Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

THE JACKAL’S The innkeeper shut one eye mysteri- ously and put his tongue in his cheek. “Victor Berard have many friends, madame,” he said pointedly. “ It was an officer of the police who was killed that Victor had to go away to prison—but it was for ten years only, because the officer had fired his pistol first. Many men had died before, but always it was that Victor» fired his shot in self-defense, you see? Some of his good friends were very large men in the colony, and that makes the difference.” The evening meal was finished with sweet_pancakes, cheese, and coffee, and after that the guests sat in the large general room and were regaled by their hosts with marvelous tales of the desper- ate escapades and achievements of the celebrated outlaw. A little later the innkeeper excused himself to set about the repairing of the motor-car’s tires against the early-morn- ing departure of the guests, and Mme. Tournier took upon herself the burden of the entertainment. “TI adore stories of adventure, Mme. Tournier,’ said Mrs. Eastman; “but I don’t know how well I shall sleep to- night. I hope that your desperado’s ship will not arrive until we are well away from the islands.” ‘Ah, but it was to arrive in port to- day,” the woman assured her unfeelingly. “Victor Berard, he may be already en- gaged in evil adventures!” “Then, for mercy’s sake, let us talk of the scenery and other pleasant things for the rest of the evening,” begged the lady, affecting an air of terror. A man was heard walking along the hard shell road. | “ Hola!” he cried loudly, halting be- fore the inn, and M. Tournier hurried out to meet him. “Bon soir, M. et Mme. Tournier!” thundered the stranger. The innkeeper fell back a pace and stared through the starlit gloom. “Victor Berard!” he almost yelled, in mingled consternation and surprise. MIGHTY ROAR. 517 Mme. Tournier, with even less re- straint, emitted a shriek. The two Americans sat breathless with amazement and a vague sort of expect- ancy as the celebrated outlaw swaggered into the room. “The welcome you give me, old friends,” said the returned convict harsh- ly, “is noisy, even if it lacks warmth. Come, show some joy at my retum. Bring me at once a bottle of that Beau- jolais of , eighteen-ninety-six, friend Tournier.” He threw himself luxuriously into a chair near the American visitors, then peered at the latter curiously, and waved them a bluff greeting. ‘‘ Distinguished travelers from Europe or America, I see!” he exclaimed boldly. ‘I am honored by such company. Tour- nier, the visitors will join me in three bottles of the Beaujolais.” “A thousand thanks, monsieur!’’ ex- claimed George Eastman; “ but madame and I have finished our dinner and we shall soon retire, to rest after a day of fatigue.”’ “I am Victor Berard!” the man an- nounced belligerently. ‘“ You know? When I offer entertainment, it is not re- fused, monsteur!” “We will wait to take just one glass of the wine with M. Berard,” said Mrs. Eastman in a conciliatory but rather tremulous voice. “Madame is as gracious as she is beautiful!”’ exclaimed the outlaw with an insolent grin. He turned and peered sharply at the innkeeper, as the latter obediently brought in the bottles of wine. ‘Friend Tournier,” he said, “I have returned to my beloved islands with empty pockets. I am unhappily forced to trouble you for assistance at once. I need twenty-five thousand francs.” Tournier deposited the bottles on the table with a thud and began to tremble with an ague of terror. ‘““Have mercy, M. Berard!” he cried brokenly. ‘‘ You should know well that comicloool C©