Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 2 — page 153: what you’re looking at

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

HOW MANY CARDS? for?” snorted McCarty. ‘“ Use the brains that God gave you, Denny, and don’t be criticizing your betters! I’m thinking Ford’s trouble was not as to how Creveling died, but that he was dead, and ’twas not grief that was consuming him, either!” _ “Then what was it?” Dennis demanded, nettled at the rebuke. . “That’s one of about a million ques- tions I’m after asking myself,” admitted McCarty. ‘ The Crevelings’ doctor wasn’t any help, nor yet Mrs. Waverly.” _ “ She’s on to her husband’s gallavanting, though, that’s plain.” Dennis attacked his second piece of pie with gusto. ‘‘ He said he’d be at the Belterre, but she was taking no chances on proving him a liar by call- ing up even to tell him about Creveling. She’s probably got over the quarreling stage and had rather let well enough alone.” ‘“‘ And since when do you know anything about women?” asked McCarty with scorn. “Tis not in reason that she could care enough for him to be jealous, but the only time a woman is not glad to have some- thing to hang on a man is when she’s in her grave. However, that’s neither here nor there. Who put up that ten thousand dol- lars bail for the girl, Ilsa? Where is she now? Who’s back of. her? The jewels don’t matter, but I tell you, Denny, I'd like a few words with her!” “Let her go,” advised Dennis quite as though the elusive Ilsa were within reach of their hands. “ ’Tis not a thieving house- . maid you're after, but the. man that shot Creveling.”’ , ‘The man that shot him may never be ’ found,” McCarty remarked and then, at his companion’s stare of incredulity, he added hastily: “ Cutter is the smoothest proposition of them all. Of course, his alibi is as good as the Fords since they were all together in his-house, but why did he try fo steer me or to the idea of in- sanity as the reason for Creveling’s sup- posed suicide? Just because it was the only way to let everybody else out of re- sponsibility, or knowing that Creveling had no motive for killing himself, did he grab that as the wool to pull over our eyes to _ keep us from going ‘over to the murder theory and investigating them all?” 330 ‘“‘ But you say he’s of a grand old family with money and position and all; what’s he got to be afraid of in an investigation?” protested Dennis. ‘“ If Creveling was mur- dered and he thinks he knows who did it why should he shield him?” ‘What is he doing, or the O’Rourkes, either, going around with a crowd like that?” waiter. ‘“ Mrs. Creveling was there with the family-tree and so was Mrs. Waverly, - according to Jimmie Ballard, but they both married plain up-starts and bounders for their money as far as I can make out, and look at the rest of the lot! Mrs. Kip, a climber and God knows what else besides; the Fords as common as bog Trish and hanging on by their eyelids, and George Alexander a has-been in spats and a goatee! What is it makes them all hang together? It’s not love of each other’s company, for there never were birds of such different feathers, Denny. What’s it that binds them together? What’s the game? When I’ve found that out I’m thinking Ill be a long way to knowing who killed Eugene Creveling.” | - CHAPTER XXI. THREE TO ONE. . FEW minutes before eight o’clock that evening a slouching figure strolled around the corner of a shabby street not far from the wide avenue which bor- dered the park and took up his stand mid- way the block. He leaned nonchalantly against an area. railing with a cigarette hanging from his lips and his hat pushed far back on his head so that the rays from a near-by street lamp fell full upon his Square-jawed but not uncomely face. He might have been a fespectable young artisan out to keep a tryst with the girl of his choice or a mere idler of the neighbor- hood, but there was a curious contrast be- tween the indolence of his attitude andthe covertly alert expression in the gaze which he shifted alternately from the westward corner to the precinct station-house a few yards away. The traffic of the day had ceased, but the COLM McCarty crooked his finger at the | Goo COlini