Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

220 already, you needn’t tell me its name; and I can swear that you didn’t give me the name of your destination.” “You're not going?” asked Dorothy. “Why, won’t they suspect the ruse?” “Tm not going, but when Mrs. Fitch sends word I’m coming. They need me at the office, bad. Pay cash fare—and, as our Afro-American well-wisher said: ‘ Keep trabblin’,’ until you get there.” _ He took off his hat and raised her hand gently to his lips. Her own were still as spotless as at birth, and the facetious re- porter was grinning in a most diabolical fashion and waving his hat, when the Bar Harbor Limited on the Maine Line tore to- ward the small remnant of the State boun- dary, after he dropped off. He went to the Times office at once on his arrival at Downington. The chief met him and stopped short. “Where is Dorothy Dale?” “Am I my Pancake’s keeper?” flashed Hank. “ He carried her off, didn’t he? Well, I’m back to work. Ran out of funds chas- ing goose-eyed bandits. My expense ac- count will make you quiver worse than this blow-off you think has us all lashed to the mast. “Excuse me, I’m busy. Got to talk to Claude Cutler Fitch. Changed my mind. Claude ain’t here. Important biz., else- where. I got him out of jail—Myers ran true to form—and Myers will be running rings around the Express office before morn- ing. I'll write you the nicest little story you ever printed, after the district attorney takes me before the grand jury, now in session.” He walked out of the office, still grin- ning. His chief sat down in the waste-basket. “Poor Hank,” said he, “ the strain we put on him is too much. His brain was full of this case. I wouldn’t let him write what he knew, and it all soured.” Six process servers sprang from six sepa- rate and concealed spots as Hank threaded his way from the Times building to the street. They clustered around until he was actually inside the door and facing Mr. Myers. Then they went away. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘Well, Mr. Thomas,” severely began the official, ““I suppose you know the jig is up.” “It’s always up, when it isn’t down, and when it isn’t going up and down,” said Hank demurely. ‘‘Do you want me to dance a jig? I feel like it. Pull in your horns, or Ill have to plaster them with two- dollar bills to fend myself from mortal harm. In a word, get hep.” ‘What do you mean? Please go a little slower and be more connected, Mr. Thomas. Really, you gentlemen of the press bewilder me—your spontaneity—and all that,” purred the prosecutor. “Tell the poor boob on the other end of your dictagraph wire I suffer with him,” said Hank gravely. “I know what it is to suffer. I began studying headstones at an early age and only broke the pernicious habit to-day. Turn to the statute relating to man and wife and ask me how you can ask me any questions regarding a lady that was once on a time, we'll say, née Dorothy Dale?” “Aha! So that’s the way the wind blows, is it?” “Tf your metaphor runs dry, send for James Montgomery Hardy. I stand upon my statutory rights. You can indict and be damned. You can draw your own in- ferences. I’m going to stand pat until ten o’clock to-morrow morning. “Then I’m coming in, if you play fair, with enough evidence for you to hang your reputation up and give it a new bloodhound tinge all over. I'll play fair, all the way. So Ill tell a badly-deluded public in to- morrow’s Times just what your case is— and, meanwhile, the man who really fits it isn’t named ‘ Jane Doe,’ and is where he can’t get away.” “Sounds reasonable,” said Myers crafti- ‘Have you got all the facts?” “Tl leave that to you, after you read the morning paper. Shall we say ten o’clock ?”’ “Really, Mr. Thomas, I wish you’d play fair with me now. It isn’t quite right for you to defy the authority of the whole com- monwealth so deliberately, is it?” “The vital link of evidence will be in my hands to-morrow morning. It is docu- ly. GEomichooks (E(0)