The Argosy — page 259: what you’re looking at

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

238 STORIES FROM THE STUDIOS. ——.-___ A DARK DEED. By E. BLair LEIGHTON. How EVER innocent one may be, it is certainly an unpleasant thing to be even suspected of having taken part in the perpetra- tion of a foul and dastardly crime. ‘That happened once to be my unfortunate position, and I give the facts as they really occurred. My first studio was the front drawing-room of a small house in Notting Hill. It was within a few minutes’ walk of my home, and had the additional advantage of being hardly more than a stone’s throw ‘from the house of my intimate friend and brother-brush, E. ‘This proximity both he and I found convenient, as it enabled us to mutually accommodate one another with the loan of various properties: cos- tumes, and other things incidental to peinting. What I lacked he frequently had, and wéce versa ; and many were the mysterious-looking ‘bundles that were conveyed from house to house. ‘Amongst those properties of mine which my friend had occasion to borrow from time to time was an ancient, stuffed lay-figure ; a perfect ‘veteran in her way, which had probably played leading parts in the works of some long since defunct old master. Age had not enhanced her charms ; and whatever she might have resembled in her palmier days, at the time I speak of she could boast of neither grace nor symmetry. I had purchased her for a small sum from an artist, who was giving up his studio in town with the idea of travelling for a ‘time, and did not wish to be hampered by taking a lady with him. At the time she came into my possession one shoulder and both her ankles were dislocated, several fingers were missing, and she also suffered from an internal and chronic hemorrhage of sawdust, under which she was visibly wasting away. For all that, however, she was still of some use. In love scenes she played a good passive part, and, if carefully propped up, would be a great aid in painting anything exceptionally elaborate in the way of a skirt. Dummy—for so I was in the habit of familiarly terming her—had been on a rather protracted visit at E.’s, and as I was in need of her services myself, and knew that E. had finished with her, I arranged with him that, under cover of the night, we should convey her home. This, on account of other engagements, we were obliged to postpone until a late hour, when I was to go and fetch her in a cab. Accordingly, at about half-past eleven that night, I engaged a four- wheeler at the end of E.’s road. Having forgotten the number of Gomichookssco m