’s set, I'll lower you, Mary, and he’ll get you settled. Then he can help me down after.” Somehow it was done. The three of them were seated on the broad flukes of the starboard anchor, holding on with tense fingers; holding on to keep from falling into that seething, spumous swirl that surged one instant within a few inches of their feet, then shot downward with a suck and gurgle as the bow of the Yung Swei reached high into the air; shot ever down- ward until the fore foot showed, and then came rushing, screaming, hurtling upward to tear them from their refuge, and drag them down beneath the sea. Far to eastward, a slender streak of em- erald struggled to make way in the dark- ened sky for dawn. Clinton MacTavern stood with Captain McGee on the bridge of the Western State. Astern, the sky was filling with the clear, cool tones of daybreak. It was already quite light. It would shortly be sunrise. ays the horizon with a pair of binocu- ~ Smoke, off the port bow, srt” came te “-