The Argosy, Vol. 90 No. 1 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

8 THE ARGOSY. be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gay laughter. ‘“ Oh, somebody, please! ”’ I looked across the room. In the wide hall doorway stood a man, who quite evidently was a waiter. He was white-faced and staring-eyed, and he fairly hung on to a portiére for support as he repeated his agonized plea. “What is it?” said Mrs. Reeves, as everybody else stared at the man. ‘“ What do you want?” She stepped toward him, and we all turned to look. ‘Not you—no, madam. Some man, please—some doctor. Is there one here?” “Some of the servants ill?” asked Mrs. Reeves kindly. ‘‘ Dr. Remson, will you come?” The pleasant-faced, capable-looking wo- man paused only until Dr. Remson joined her. The two went into the hall, the waiter following slowly. In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream. Partly curiosity and partly a fore- boding of harm to Vicky Van, made me rush forward. Mrs. Reeves had screamed, and I ran the length of the hall to the dining-room. There I saw Somers on the floor and Rem- son bending over him. “He’s killed! He’s stabbed!” cried Mrs. Reeves, clutching at my arm as I reached her. ‘“‘ Oh, what shall we do?” She stood just in the dining-room door- way, which was at the end of the long hall, as in most city houses. The room was but dimly lighted, the table candles not yet burning. “ Keep the people back!” I shouted, as those in the living-room pressed out into the hall. “ Steele, keep those girls back!”’ There was an awful commotion. The man urged the women back, but curiosity and horror made them surge forward in irresistible force. “Shut the door,” whispered Remson. ‘‘ This man is dead. It’s an awful situation. Shut that door!” Somehow, I managed to get the door closed between the dining-room and hall. On the inside were Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn’t budge, and myself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hysterical women and frightened men. “* Are you sure?” I asked in a low voice, going nearer to the doctor and looking at Somers’s fast-glazing eyes. “Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart with—see—a small, sharp knife.” Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reeves drew near. ‘Not really,” she moaned. ‘ Oh, not really dead! Can’t we do anything?” ‘“No,” said Remson, rising to his feet from his kneeling position. ‘‘ He’s dead, I tell you. Who did it?” “That waiter—” I began, and then stopped. Looking in from a door opposite the hall door, probably one that led to a butler’s pantry or kitchen, were half a dozen white- faced waiters. ‘“* Come in here,” said Remson. “ Not all of you. Which is chief?” ‘“‘T am, sir,” and a head-waiter came into the room. “ What has happened?” ‘‘ A man has been killed,” said the doctor shortly. ‘Who are you? Who are you all? House servants?” ‘No, sir,” said the chief. ‘“ We’re caterers men. From Fraschini’s. I’m Luigi. We are here to serve supper.” ‘“* What do you know of this?” “‘ Nothing, sir,” and the Italian looked truthful, though scared. ‘‘ Haven’t you been in and out of the dining-room all evening?” “Yes, sir. Setting the table and such. But now it’s all ready, and I am waiting Miss Van Allen’s word to serve it.” “Where is Miss Van Allen?” I broke in. ‘“‘ J—I don’t know, sir.” Luigi hesitated and Dr. Remson inter- rupted. ‘We mustn’t ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun. We must call the police.” ‘The police?” cried Mrs. Reeves. ‘“ Oh, no! no! Don’t do that.” “It is my duty,” said the doctor firmly. ‘“‘ And no one must enter or leave this room until an officer arrives. You waiters, stay there in that pantry. Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun, please. Mrs. Reeves, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to stay here—”’ comicbooks CO