Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 147: what you’re looking at

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

THE SIGN OF THE SERPENT. help me get the anchor; Betty, too, if she will. I can’t say good*by to you here. You'll both be welcome, on condition there’s no more of this. Will you come? Five o’clock, then—TI sail at five thirty.” He gripped his partner’s hand, and, turn- ing, walked away rapidly down the drive. Stephen watched him go without a word. He came very near to feeling an active hatred toward Richard at that moment. And yet, the head of the Marneys could not fail to understand his relative’s point of view. That did not help. Was the fellow blind, he wondered, or was he only thinking of himself? But that was the last thing Richard ever thought of. Feeling strangely helpless and miserable, Stephen wandered along the terrace and passed in through the tall portals of Mersea Holt. In the library he found Beatrice standing by the window. She turned as he came in. ‘Where is Dickie?” “Gone,” said Stephen through his teeth. ‘‘ He has no use for us.” He told her what Richard’s intentions were. Beatrice came slowly toward him, her face very white. “Gone?” she repeated. ‘ And—didn’t he ask to see me before he went?” Stephen was silent. Suddenly she put her arms around him, and he felt her trembling. “Stephen,” she said, her face on ‘his shoulder, “I wish Piers’s bullet had killed me.”’ There was a longer silence. trice asked: “Is that all?” Her brother’s arms tightened round her. “T am going to tell you just what the fool did say,” answered Stephen. ‘“‘ There’s no reason why I shouldn’t.” He gave her, very quietly, a faithful ac- count of Richard’s explanation. Beatrice heard him out, and lifted her head. ‘“‘ He said that?” “Ves. What can one do with such a fellow? I’d have given the Holt twice over rather than lose Dickie.” “You are going down there at five?” “T’ve got to. I suppose—you don’t want to come with me?”’ Then Bea- 293 Beatrice reflected. “No. I won’t come with you; but—I might follow you.” Beatrice arrived on the shore of the-creek a little before high water, and looked thoughtfully at the distant Windflower, anchored away down in the Quarters. The hardway was deserted, and the dinghy was not on the beach. Beatrice borrowed a light shooting-punt, its owner not being there to object, launched it deftly, and sculled down to the anchorage. The dinghy was riding astern the Windflower, but neither Stephen nor Richard were on deck. As Beatrice stepped lightly on board a distant church chimed the three-quarters. She climbed down the companion-ladder and opened the door of the saloon. The porthole curtains had not been opened; the interior was singularly dark and gloomy. In a deck chair in the center lay a dim, despondent figure. “Stephen,” said Beatrice tremulously, “it’s no use, is it?” She took three steps forward, and, sink- ing into his lap, put her arms about him and buried her face in his shoulders, sob- bing lightly. “‘ Stephen,” she said in a muffled voice, “once I thought that if my dream came true, and I found you, I would ask nothing more of life. But—if Dickie goes, I don’t care whether I live or die.” She felt him trembling. And raising her head suddenly she pressed her lips to his. His arms tightened round her fiercely, clung for a moment, and then as swiftly relaxed. “Betty!” he said hoarsely. “ Stephen —isn’t here. I’m—not Stephen!” “Did you really suppose I didn’t. know that?” she said softly. He crushed her to him and their lips met. ‘“ Betty! My love, my love! give me, I can’t leave you!” “‘T never had any intention of letting you,” said Beatrice. There was a long interval. “ Are you happy, Dickie?” she said. “Happy?” he said wildly. And then: “ Betty—” “Yes, Dickie?” Lord for- comiclbooolx C©