Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

*212 position were considered—and he in turn had grabbed Cowper, who for another rea- son had hugged close to the young man’s side. They appeared, indeed, as_ they skulked about the shadows of the out- buildings, like three guilty conspirators of comic opera, closely banded together. “That’s his car!” cried Marion. ‘“ Come on!” At first Gilfillan entertained the extrava- gant idea that she contemplated chasing the little car on foot; and he almost laughed as he pictured her dashing madly down -country roads with himself supporting a fainting butler in the rear. But she led them at a run to the garage, and fairly bounded into the maroon roadster with the ‘long, proud nose, which was her favorite vehicle, and which she controlled as an expert equestrian might control a spirited horse. Gilfillan followed her, and in the un- reasonable impulse of the moment he dragged Cowper, who still clutched the empty gun, up beside him. They were closely crowded in the narrow seat of the speedster as Marion deftly con- jured the great machine into life and sent it plunging through the doors upon the trail. They emerged from the garage just as the fugitive, seeking the hole in the hedge, flashed on his headlights as he sped across the lawn. “ Goo!”? remarked Cowper. He was capable of nothing more compre- hensible. “He thinks he’ll get a start on us,” grinned Marion. “ Lizzie is all right on the grass, but wait till we hit the road!”’ As if to furnish a sample of what the machine would do, she hit the drive at fifty- four miles per hour, and scarcely drew up to skid about the turn and swing into the roadway. Cowper threw bath arms about Gilfillan’s neck as they skidded, and began to cry. They shot down the road, gaining speed as if rushing, brakeless, down a mountain- side. As they approached the hole in the hedge, the little car shot forth in front of them. It bobbed into the road as lightly as if made of cork, and, to the surprise of the pursuers, bobbed perceptibly away ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. from them as it picked up speed on the road. Marion, for her part, was so astonished that she forgot a well known rut which crossed the drive at this point, hit it at full speed, bounded out of the road, skidded about like a mighty top, and would have plunged into the ditch had not Gilfillan thrown his full weight upon the emergency brake and brought the roaring monster to a Stop. Marion, pale as death, threw her gears into neutral and switched off. She sat si- lent for a second. Douglas Gilfillan ex- pected her to turn back, but she was made of sterner stuff. “Take the wheel, Doug,” she said. ‘“T want to do some deep breathing. And get him!” This she added with intense determina- tion as she slipped into Gilfillan’s seat and Douglas took the wheel. “ Get them!” said Douglas as he started the motor humming. And sure enough, in the glare of their headlight, they could dis- cern two occupants in the little car that was so rapidly receding from them. “She’s with him! Good grief!” cried Marion. “‘ She’s with him! Hell for leather, Doug!” But she had no need to urge him. The great car had already picked up speed, and was whistling in pursuit, its tires shrieking on the macadam. * Don’t wipe your nose on me, Cowper!” snapped Marion, whose soul responded to the mad speed of their pursuit; and she shoved the limp butler from her. Cowper, completely broken, sat thereafter as stiff as a rod—as a corpse—as a butler already dead. Then, with an arm about his shoulder, and narrowed eyes fixed on the unwinding road, Marion learned that Douglas Gilfillan was a man in a million. A man with nerves of steel—a man who could govern a spirit- ed car, and who understood the dim and devious ways of country roads. He followed that road with a swift om- niscience which thrilled her to the soul. He swept about ruts and holes as though the machine beneath his hand had vision and sense, whisking and twisting about like a COPMIG LOOKS (E@)