Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

THE CARAVAN OF THE DEAD. tered groups of guests left the card-tables. Upper windows in the great Chateau towers glowed and darkened. The twisted, snow- muffled streets of Quebec had long been silent. _ The curtain faa been drawn across the stage. Attendants and players alike slept, shielded from the outer cold. Only, some- where in the old French city under the - height, chimes echoed from a cathedral tower. Answering bells sent their note forth under the stars. A soft chorus of iron- tongued harmony welled from invisible sources. Even though the pleasure stage was de- serted in the hours between late night and day, the chimes of Quebec did not sleep. Again, at dawn, came the many-tongued harmony. A faint, crimsoned: glow crept into shuttered blinds. Sleigh bells rang out down the steep slope of a shadowy street. Frem the garrison barracks came an an- swering, musical note. Edith Rand slept quietly, being healthily tired. In one of the bedrooms overlooking the river a man in evening dress started up from a chair. Monsey who had been dozing, dressed, in the chair, swore softly. ‘“‘ Confound the bells!’ he muttered, lift- ing clenched hands to his head. In the confused moment of wakening from heavy, troubled sleep, he had fancied the chimes were human voices. He had heard the distant, wailing cry of cloaked muezzins, summoning to prayer and shout- ing forth the ritual praises of a prophet. He had been dreaming, and the effect was still strong upon him. He fancied that cries -of anguish were ringing in his head—cries drowned by the clamor of huge trumpets lifted to the skies. ‘* Horns of Jericho!” he exclaimed. This time he did not speak in English. Grotesquely, his fancy still retained the echo of the chimes, distorted ing another sound—the summons of ten-foot iron trum- pets, reverberating with the impulse of the lungs of powerful men, and reechoed from distant hill summits as if from cliffs in the sky. His memory pictured hooded heads raised to the dawn, and lips murmuring age- old prayers. The sleigh bells bad taken the semblance ‘ply. 18 of camel bells that jangled as long-haired beasts pad-padded over the snow, to the hoa-hoa of caravaneers. Then he glanced from the window, out over the mist-shrouded channel of the river; laughed and stretched. ““ Nerves, by Jove! ’em.”’ Still smiling, he lit a strong cigarette, preparatory to undressing, for a cold shower and a change of clothes before breakfast. Didn’t know I had CHAPTER V. DIVIDED PATHS. ONSEY was fresh and keen after his ‘restless night. His eyes were bright, and his vitality seemed quickened by lack of sleep. Edith joined him, in sweater and walking-skirt, and together they sought the slippery paths of the fortifications. The girl pressed ahead swiftly, untrou- bled by the climb and delighted by the view over the white hills. _ “Ym so curious,” she confided, “ Aunt Kate says it’s dreadful. And I really couldn’t help seeing your letter, Mr. Mon- sey. Was—was it shorthand, or some code? I’ve been trying to guess, ever since.” “Neither,” he smiled. “ You are not acquainted with the Asiatic languages, Miss Rand?” : “Oh, I see! Then it was Turkish?” In silence, he helped her up an ice- covered flight of steps. ‘* Are you a professor, Mr. Monsey?” she added lightly, seeing that he would not re- ‘“‘ Or—or an expert?”’ “T have not the honor,” he responded, in his stilted English. “ Business—yes. By the way; it was not Turki.” Somehow, she received the impression that he had not wanted her to believe that it was. The man did not seem to wish to talk about himself. He paid her many com- pliments, and his alert eyes sought hers. They had entered the fortress, and were wandering alone about the bed of the old moat, having declined the services of a mili- tary guide. She paused to pat the muzzle -of a breechloader cannon, of obsolete pat- tern. cCOomiclbooks.com