Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THE DUKE OF DISDAIN. It would be two hours before a train was due. While the meal was being made ready, the two strolled off for a chat, out of earshot. Miss Dale looked curiously at the chap whose cross-section of life had impinged on her own the night of the tragedy. There were many things that she wanted to ask. But she forebore, while Hank, too, seemed to find it difficult to express what was on his mind. Finally he blurted: “ Have you seen or heard anything of your umbrella, since the inquest?” “7 heard of it.” Then she told him the balance of Noble Howard’s revelations to her of Mr. Fitch’s weird story of the tragedy. “T don’t want to pry into your affairs,” said Hank, “ but may I ask what Mr. How- ard’s idea was, about his visit to the jail this morning? He told me yesterday that he would be there, this morning; and if I was around there, he’d let me in on a big piece of news. News, Miss Dale, is my bread and butter, as I told Mr. Howard, yesterday. I have no money except what I earn and I try to earn all I get—and a little morg. Does that explain my persist- ence and my intrusions?” Dorothy Dale gave him a quizzical look. ‘“‘ Well—partly,” she opined, adding swiftly, “ but even that frankness of yours is very, very good, and of course I ought to be equally candid. I’m supposed to be a very wealthy girl. Maybe I am. But, aside from an annuity, I haven’t a penny. Poor Mr. Marshall used to say to my father, who ‘ failed,’ as they say, that there must be property undisclosed somewhere. And he was forever wading through old records, when I was too young to understand what he was doing.” Hank Thomas gave a whistle. that—” “ Ves,” said Dorothy sadly, “ that might explain what he came up to the house to talk over with Mr. Fitch. But, I didn’t know that until early this morning—when Noble Howard told me the rest of the story Mr. Fitch had told him.” “Tt hooks up,” said Hank with convic- tion. ‘“ Poor Marshall was starting for pa- “< Why, 217 pers in his raincoat when he was shot— ah! Myers was looking for a real paper in his portfolio, at the inquest. I see, now. Rebecca Whos-it, the late mayor’s stenog- rapher, was also on hand. She told Myers that Marshall had taken some sort of pa- per up there and Myers couldn’t find it among the dead man’s effects. “Well, Pl be double—excuse me, Miss Dale. Now suppose we go back to dine. Then Ill phone the forenoon lookout man on the Times, and see what he knows about this jail-break and whatever else has been happening in Downington since you and I eloped. Are you game?” “Is that a challenge?” Dorothy turned a provocative face up to his own, her eyes danced, and, in full view of nine envious male visages draping the hotel steps, she tucked her arm underneath his own, and pirouetted into the bucolic dining room. The old negro waiter giggled behind his napkin. Often, in the old days, the elopers had slid out of Downington, and waited for the train here. “This is turning out to be a lovely day,” said Dorothy, demurely. ‘‘ Now, as soon as you find out how Claude fared, I shall be supremely happy. For Noble Howard generally knows what he’s doing—and my frankness has miles and miles to go with you yet.” Hank felt giddy again, when he entered the booth. Within it, he hunched up and clamped the receiver to his ear. ; He was gone for what seemed to Doro- thy to be an age. The time seemed longer to him, although his patient ear drum was immediately vi- brating with tumultuous throbs of fresh facts so utterly beyond conjecture. CHAPTER XIII. DREAMS. “Q DON’T know about the jail-break,” said the chap speaking, “ but, Hank, here is plenty of other red hot stuff.” “Shoot it, Tommy.” “The Express is already out with a third- flash extra. From this and the other two EOPMICLOOOKS (E@)