Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

98 ‘““Indeed?”” The nurse’s tone was dryly sarcastic. But Tripp, in his self-congratu- latory mood, quite missed the sarcasm. “There’s nothing to your palmistry— nothing. Adsolutely nothing. I'll say it again, Miss Adair—nothing.”’ He seemed eager to convince himself, and to drive home the conviction so deeply that no smile of hers should ever again lure him away from his solid skepticism. “Nothing,” agreed Miss Adair equably. “Of course there’s nothing. Yow surely thought so when you went digging into the Bothwell epoch and unearthed Peter Cas- silis?”’ “ Cassill,” corrected Tripp. “ I knew all along I was wasting time there. Still, your line of talk has been so uncommonly per- suasive, I just felt I had to look up those things. Now I’m going to remind myself every morning that this is just a plain, matter-of-fact case involving blackmail and kidnaping and murder. That I must keep my bearings. And that I have merely to stick to the present to unearth all the facts I need. I don’t need to dig into the re- mote.” “Then don’t do it.” She had diagnosed Tripp long ago. He was an alert, energetic, busy little man with an amazing memory for evidence, but with a recurrent yearning to confide his views to some one. His note of egotistical self-sat- isfaction jarred her. ‘She had a profound faith in her palm- istry, and her palmistry had told her just two things—that Ferintosh was no killer, and hence could not have murdered Creigh- ton; and that Ferintosh had done nothing since his marriage to subject him to black- mail. Postscript: Ferintosh would fight back rather than pay blackmail, unless he had some powerful, unselfish motive for covering up the truth. That truth, she in- sisted, related to occurrences far distant; and Tripp, she told herself, must go a long way back to find the truth. ; But Tripp no longer thought so. — “The case is perfectly obvious,” insisted Tripp. “‘ Ferintosh vanishes from the house at night. Nobody sees him at the railroad stations or on the streets. Hence, he must have been kidnaped by some one, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. taken away in a closed car, and driven across country. Either that, or he is hid- den in Carisford. I am working on that theory now. What I’ve discovered is, of course, my own secret.” “ Naturally.” 3 There was tacit defiance in Glory’s tone. She added a careless question as, having bade the little man good night, she turned away from the gate. “Did you test that slip of paper for fin- ger-prints?” ‘““T’m not telling,” said Tripp. ‘T surmise,” returned Miss Adair, “ you found none. You see, the hand that placed _that message on the porch was gloved.” ‘““ How do you know?”’ Tripp checked himself. ‘Seeing you know so much,” he added. ‘‘ Because,”’ she said, ‘if you had found any telltale finger-prints on that paper, you’d have wished to consult my hand- print collection for purposes of compari- son. That’s how I know the hand was gloved. You’re not so clever as I imag- ined, Mr. Tripp.” Tripp was too peeved to speak. “Gloves in mid-July,” pursued Miss Adair, “ indicate one of two circumstances. Either this individual who left the message. tacked to the post is a criminal shrewd enough to guard against detection by means of his finger-prints, or—he is a man accus- tomed to wear gloves on nearly all occa- sions. Hence, not a poor foreigner, trudg- ing the streets of Carisford, but a gentle- man used to riding in his own car.” ““T see what you’re driving at,” pursued Tripp. He was palpably excited, despite his efforts to retain composure. “ The man was Ferintosh himself. Ue is keeping un- der cover, and is hard up, and—this is his only way to raise money. Pretty far- fetched, though!” he snorted, on guard against her insidious wiles. ‘““T shouldn’t talk to you, anyway,” he added abruptly. “ You’re too clever. First thing I know, I’ll be telling you everything I’ve discovered.” “You might as well,”’ she retorted pla- cidly. “It ll take you just a minute. Oh, since you insist, Mr. Tripp, good night, and pleasant dreams!” Go NOOK =} (©