Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

80 that Osborne was not altogether on the square. The attitude of the girl and of Simpson seemed to confirm that. If Osborne were going to be accused of something, he might be made to confess, under stress, what he knew about the dis- puted order. If he told the truth, Shelby would be freed of the guilt of that. And Simpson did not believe he had killed Thornton. Simpson never talked idly. Shelby felt more hopeful, standing there in Osborne’s room in the still night, than he had felt since he had read those flaring head-lines in the newspapers. Simpson, he supposed, would be the more kindly disposed toward him if he could help Simpson, and he determined to see if he couldn’t find something among Osborne’s effects which would lead to that mental attitude on Silent’s part. He went back to the closet. For a man with a copier’s salary, Os- borne had an ample wardrobe, and Shelby methodically went through his clothing. He found nothing till he came at length to the last pair of trousers, neatly sus- pended from their hangers. He thrust his hand into one of the pockets and drew forth a ring with half a dozen keys on it. He was about to return these when he saw one short key which he knew would fit a trunk. He tried it in the lock of the trunk at his feet, and the lock turned. He lifted the lid. The trunk was only half filled with va- rious articles of clothing. He tossed these out. Groping, his hand came into contact with a small, paper-wrapped bundle. He drew it out and took it to the door. The removed wrapping disclosed a pair of strong pliers. Scarcely knowing why he did so, Shelby slipped these into his pocket. Then he went back to the trunk and groped again. This time he brought forth an oblong box. He carried it to the door and opened it. -For a long time, motionless, breathing heavily, he stood looking down at the box. Then he put it into his pocket with the pliers. Then he returned the clothing to the trunk, locked the trunk, and returned the keys to Osborne’s pocket. He went into the bedroom again. He ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. listened for a moment, but there was not a sound in the house. He tiptoed into the hall. By the dim light from the screened win- dow he. saw that his watch marked five minutes past eleven. He seemed safe enough now. The woman doubtless would not have again ventured above stairs for a small fortune. Osborne had been on duty in the despatcher’s office for five min- utes. Shelby took out the screen and left the window open. ‘Then he leaned out and used his eyes and ears for five tense min- utes. Except for a soft night-sighing, there was no sound out there. He withdrew his head and went back to Osborne’s room. He lifted the typewriter. It was heavy enough and an awkward thing to handle. But Shelby tucked it under his arm and went back to the window. Of course, this was robbery, but hadn’t Silent Simpson, a man of the law himself, set an example? Simpson had not only taken something from Osborne’s room, but he had forcibly entered Osborne’s desk. Shelby set the typewriter out on the almost flat roof. He stepped out himself and replaced the screen. Then, with the typewriter under one arm, he managed. to wriggle down the post to the ground. The porch cast a shadow, and he stood in this while he mopped sweat from his face. With the typewriter. again under his arm, he went to the street. He had to hunch his hip under the machine to carry it comfort- ably, and so he made his progress to the street on which the car line ran. He was about to step into the light of this when he saw a policeman directly across the street. He almost dropped the machine. The policeman stood on the corner for a moment, looking up and down. Then he crossed the street toward Shelby. Shel- by dodged behind a tree. The policeman came to this side, stood for another mo- ment, and then set off down the main thor- oughfare at a leisurely pace. Shelby wait- ed till the sound of his footsteps died in the distance. ‘Then he had to put down the machine to wipe the sweat from his face again. “ Gee,” he told himself, “if this thing COMmiclboo SS C©