The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 304: what you’re looking at

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

300 He laughed again, mirthlessly—in- deed, it was more a snarl—and put away his weapon; a refinement of his cruelty suggested itself to his ingen- ious mind. “By the way,’ he announced, “it may interest you to know that your dear little wife is in good hands—in the best of hands, if I may say so with- out immodesty. Depend upon it, senor, she will receive every attention that her rank demands, and when I return her to you—if ever I do——” I cannot further quote his words: I can but say that every syllable was a vile insult. And for the moment I—I think I went quite mad. What followed I eannot tell; I only know that some time later I seemed to come opt of an evil dream, to find myself still pinned down by that weighty table, but with a smoking re- volver in my hand. The man who had mocked me, the false Lestrade, sprawled hideously upon THE ARGOSY. the floor near the door; there was a clear, neat little hole drilled in his fore- head, and froin it blood oozed slowly. I remember that the expression on his face made me laugh wildly; it was one of pained surprise, utterly ludicrous —a grimace frozen by death. I laughed till the tears came, shaking so that I cut my arm on the edge of the dagger that still held it useless; but the pain I did not feel. After a while I returned to sobriety and the knowledge that I had taken the life of a fellow man. Then for a space I was very sick, and that passing, a queer feeling of lassi- tude came over me—an inertia accom- panied by a numbness of the brain and muscles. I had a curious sensation as though I were being watched, and half fancied old Morrison standing there in the doorway with his hand on the shoulder of the Duke de Soria—both smiling. But I dared not look. (To be continued. ) IN THE INTEREST OF SCIENCE. BY OSCAR HATCH HAWLEY. The unvarnished account of a strange test in electricity which went wrong. “T IVE wire,” was the laconic an- swer of “ Humorous Hank” when -asked the verdict of the coroner’s jury on a case which did not seem important enough for us to bother with. It was in the coroner’s office, where the “scribes” of the morning papers made their headquarters while looking for news around the city or county buildings. | Humorous Hank’s real name was Henry Beavers, but no one ever spoke of him by that cognomen. He was what is called a professional Juryman; that is, he hung around the coroner’s office, and consequently was sure to be called on every case which came under the coroner’s jurisdiction. Hank had a way of telling yarns which we all liked, and on days when _the news “grist” was light we were willing, even glad, to listen to his tales. “But that reminds me,” he continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “ There was a live wire case some few years back which would just have made you fellers jump if you had been in the scribblin’ business then. “You remember the old. electric works on Water Street? Well, that was the place where it happened. A couple of young fellers worked there who were mighty fond of each other. They were Bill and Jim Smith, but no relation. “They worked at the same business —making reduction coils, winding dynamos, etc.—and helped each other considerable in the study of electricity, which in them days had not attained the prominence it now has in the com- mercial world. “Jim was quite a large chap, but . Bill was thin and wiry. They lived in the same house, went to the same ElOOOkKKS A (S) = CO