Argosy, Vol. 147, No. 1 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

THE DANCE OF DEATH. tes; vse chirt! That must be hidden. His coat for that. One who had Ty ot 80° Pe csccat no longer covered it. AS should have died boldly—with a Jong as he could keep the napkin before his lips- That was Bartlett’s cre him he was sale, but how was he going to told himself that if the dead man cross the floor? He must wait until the duel, and his crime were lat’ home ® rest had gone. He must pretend Jes him—if > As bot ~~ ke sees he would be sentencee o the T; yw ther fallen asleep. In any case, ot reat a stronger then. He felt that he might risk how nonchalantly, how in ays 2a a little more champagne, now. And as he carelessly a man could die. For him the sipped it he looked about him. great going out had no terrors. He Tae He saw the red-haired girl, Mable, leave anticipated it as a new and strange ac rer her partner as Garry cut in. And a mo- ture. For if _ there were nothing — b 2 ment later he saw them leave the floor. He matter? He wou'd never know. + di recalled that red-haired girl. She was-— there were another life to live, wel f she had been Da Costa’s dancing partner. surely could not find it less interesting than So they must be sending for her now. He he had found this. It was all in the wa} looked at his watch. ‘Ten minutes to three. you looked at things—all in the wa Only an hour or so till daybreak! played the game! Himself, he had He smiled. been a poor loser. He had always | If he won, he told himself, he would go sport. He scorned a quitter or 2 welcne to Da Costa’s funeral and take a last look or a coward! Be at him before they laid him away forever. Every man has his own philosop Forever! That was a strange thought! life, whether it is formulated in we His career ended for good and all. But it not! Every man has his own cre d. was no great loss to civilization. And he _ lett’s creed was— Play the game!” had been an opponent—an enemy. Was he was playing it now, with every ounce € ‘t not a duel they were fighting —even now? strength that there was in him.” ee re) He remembered that murderers always And the dancer: danced; and the haunt the vicinity of their victims or the tra played; and men and women f scene of the crimes; but he could not deny laughed and whispered together; himself the satisfaction of attending the intent upon his own affairs. No funeral, whether it was a risk or not; he in the room even noticed — rry E owed himself that much. His eye followed the whirling colors on Katherine stole a glance ‘at her ti the dance floor. It was kaleidoscopic—be- wrist-watch set in diamonds—and not wildering—fascinating; all switling yellows time, too, and calculated swiftly ow and greens and blues and lavenders; reds longer her martyrdom would last. and silvers and golds and blacks and whites. martyrdom? Was this really ‘the And through the smoky-blue air strange ex- that she must suffer? It seemed to her no y otic perfumes drifted to his nostrils. He that che could endure nothing more. Nie ‘Yet drank them in. And the music thrummed she knew that one never realizes how mt and beat and moaned and sobbed and one can bear until the necesttgy al sighed with passionate abandon. This was From somewhere deep within us, ‘new re ee to the utmost. And upstairs voirs of endurance are (appeds “7 bis a. Pees should fail—and they should ¢ ctu ow his mind wandered. He had rest her—she would face the never thought much about death before. bravely. There would simply De s0thir It was just the end of things; the night’s else for her to do. aes > i 4 - > rest after a long day. But that was the In her early girlhood she hé | Pies that came gently and kindly to man the French rosie oe he b in i cst of his years. Not death as less, laughing, singing aristocré a Costa had met it—struggling painfully mounted the guillotine so ¢ —crying out in fear. He scorned Da Costa as she danced lose—closs oe ws is * “ ? a a, ee ae | _ ~comicbooks.com