The Argosy, April 1916 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

A MYSTERY OF ROSCOE CONKLING PARK. sat down in an arm-chair to browse on mys- tery. He surely had food enough for thought. The night had not been so stren- uous but that he could think of Beverly and what all this meant to her. He was in his inherited house—on his own ground. Her position was, to say the least, anomalous. Now even the shadowy protection afforded by the old dame was gone. But he would soon make that right. As his wife—”’ Then the mystery of Greenland’s visit, without cause or effect, came uppermost. He dismissed that as inconsequential. The two midnight marauders occupied his atten- tion longer. But, as he grew drowsy, final- ly, and his pipe went out, his head sank, his chin rested on his breast, and he dreamed again of Beverly. And the dawn found him sitting thus. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BLACK BAG. "THERE was no early rising at the Old Mill Farm that morning. ‘True, the first sun rays that entered the dining-room windows disturbed Yale, and he left his un- comfortable position in the chair and lay down on a lounge in the liviag room with- out undressing. Beverly, exhausted by the excitement of the night’s adventures, slept profoundly far into the brilliant winter morning. Yale was the first to be astir, and, ‘dis- liking to rouse Beverly, proceeded to build the kitchen fire and make coffee. There was bread, bacon and potatoes, and the odor of camp cooking soon mounted the stairs to Beverly. ‘Whatever are you doing?” she wanted to know when she appeared. Yale stood by the stove enveloped in smoke of a none too delicate perfume, “Making breakfast. Bacon, potatoes, coffee,” he replied. “Did you parboil the bacon?” “No. Do your” “T do, or I can’t eat it. You’ve burnt the potatoes. Hey, your coffee is boiling. Don’t you know that coffee must not boil? T'll get breakfast. What time did you get up?” “Haven’t been down, really. Slept in a chair till daylight, and polished off my awe on the living room lounge,” said ale. ‘was some sort of reason in it. 5D “Have you seen anything of Adolphus or the old dame?” ‘“‘Nor hide nor hair.” “It’s very strange.” Yale walked away with a troubled face. He left the house by the kitchen door, and made a detour around the outbuildings. When he returned the smoke had been blown out of the kitchen through open win- dows, and an appetizing breakfast was on the table. “Tt’s worse than strange,” he said, as though continuing an uninterrupted con- versation. Beverly looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘What is?” “The disappearance of the old woman and Adolphus. It is disastrous.” ‘You mean?” “T mean that we cannot remain here without them. So long as the sop of a woman’s presence was thrown to propriety, and Adolphus, her son, was also here, there But now we must think of other arrangements. I’ve been studying the question ever since I woke.” “So that’s why you let the coffee boil and burned the potatoes. Well, there is much in what you say, but I don’t see any solu- tion any more than you do. We have no friends to whom we can sneak, two people suspected of robbery, and say, ‘Here we are, hide us; we are wanted by the police. Be It was the hardest puzzle Vale had ever attempted to solve. He ate slowly, trying hard to think of a way out of their trying position, when a heavy fist banged on the kitchen door. Yale started up and Beverly turned a shade paler. Before Kenneth could reach the door it was flung open, and the chief of police of Utica, followed by Detective Blake, came in. “You are rather hard on your friends,” said the chief, surveying the room with his calm, keen scrutiny. “Never sent an invitation for a week- end,” added Blake. ‘How do you do, Miss Wayne, or is it—” “T am still Beverly Wayne,” she said, rising from her chair. “What’s the news. about Williams?” asked Yale, who had mastered his misgiv- ings and was determined to face whatever was to come with his usual fortitude. MICLOOOK C@