The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 205: what you’re looking at

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

MODERN WEAPONS. “ What of it?’ answered Jowett, as imperturbable as before. The intruder rather waved the weapon. “Hurry up—what you want?” Jowett demanded sharply. The man seemed trying to gain self- possession, and played for time like awkwardly an actor who forgets his lines. Rather ~ haltingly he advanced another step, and leveled the blue steel at Jowett’s head. ‘Put that thing up, you fool! Put it up, I tell you!’ The old man’s voice was harsh and masterful. The newcomer still appeared to waver. “Say something!” Jowett thun- dered. ‘‘ What’are you here for?” “Well, I'll tell you. I came here for trouble. That’s what I mean.” The man’s anger seemed to rise as he pro- gressed. ‘I came here to beat your fat head into a jelly. My fingers were hungry for the feel of your throat. I don’t want to shoot you. I want to beat you and hear you groan every time my fist mashes your bloated cheeks! ”” Jowett turned to Miss Davis, whose agitation was approaching hysteria. “Don’t worry, girl,’ he said com- fortingly. “Let’s not have a scene. Maybe we'd better let him have his way.” ‘To the intruder he continued: “ Anything else? ” ‘Just this else—I’m gonna to do it, and-do it now.” Jowett calmly rose, laid his glasses on the desk, and took a step forward: “Go ahead!” he urged. “ Smash me! I won't stop you. You've got me cornered.” The intruder charily pocketed the revolver. Then deliberately, almost grimly, he squared away like a prize- fighter before a punching-bag and drove his fist into Jowett’s face. The old man crumpled and went down ina pathetic heap. Swiftly, with dramatic viciousness, the assailant kicked the prostrate figure until it unlimbered backward. Miss Davis was screaming; she seized the 191 telephone - receiver, but an intolerable two seconds’ delay was giving the at- tacker more opportunities. He was ripping and tearing at Jowett’s throat. Fearful that another moment or two might mean murder, she flung herself forward and clutched at the assailant’s hair. He shook himself loose and ran. When she felt Jowett’s pulse and found it beating the girl recovered her self - possession somewhat and _tele- phoned for help. When the manufac- turer opened his eyes half a minute later she was sprinkling his face with ice-water and sobbing convulsively. “They said this wouldn’t be,” she pleaded, beside him on her knees. “Coprini promised—promised me by everything he held dear! ” Jowett had heard. “Coprini?”’ he asked very weakly. “ Coprini, the striker? What have you got to do with Coprini, girl? ” “I loved him,” she confessed. “‘ He sent me here to work so I could tell him all your plans. ‘ We just want to get our rights,’ Coprini said. There was to be no violence, no blood—”’ The girl shuddered. “ And now they try murder! They make me an accom- plice! Coprini promised, and he lied! I’m a spy, Mr. Jowett! I’m a spy! I’m ashamed to look you in the face. You never can forgive me. I never can redeem myself.” Feebly, but with little more emotion than if he were dictating a business let- ter, Jowett reassured her: “Tm all right, girl. You'll not feel so bad when you clear your conscience. Just tell what happened. When the re- porters come tell them everything.” II. NEWSPAPERMEN called it a “ big story ’’—the girl spy in the inner office -of the millionaire manufacturer, the as- sault, the confession of the spy, the mysterious entry and escape of the as- sailant in spite of bars and guards. Coprini’s ‘denials that the strikers were concerned in the plot had little ap- oO COMmMiclhoo S CO