Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 2 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

HOW MANY CARDS? McCarty called on the O’Rourkes and then on Mrs. Baillie Kip. The O’Rourkes referred him to Cutter as the man most intimate with Creveling’s affairs. Mrs. Kip refused to be catechised, but a shot in the dark returned the information she had heard from Waverly of Creveling’s death. She registered palpable relief when told the police were inclined to the theory of-suicide. Moreover, she had lied about the whereabouts of: her companion, Miss Frost. Could she be the woman in the case? Then McCarty went on to view Miss Frost at her hotel and learned of the strange night visits of Mrs. Kip and her disheveled condition and her wounded arm on her return home early in the morning of the night of the murder. He was in the midst of an interview with Mrs. Lonsdale Ford when the latter left him to greet her husband in the hall. “We're done for, girl,” he heard Ford say to his wife. The man admitted to McCarty he had some dealings with Waverly and had seen him the day of the crime before he bundled the ex-roundsman out of the heuse. Finally, McCarty returned to the Creveling house and learned from Mrs. Creveling that some months ago she had had a valuable necklace stelen. A servant, Ilsa Helwig -had been arrested and released on bail, furnished in cash by a mysterious stranger. Then the girl disappeared. When he left Mrs. Creveling’ s bedside, the ex-roundsman was convinced the face of the maid who showed him to the door was familiar. Was it the mysterious face that had so suddenly appeared at one of the windows on. the morning following the murder, when McCarty had looked out of the 329 cab on his way to keep the appointment with Waverly? CHAPTER XIX. THE ADMIRABLE MR. CUTTER. EAVING the Creveling house, McCarty |. for the second time that day board- ed a south-going bus, having ascer- tained from Rollins that Mr. Nicholas Cut- ter lived on lower Fifth Avenue near Wash- ington Square, and as he rode down-town he wondered somewhat grimly if further mystery were te greet him at his destina- tion. Never had he known a case with so many conflicting elements, so many threads which led apparently nowhere, such an in- extricable tangle of tantalizing suggestions and false clues. Somewhere among them, he knew, lay the solution to the enigma, but it still eluded him. Would Cutter turn out to be-as much of a puzzle as the rest of them had been? | The number given him proved to be that of an old-fashioned, square mansion of brick and brownstone situated upon a corner and running back to an unusual depth upon the side street, with a high wall bordering the strip of yard which separated its extension from the house at the rear. McCarty strolled past and examined the extension with curious eyes. It resembled a conservatory, but the walls and dome were formed of thick, opaque, rubbled glass behind which he fancied he could dis- tinguish a network of strong, protectin g wires; surely, if there were plants in there they were of extraordinary value to require such guard. The shades had been raised at all the windows of the house, but they were masked by heavy lace. curtains behind which some darker material hung in close folds and no sign of life appeared about the establishment. _ McCarty mounted the broad steps which led to the massive front door and sounded . with a vigorous hand the bronze knocker which faced him between the wide panels. Its echo crashed upon his ears like the clang of a jail gate and promptly the door swung open, revealing an elderly figure in conventional black whose faded eyes blinked rapidly in the rays of the setting sun as though unaccustomed to its light. “Mr. Nicholas Cutter. Does he live here?”” McCarty asked. “Yes, sir.” The doorway was wide but the shrunken, stoop-shouldered figure seemed consciously to fill it as McCarty made a move to step inside. “T’d like to see him.” ““T will see, sir, if he is disengaged.” The servant’s tone was gentle with old- fashioned courtesy rather than obsequious- ness, but he still blocked the doorway. ‘‘ What name, sir?” “Timothy McCarty, though twill mean nothing to him. Just tell him that I’m here on a most important private matter.” “Come in, sir.” The man threw the door wider, and turning, led the way with tottering but surprisingly quick footsteps to a second door at the side of the dm hallway. “I’m not sure he will be able to see you, but I will take your message.”’ : COMIC oHOolkKS.con