Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

A STRANGER IN TOWN. Trak might have come back with the man he had gone for—and Irak was crafty. On the way they might have formed a plot. Blumefeldt had practically sent him and Portia up here—and that had left Blume- feldt all alone. And against him had been odds of four to one. Was that it? Had Blumefeldt been attacked? Was that the meaning of that shot? And if so—if Blumefeldt had been killed— He sickened at the thought. If Blume- feldt had been slain! If tragedy had stalked at the termination of his meeting with the counterfeiters’ backer—what then—what of Portia and him? What good would their agreement to keep silent about the events of the evening be now to the trio of crooks who held them, if those crooks had also a dead man’s body on their hands? Was fresh peril creeping upon them? Eddie asked himself the question, and glanced at Portia—little Portia, who had drawn instinctively closer to him, this girl of all girls to him now. He put out a hand and touched her. She turned her face to- ward him. While the sounds beneath them died away after that single shot, and si- lence came down, filled with unknown things—more suggestive of unknown danger creeping upon them through the night than the noise of conflict, even—they looked into one another’s eyes very much as they had looked in that moment after Eddie’s attack on Murgson. And almost without knowing that he meant to do it, Harmon reached out swiftly and drew her into his arms—drew her and held her, and found her strangely yielding, found her leaning against him—found her face lifted to his—pallid under the murky light. “ Portia,” he said, his voice husky with the wonder of her pliant life—oh, Portia, I love you. No matter what happens, dear— I love you!” For the sounds that had died away— that shot in the room below them—had made tragedy seem close again to Harmon. It tinctured his avowal. And yet—and yet ——it was a wonderful night—a mad, wild, wonderful night. He sensed it as he held the girl and looked down into the wide, dark, steady pools of violet fringed by 291 curving lashes—at the soft curve of her mouth. It was a wonderful night in which he had found her and come to know and love her. And she was clinging to him. He felt the grip of her hands. She was not re- senting his words or actions. He lowered his face toward the face beneath. He kissed her. Footsteps came along the hall. Harmon flung up his head. It was coming now— whatever they had to face—together. A voice mumbled. “ Hurry up!” another barked in authori- tative fashion. A key rattled in the lock. The door swung open and— Special Agent Marvin appeared. CHAPTER XI. ANOTHER SHOCK FOR EDDIE. ARVIN! Eddie recognized him in a brain-whirling flash. He had hoped never to see him again when he left him this evening—hours ago. And yet now he was glad. Marvin stood for law and order—for the power of the Federal gov- ernment behind him. But—but—it was all very strange. It was all as strange, as un- expected, as unbelievable as everything that had been bobbing up unexpectedly all eve- ning. It was the last thing of which Eddie had dreamed—that Marvin should be here —inside this house. Eddie gulped. His arm fell away from Mildred’s waist. He stared at the I. D. man—and then his lips came open. “ Marvin!” he mouthed. Marvin nodded. ‘“ Hello, Harmon,” he said briskly. ‘“ Weren’t expecting me, I take it. Well, neither were the others. But—-the unexpected bird catches the worm —sometimes. You two are all right, though, I guess.” He smiled. And Mildred flushed. Mar- vin had undoubtedly gained at least a glimpse of Eddie’s arm about her when he came through the door. And all at once Eddie understood the whole situation. There had been another raid! COnmiclboool< (C@