Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

MARKED DOWN. Miss Dorothy was privately setting in mo- tion such actions?” “IT do—most extraordinary. I told Dorothy so. But she paid no attention to me. I don’t understand it at all—or Doro- thy’s connection with such a woman.” ‘“ This is all for the present,” said Nancy. “T regret to say that you must remain here under surveillance for a while.” Quietly she stepped to the table, rolled up the documents, placed them in a deep desk drawer, turned the key in the lock. This she put in her little leather case. ‘“ Mr. Shoreham,” asked Nancy sudden- ly, “did you expect Miss Greenwood here?” “Certainly not.” “You did not know that she was waiting in Mr. Kent’s reception room while you were closeted with him here?” Shoreham’s jaw dropped. The act showed startled surprise. ‘‘ I—I did not. Maybe she was bringing a message from Dorothy.” | Ignoring this suggestion, Nancy inquired: “Did Mr. Kent expect Miss Greenwood?” ‘Of course not. Mr. Kent is a gentle- man. He wouldn’t keep a lady waiting like that out in his reception room, provided she had had any appointment with him. It’s not like Kent to make two appointments unless they are about the same thing.” ‘Suppose they were about the same thing?” ‘Impossible. For had she come here on Dorothy’s business, Kent would have known it, and there would be no reason to keep her waiting.” ‘““That’s so,” acceded Nancy. ‘“ There- fore, you will not be surprised to learn who is detained in the next private office.” She stepped to the connecting door and opened it. ‘“ Jenkins,’ she commissioned, ‘“you are to keep this door open until I instruct you further. You will remain in charge of these two people.” Nancy then left the offices abruptly. From the surprising developments of the last few moments a strong suspicion had been shaping itself in her mind. She ig- nored the rooms of Mile. Mignonne. She was thoroughly acquainted with what they overtly held. So she stepped into the of- 861 fices adjoining those she had just left, the offices of the dead man’s attorneys, Messrs. Cunningham and Winters. The first door opened into Mr. Winters’s private office. A hasty glance about proved it to be empty. Directly behind this office was that of Mr. Cunningham labeled Pri- vate. Here, too, no further surprising figure came forth to view. She walked through the door connecting Mr. Cunningham’s of- fice with the long reception room flanking both offices and entered from them as well as by a single door on the corridor. The plain, substantially furnished room revealed no hiding guest. Loring stood outside. “Well, Miss Dayland,” he said in a low voice, “ the people are getting pretty hungry here—and out of sorts, too. Aren’t you go- ing to wind up this investigation of yours pretty soon?” ‘““T cannot say now,” the girl confessed frankly. This open admission of hers caused a shadow of scorn to fall across the face of the man from headquarters. In his code of conduct no one ever admits that he does not know. The less he knows, the more he pretends. He pigeonholed the girl investi- gator as an ingenuous imbecile whose luck in her spectacular cases had warped the chief’s judgment. “You might, Mr. Loring, send one offi- cer with orders for food from any of the people on the settles here. There is a quick lunch restaurant in the next block, They may have whatever they want to eat—that is in reason and judgment.” Anger flamed across Loring’s face. “ Oh, they’ve got to wait if the police say so. Some of them are commuters. They are used to delays. It won’t hurt them.” “No, but it is not necessary that they go without food if they desire it.” Without another word Nancy stepped into the private office of Mr. Case. These law offices were in reverse duplicate of those she had just left. She gave a cursory glance about, then turned the knob and stepped into the waiting room. A slight, richly dressed girl stood up trembling as the door opened. She had a dark, delicate face, unusually lovely in con- COMmMiiclooe S (©