Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

THE FUR CLOAK. me guessing—I’ll say you had me guessing. But I ain’t guessing any more; I got your case doped out for me!” He laughed bit- terly. ‘Say, will you put on that lid, or will I slam it on for you and call it a job?” “ What did you say?” Miss Carson de- manded, and sent an angry little trill into her words and caused her eyes to dilate om- inously. | For all its cowing effect, this demonstra- tion might as well have been directed at a bronze statue. A small shiver ran through Miss Carson; in whatever way, that beast- ly telephone conversation seemed to have loosed her firm hold on the situation! The dark man stepped directly to her and smiled with one side of his mouth. “ Kid, y’ got just two bets,” he explained tersely. ‘‘ You can go quiet, and if you do that there ain’t going to be one hair mussed. Or you can throw a coupla them good fits and I'll tie you up and have you carried out like a sack o’ meal! Which ’ll it be?” ‘““ Neither! ’? Miss Carson cried, most em- phatically. ‘‘ How dare—” “ You're a bum guesser; it has to be one of them!” the leader laughed angrily. “ And so long as you feel that way about it, I think I won’t take any more chances on you. You’re too slick, anyway. Hey, Nick! Chuck that rope here—the one in the closet!”’ “Don’t you dare—” Myra began again, although less sturdily. “Come out of it!” the dark person barked. ‘‘I wanter treat you decent as I can, but if I have to get rough I can get rough. Sit down there!” Queerly, Myra sat, with no protest what- ever. Rope swished about her feet, binding her ankles together most uncomfortably. More rope whisked about her hands and was knotted far too securely, and the chief of the bandits paused and considered her and then hurried into the kitchen and returned with a folded towel that was almost clean. Twenty seconds later, part of this towel was in Myra’s mouth and part of it was outside her mouth, covering the adjacent territory; and winged flight just then would have been no more impossible to her than speech! 855 “ Baby, Ill say you ain’t going to be near so much trouble that way,” the dark gentleman reflected aloud and approvingly. ‘‘Let’s go! Pick her up, Joe! Wind that coat around her. ‘Take her inside with you. I'll drive and keep Nick with me.” One more of the effortless swoops and Joseph had swung Miss Carson into the air again. The leader blew out the lamp on the table, while Nicholas did the same ser- vice for the one in Myra’s late apartment. Then they passed out. It may be conceded that Myra, while a person of remarkable nerve when condi- tions seemed to warrant nerve, was really no marvel. Joseph’s arms, then, did not hold a fighting, struggling, stiffened and undaunted Amazon; on the contrary, the girl had turned so oddly limp that Joseph paused a moment in the doorway and stared down to see if she had fainted. She had not; she was only thunderstruck and thoroughly frightened, from the very mar- row of her bones to the soft surface of her skin—a state which frequently afflicts those too suddenly deposed from absolute power. Even thought had turned distinctly wild. She might attempt battle — and find the huge arms pressing the very life out of her! She might try to shriek—and, for the first time in her life, feel the stunning blow of an angry man’s fist! Nay, for the sicken- Ing present there was nothing to do, save nothing at all! Humming to himself as if quite content with the later trend of affairs, the dark man hopped nimbly into the car, pulled down all the curtains, hopped out again and vaulted lightly into his seat behind the wheel. He beckoned, and with a series of grumblings the recent footman clambered to the seat beside him. Joseph bowed his head and stepped into the vehicle and deposited Miss Carson gently enough on the seat—and the engine started very quietly and they were off! | Yes, they were off for Melford Manor. And what? And why? What was to hap- pen at Melford Manor? Was it the home of the mysterious “ tm?” And, assuming that to be the case, what were his designs upon Miss Carson? These and perhaps two dozen other equally fearsome questions DOOK C©