Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

316 It made him feel uncomfortably conspicu- ous. So he jogged Lucifer up a notch or two and turned out of the park toward the garage. Old Barney couldn’t conceal his expression of relief at seeing this erratic patron safe back. “You look as though you thought I was keeping pretty late hours again, Barney,” Pen remarked. “Sure, now, sir, it what hours ye keep.” “Well, I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention around here what time I got in to-night,” Pen added as a sudden after- thought, it having occurred to him that exaggerated gossip around the garage might get to Mr. Harwood’s ears. “Beg yer pardon, Mr. Wimbleton, but have ye ever minded me lettin’ me tongue gallop off an’ make a ninny of me?” “Oh, no, Barney—of course not! No offense intended. JI know I can trust you.” “Thank ye, sir.” A half hour later, just as Pen was pre- paring for bed, there came a ring at the door of his bachelor suite. He had told his man not to wait up for him. So he went to the door himself, wondering who could have come unannounced and at this hour. There, to his amazement, stood a police officer. “Mr. Penfield Wimbleton?” asked the caller, consulting a paper. “Ves. What can I do for you?” ‘‘T’]] have to ask ye to go to the station with me. You’re under arrest for killing a man in the park.” For a full minute Pen stood staring at his caller, unable to speak. This was some ghastly joke, of course! Or a silly mistake. “You got in the wrong aisle, old man,” he said at last. ‘I haven’t been killing anybody this evening.” “Can it, kid. You admit ye’re Penfield Wimbleton, don’t ye? That lets me out. We got ye cinched, car number an’ all, an’ we’re hep to yer record.” “ But—but—whom am I supposed to have killed, and where?” “T’m here to get ye—not to answer questions. Come along now.” ’s no affair of mine ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. > Being arrested was no novelty to Pen Wimbleton. But it had hitherto been a comparatively dignified affair, the recep- tion of a ticket, a voluntary appearance in court, a lecture from the magistrate, and payment of a fine. Now Pen found himself led ignominiously through the street by his arm, on which the officer kept a tight clutch. ‘““One phony move an’ I'll put the hand- cuffs on ye,” had been the ultimatum as they stepped into the elevator of his apart- ment house before the lift man’s amazed eyes. Il. THE first person Pen noticed when he was led before the desk at the police sta- tion was George Varnum, his clothing be- grimed and torn, his face scratched and bleeding, and one eye blacked and swollen shut. Varnum was shaking with nervous agitation. He gave Pen one fleeting glance with his usable eye and then refused to look squarely at him again. Now Pen noted that the officer standing beside Varnum was Doane, his enemy of the park police. A conspiracy! This was the thought that passed through his head. He had heard of police railroading to prison those who defied them. But where did little Varnum come in? He had certainly been hit by some- body. But at least he was alive. That part about the killing was a mistake after all. 2 Pen breathed more freely. But was George Varnum going to swear that Pen had put him in this condition? Pen and he were rivals for the hand of Mary Har- wood, to be sure, and he was something of a little rat under the surface, as Barney had said, but he could hardly credit him with venom enough for this, or courage to carry it through. Almost automatically he answered the questions of the lieutenant at the desk as that officer filled in the blotter. He was still in a daze, his bewildered mind trying to untangle the puzzle. Then he !ound himself suddenly listening acutely. “Now, sir, if you'll tell your story,” said the lieutenant to Varnum. Eomichooks ha vi 7X ike! / LANDERS a