The Argosy — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

Lady Valera. FT security. There were lights still in the Royal Denbigh’s mess, sounds of voices and glimpses of scarlet and gold figures picturesquely em- bowered in Dalyell’s cherished vegetation, with tobacco vapour enough to cause the last of the Aphides to give up the ghost incontinently. Edric paused before going on to his hut, but weariness and a dread of question and remark carried the point, and he went his way to his own quarters. Dalyell, who occupied the other half of the hut, was manifestly still absent, and Edric hesitated to enter. ‘The flapping white blind in Dalyell’s open window startled him. The passage be- tween the rooms looked dark and like a pitfall: though he knew well that by daylight there was nothing worse to be seen there than his own spare table and a furniture case or two. It was his nerves he told himself that were all unstrung and playing him tricks. What else could persuade him that a dark figure drew back further into the dark, and that he had seen a hand rest for a second on the edge of that table just as he struck a cigar-light and looked about him. He let himself into his room and lighted the candles, all of them, and his reading-lamp as well. ‘Then he searched the place thoroughly, half-ashamed of himself as he did so. Everything was exactly as he was accustomed to find it. Then he set about discovering the safest place of deposit for his letter and ring. His chest of drawers had an arrangement for writing ; a desk that pulled out and closed with a patent lock. He cleared it of everything and placed Lady Valeria’s deposit therein, then locked it securely. “Suppose I lose that key, or let it get stolen!” he thought; ‘and someone else gets hold of it. I know what Ill do, I[’ll sink it in the sea—or better, get a hammer and smash it to-morrow, and whenever the letter is wanted J’ll burst the drawer open.” . He put it under his pillow, and, with a feeling of being rather ridiculous, took his revolver from its case, examined and loaded it carefully and placed it within reach of his hand, and making a rapid operation of undressing, at last plunged into bed in search of the restful, dreamless sleep he was longing for. It would not come. Weary as his tired eyes were, they refused to close. What prevented them? Why should he keep counting the folds into which that curtain fell between his room and the next? Why should he fancy that ever and again the edge drew softly aside as if someone were about to enter and then retreated. Why, it was too dark to make out anything except the forms that he knew by heart; his coat and cap on a hook, on the opposite wall, sword and belt on another, uniform neatly brushed and folded on the chair be- neath, and on the other side of the doorway the oak-framed photo- graph of the Cathedral and the smaller one of the Deanery, his old home, below it. That was all, for the light he had left burning out on the dressing-table had gutted down and was spluttering to its evil- smelling end. He watched the sparks lazily, too lazily to get up and extinguish them, or light another candle—watched them till they Conmicbooks (CO)