Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

CLOVELLY, the rascally Italian fencing master and street brawler had called it, stood him in stead. His slender weapon clashed against two, flung their points aside, and gave him the tenth part of a second to decide whether he should try to break through them or retreat. They did their best to help him come to a decision. The two were not alone. Others were looming in the shadows behind them. “ Cut for his legs, Charlie,” growled one voice. “I'll put my point through the throat of the dog.” And they lunged at him in unison. There was no time for circular parries now, no matter how universal might be their nature. Clovelly, like a man of sense, turned on his heels and fled for his life. He gained the attic room again in time to slam the door and shoot home the bolt which guarded it. But that frail security promised to hold only the briefest moment. The thrust of one heavy shoulder would break the door in. He added another bolt of a differing nature by shouting: ‘“T’ll pistol the first rascal to come in!” “Bear back, mates!” roared a_ thick voice. “The main thing is to keep him here while the other work goes on. Steady, lads. We’ll have the fox out of the hole when we’re ready to take him. There’s time enough on our side.” Clovelly was already at the window, but, hearing this, he had half a mind to go back, open the door, and strive to rush down the stairs while they were taken by surprise, but he was no reckless madman. He con- trolled that impulse at once. Whatever might be the “other work ” which was going on—and he needed small wits to guess that it had to do with Cecily —he could not help by attempting to storm a fortress. Instead, he looked down to the ground through the window, and he had no sooner taken the survey than he acted to take advantage of it. He swung himself through at the very moment that a newcomer up the stairs hurled forward at the door and brought it down with a crash. Clovelly climbed like a cat te the ground and crouched there an instant. 115 Voices were bawling in the room which he had just left. The whole hotel was wakened; here a woman screamed; there a man was shouting for a light; another was cursing at the top of his lungs; heavy feet crashed against the floors; lights swung in the windows. But Michael Clovelly felt that his grand adventure was completely lost. The girl was gone from him, and he would never be able to retake her. And, writhing and grinding his teeth, he cursed himself as a fool for ever pausing to take shelter in a hotel. He should have made straight on until the horses died—then still ahead with others until they came to the lights of Lon- don and victory. A door was being battered in the lower part of the building. He followed a blind hope and raced around the hotel to the window of the girl. Luck was good to him here. It was against her very door that they were still pounding. It was too lucky to seem real. But, after all, it might be that they had presented themselves at that door only a few sec- onds before. ‘They had gone there at the same instant that the men went up the Stairs to reach him. He was at the window in a trice. Past the edge of the curtain he saw Cecily cower- ing in a corner of the room, dressed com- pletely. The batterings ceased for the in- stant. For the door was of the stoutest oak, secured with two thicknesses laid in opposite directions. It had defied the as- sailants so far, although they had sadly shattered and broken it. “Cecily! Cecily!” bawled the angry voice of her father. ‘“ What the devil, you stupid minx? Will you undo the bolts?” “ Father,” cried the girl, her voice trem- bling with fear, “ I cannot manage them— there is some trick—I cannot tell—” “You lie, you little fool!” thundered the irate squire. “ You’ve grown enamored of the cutthroat who has taken you off. But I'll have you back from him. I’ve sealed my bargain by letting the knave take you; now let him keep you if he can. Lads, have down the door. Damn the host. I’ll manage his business fer him later en.” The last ne doubt implied that the land- Gomichdooks (E@)