Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 158: what you’re looking at

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

308 “How long since you were up at your uncle’s shooting lodge?’”’ Another bombshell burst in Bronson’s brain. Gazing wildly, like an animal at bay, he stammered: ‘“ Er—I couldn’t say, offhand; probably not since last winter.” ‘““ Uh—huh—I see!” grunted Reilly, then bending forward, he thrust a small object almost under Bronson’s nose. ‘“ Did you ever see this before?” Bronson took one look and an almost uncontrollable spasm of sheer terror swept him from head to foot. All his hopes, all his air castles came tumbling around him, with a ghastly sense of completeness. Where in God’s name had he dropped that knife? In the hunting lodge, most likely, for that would explain Reilly’s mysterious question. But he had been there for two days and he was almost certain that he had carefully looked for any incriminating ob- jects before he left, so as to be sure and not leave anything which would lead the authorities to suspect him. Almost cer- tain—but not quite! Wildly he stared at the impassive face of the detective as he strove to moisten his dry lips with a tongue that had suddenly become like leather; desperately he strove to collect his scattered wits; frantically he told himself that he was putting his neck in a noose by his actions, but to no avail; he was giving himself dead away to that dull looking man opposite—knew it, with a de- spairing feeling of finality—and yet, he couldn’t help it! He heard, as through a dense fog, the hated voice of Reilly, and when he realized what the words were his heart seemed clutched in an icy hand. ‘‘ Now, Bronson, suppose you tell me just why you were at your uncle’s hunting lodge, instead of New York, after you had bought a ticket for the latter city. There’s no use of your beating around the bush, for I found this knife of yours lying under the big water tank, and it could not have been there for more than three days, or it would show signs of rust; now let’s hear your story!” In a voice which he hardly recognized as his own, Bronson heard himself wildly ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. deny that he had been at the hunting lodge; heard himself frantically repeating the story of his trip to New York, and mentioning the people who saw him embark, and those that saw him get off the train from the city, but his tale was abruptly interrupted by Reilly, whose voice had suddenly grown harsh. “'That’s enough! Bronson, I arrest you for the murder of your uncle! Thanks to a dictagraph, everything you have said has been taken down in the presence of two wit- nesses from the district attorney’s office; the jig’s up!” ‘“ But,” Bronson heard himself stammer, ‘“‘T can prove—” “Don’t say it again, Bronson!” the de- tective interrupted. ‘‘ You have been say- ing that you went to New York on the nine ten train that night, haven’t you?” Yes,” Bronson shouted wildly, ‘“ and there’s people who—”’ “Why, you fool!” the rasping voice of Reilly again interrupted. ‘ Don’t you know that the nine ten was wrecked that night over forty miles from New York?” And then Bronson collapsed. V. FLANAGAN, the district attorney, greeted Reilly as the latter slouched into his office a few days later. “Well, Reilly, I guess you’ll get that five thousand that Abner Dawson’s sister offered for the apprehension of the old man’s mur- derer. Some haul, I’ll say!” | “Yes, ’tisn’t bad! chuckled a very dif- ferent Reilly from the vacuous looking man who had trapped Bronson. ‘“ Did that bird confess?” he asked idly. “Sure did,” exulted the attorney; ‘‘ came clear as a whistle! Say,” he finished, light- ing a cigar, ‘‘ that was pretty clever; the knife, I mean!” “Yes,” and Reilly laughed. ‘ When I heard him make that first slip about going to New York on the nine ten I got sus- picious. “‘T knew that he must have been in hid- ing somewhere, or else he surely would have heard of the wreck. So what better place could he choose than that old hunting lodge GOMIIGIoOOo S (©