The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 303: what you’re looking at

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

THE COIL OF CIRCUMSTANCE. “The deuce you do!” I muttered to myself; I did not like the idea of giving them up before I acquired the informa- tion I needed so badly. Lestrade started to speak again, but of what he said I have no idea. At that moment I received a distinct shock. My cigar had gone out; I wanted to light it again, and after a vain search of my pockets for a match, had reached for the morning’s newspaper, which lay at my hand. My intention was to make a spill and light it at the gas jet which burned, turned low, above us. A single word on the paper caught my eye; it was the name of my guest —lLestrade—in a headline to a small paragraph. DEATH AT THE SPANISH EMBASSY HERNANDEZ LESTRADE, K. G. F., ATTACHE, DIES OF TYPHOID. The date was that of the previous day. I began to think very swiftly, mean- while composedly tearing off a bit of the paper and rolling a spill. Clearly this man was an impostor. Was he one of the gang of assassins? In a moment memory came to me; he was the fellow who had almost run into my auto as I waited under the garden wall the night that seemed so far away—the same fellow who had so impudently asked for a hght and dis- appeared—the same, but with a false mustache and glasses. I leaned back in the chair, twirling the spill. “Senor Lestrade,” I said foolishly, “are you a theosophist ¢ ”’ “Pardon? ” | He looked at me as if he thought I had suddenly gone mad. I repeated the query. “TI was wondering,” I added, “if you believed in reincarnation. Because, you know, youre dead—died yesterday. Funny, isn’t it? But, come to think of it, I don’t believe Pll trust you with that satchel.” I put out my hand quickly, and with fatuous confidence, thinking to grasp the satchel ere he could grasp the sit- uation. But I had misjudged my adver- sary; he was far swifter of movement than was I. C; OUgle 299 Moreover, in my stupidity I had not allowed for the fact that I was dealing with a man desperate and careless of consequences. For that blindness I was to pay the penalty. While my arm was extended, my fingers within an inch of the grip of the satchel, I saw his fist dart out, and caught the flash of a silvery flame— a moving knife blade. I attempted to dodge, and that may have saved me some suffering; for, in- stead of pinning my hand to the table, as was undoubtedly his thought, the blade shot down through my coat sleeve and cuff—I felt the cold steel graze my wrist—and the haft of the dagger bruised my flesh as, with tre- mendous force, he drove it into the top of the table. With one arm thus made helpless, I was at the man’s mercy. Nor did he delay. Upon the instant he seized the edge of the board and tipped it over upon me, forcing me to the floor with a heavy mahogany din- ing-table resting upon my wrist. I tore at the dagger’s haft with my free hand, raging with exasperation. The man laughed coldly. “You young fool!” he sneered. “With whom did you think you were dealing? Imbecile!” My answer—a natural one under the circumstances—did not please him. He came and stood over me, fingering the triggcr of a revolver in whose black muzzle [ read my death warrant. At that I flung my arm across my eyes, instinctively; I know now why they blindfold men who are about to be shot. “Shoot, you cur!” I shouted in a voice that I knew trembled with fear. But instead the hound kept me writh- ing there, each moment expecting my quietus. At length, wearying of the sport, he stooped and roughly flung my arm from my face. “Angry little child!” he sneered. “Do not cry, I beg of you! Never fear —TI shall not kill you. “ Not that I would have mercy upon you, but—the shot might be heard. Another time, little one, we may meet and—and then you will retract your words. Believe me, you will.” COMM ElOOOkKKS CO