Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

110 These, and the carpets, were the only relics of Russian occupancy that had been left by stray plunderers. “Not much of a boudoir, my lady,” Monsey had assured her, “ but then we will not be here long. I hope to make you more comfortable.” Edith had not answered. The room was Monsey’s, and she compared it without knowing just why she did so with the neat-_ ness of Donovan’s quarters. She was op- pressed by the aspect of the teakwood room. Monsey had been busied for some time in discussion with Abbas Abad, who gazed with curious appraisal at the girl and smiled widely when she met his stare. She could not understand what they said. The ride from Yahka Arik had taken long, involving as it did the crossing of the ravine, the climb and descent of numerous heights, and the passage through a forest where the girl wondered how her captors could find their way, not knowing that they had familiarized themselves carefully with the lay of the countryside. Above the low voices of the men she could hear the stamp: of horses near by, the crackle of a fire, and an occasional foot- fall. Not until Abbas Abad had departed —and Edith recognized in him, without especial surprise, the leader of the men in the Kashgar serai—did Monsey fling off his belt with its holster and revolver and speak to her, seating himself on an upturned pack- ing-case, and drawing another forward for her. She remained standing. “ Still haughty, my lady? Ah, you do not know the pains I have taken to save you from the devils of Yahka Arik. Well, I apologize for using you roughly in what . you Americans call the getaway. It was necessary. You are quite strong.” His glance went over her, and Edith turned her head away. Monsey leaned back comfortably, stroking his black, droop- ing mustache idly. He was well pleased with himself, but he was curious as to what the girl thought of him. “You remember the dance at Srinagar, Edith—the one you—ah—refused me? You see, it would have been much better to have gone with me than that Rawul Singh. But you did not trust me. Do you now?” THE ARGOSY. Ts No.”’ “That is too bad. Why?” Edith met his gaze with her honest gray eyes, and Monsey looked away. ‘““T don’t know.” Surprised at this unexpected retort, Mon- sey’s brows went up. Other women had found it good policy to please him. This American, wrapped in her pride, was like an icicle, he thought. Well, he liked her all the better for it. It would be a pleasant sensation to mas- ter her pride. Monsey did not doubt his ability to do it. He did not mean to allow Edith to return to her father for some time. Money payment, even a large one, seemed a small thing when he had the woman her- self near him. Life itself had ceased to bore him—and recently there had been certain fears, certain unrest. Abbas Abad had said that he was a marked man in these hills. Monsey had taken to using the Alaman’s drugs, and this had not helped jaded nerves. ‘You fear me, my handsome lady?” | 6c No.”’ There was no doubting the sincerity in Edith’s low voice. To tell the truth she dis- liked and suspected the former Russian offi- cer partly because he was associated with Abbas Abad, partly because he had put aside her own will in bringing her from Yahka Arik, but more because of her own intuition. She read the insincerity in his assertion that he was acting for Arthur Rand. Monsey’s narrow mind, self-centered and suspicious, sought for other reasons. He had the patient, consuming desire for the girl that masters all other impulse in a man of his type. “Let me see. You spoke of a friend in Yahka Arik—a khan, was it not? So, you stoop to a native’s—friendship—” His calculating words accomplished their purpose. Edith flamed into swift retort, forgetting all caution. ‘“ Dono-van Khan is a white man, and I found him very much of a gentleman. He will follow you. Oh, I hope—” She broke off at a strange light in the man’s amber eyes. ‘“Dono-van Khan? Donovan. By all the images of the church! Not Captain cComicloooks C©