Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

610 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. along dusky, narrow, dusty halls, and at last into a little deserted room given over to rubbish and spiders. She closed the door without a sound. She knelt on the dusty floor and lifted a little square of board to one side, then crouched low and set an ear to the stovepipe hole. She learned, for the first time, that Louis Gerou knew the whereabouts of Jules—or that he had laid claim to that knowledge at least. He did not name it. He offered to name it for one hundred dollars, then for seventy-five dol- Jars; and then, receiving nothing more sub- stantial than evasions and mumbled pro- tests from his companion, he offered to take Mumphy to Jules for the price of the rail- road tickets. She wondered if he really knew, and if so how he had acquired the knowledge. Not from her, most assuredly. She had never mentioned the name of Jules or either of the Stalvarts or Porcupine Brook to any one. Her parents believed that she had been in Montreal, working in a store, during her absence from home. She heard, for the first time, that Louis Gerou had a grievance against Juless and she learned the cause of it. Louis told it to his companion. He, Louis, doing a little business in liquor in small and handy con- tainers through the lumber camps, had been caught by that damn old fool, Lem Stal- vart, after Jeff and the other members of the gang were well lit and eager for more; and he would have made a clean get-away but for that pie-faced skunk, Jules What’s Is Name, who had grabbed him when he was within half a jump of the door and damn near killed him. And Lem, the —— old dub, had taken him away and stuck him in jail. It was evident to Marcel, crouched in the dust with an ear to the stovepipe hole, that Louis Gerou believed his companion to be a detective; and she adopted his belief. What else could he be? He was from the States, that was certain, and it was equally certain that he was from populous centers. She heard the stranger ask questions of Louis. He seemed to be interested in the Stalvarts, too, but not so vitally as in Jules. And she heard Louis ask questions. Louis asked—this was after several rounds of whisky—what Mr. Mumphy wanted Jules for? Was it for a crime? What manner of crime? “Was it murder?” asked Louis. ‘“D’ye see any green in my eye?” re- turned Mumphy. ‘“ Don’t be shy wid me, mister,” said the bushwhacker. “ I’ll lead you to ’im; an’ if you ’ang ’im by the neck, t’ree cheers, I Says.” Marcel replaced the square of board over the stovepipe hole and stole silently from the cobwebby room and down the narrow stairs to where her mother sat knitting peacefully beside the big kitchen stove. She, too, had a piece of knitting, and she sat down in a rocking chair and went to work on it. : A black cat came out from behind th stove and jumped into her lap and coiled down contentedly. Her eyes were dropped to the clicking needles in her hands, and her brow was smooth; and Mme. Griffou, glancing across at her, was thankful that she was so well contented with her home. Little did madame suspect the thoughts at work behind that placid brow, the plans formed and considered, the startling de- cision made. An hour later Marcel wished her mother good night and went upstairs. But she took a turn to the right and again stole into the deserted room and crouched, in the dark, above the hole in the dusty floor. Louis and the stranger were still there. They were still talking, but their voices had undergone a change for the worse. They seemed to be in perfect accord, how- ever. “To-morrow night ’ll do,” said Mum- phy. “Save a long drive to the junction, you say. Good enough for me. What’s it matter—one day more or less? Nothin’. That suits me. Bottle empty? Sure thing! Give yer friend a shout, Louis.” That was exactly what Marcel wanted to know. They did not intend to drive out to the junction and catch the seven o’clock train from there. But if she did so—and she could walk to the junction in less than four hours—she would have a twelve hours’ lead on them. TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK COMmicbhoOoks.c© inn