The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 261: what you’re looking at

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

BY THE ENEMY’S WILL. BY BURFORD DELANNOY. The fearsome experiences of a new tenant, involving the strange solution of adark mystery. CHAPTER I. A MYSTERIOUS ENTRANCE. “7 OU have chambers to let in Ray- mond Buildings? ” He glanced at me; nodded affirma- tively by way of reply. I continued: “ T should like some particulars about them.” The steward of Gray’s Inn turned to a book lying at his elbow on the desk against which he was standing. “Rather an unusual thing, isn’t it,” I remarked as he searched for the entry, “to have to bill the need of a tenant? I thought the demand for rooms in the Inn was greater than the supply.” He looked up from the book, twirled | his mustache and shrugged his shoul- ders; that was the only answer accord- ed. He was evidently the kind of stew- ard to hide his conversational talents in a napkin. “TI don’t remember,” I continued, in an effort to induce him to open his mouth, “that I ever saw a To Let bill posted up in that portion of the Inn be- fore.”’ “No. It is unusual.” His mantle of dumbness was cast off with that remark. But the: manner of shedding it—the curious tone in his voice—piqued my curiosity. “'There’s a reason for it?” My question was put in such a way that he had to answer it, or risk im- peachment for direct incivility. Prefer- ring adoption of the former course, he, with poorly veiled reluctance, liberated the word: ce Yes.” At that he gave a second up and down performance with his eyes, looked me over again as well as the interve- ning desk would permit, and queried: “You haven’t been in London long? ” It was as much comment as question. 5A — he speaker did not seem to expect an answer, but for all that I returned one. “What is this?” I inquired, impart- ing a tinge of humor. “Illustration that you have acquired the Sherlock Holmes habit of observation? Ordo I wear the hayseed look of a yokel so thickly that the fact is patent?” For a moment a glimmer of amusc- inent lighted the steward’s eyes; it van- ished as suddenly as a luminous adver- tisement. But it was a distinct relief to find that melancholy had not marked him for her own. Something of a smile lin- -gered round his lips as he made an- SWCT: “No. You misunderstand me. I meant that you did not seem posted in what. has been happening in London lately.” “That's so.” Your card ”*—he picked it up as he spoke—“ tells me you are a solicitor.” “Ton’t send for a policeman! I plead guulty, my lord!” “IT quite thought that the fact—the very unusual fact—of a suicide having taken place in the Inn would not have escaped a legal man’s attention.” “Oh!” The ejaculation left me in a long- drawn-out note. I was surprised into ite expulsion by an enlightening mem- orv which came to me with a rush. “You don’t mean to say——” I be- van, then stopped. The memory had become complete. “ Why, of course! It was in Raymond Buildings that Stevens, the lawyer. killed himself.” . The steward fell into my style of talking. Perhaps he found it infec- tious; possibly his adoption of it was a species of derision. He said: “That’s the bull’s eye! ” “And these rooms about which I came here to make inquiries, these ECOMRRIC LOG (GO) awa