Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

HISTORICAL NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENT 47 he had taken no part, in deed or even in thought, in the rebellion against the Duke of Burgundy. His wife protested it ee and piteously. “To this I can swear, my lord,” she concluded, “I am sure no evi- dence can be brought against him, who was eyer loyal and ever concerned with his affairs and with me at the time in question. My lord’—she held out her hands towards the grim German, and her lovely eyes gleamed with unshed tears of supplication—“I implore you to believe me, and in default of witnesses against him to restore — my husband to me.” ; Rhynsault’s blue eyes kindled now as they considered her, and his full red lips slowly parted in the faintest and most inscrutable of smiles. She was very fair to look upon—of middle height and most exquisite shape. Her gown, of palest saffron, edged with fur, high- waisted according to the mode, and fitted closely to the gently swell- ing bust, was cut low to display the white perfection of her neck. Her softly rounded face looked absurdly childlike under the tall- crowned hennin, from which a wispy veil floated behind her as she moved, In silence, then, for a spell, the German mercenary pondered her with those slowly kindling eyes, that slowly spreading, indefinite smile. Then he stirred, and to his secretary he muttered shortly: “The woman lies. In private I may snare the truth from her.” He rose—a tall, massively imposing figure in a low-girdled tunic of deep purple velvet, open at the breast, and gold-laced across a white silken undervest. “There is some evidence,” he informed her gruffly. “Come with > § y me, and you shall see it for yourself.” He led the way from that cheerless hall. by a dark corridor to a small snug room, richly hung and carpeted, where a servant waited. He dismissed the fellow, and in the same breath bade her enter, watching her the while from under lowered brows. One of her women had followed; but admittance was denied her. Danvelt’s wife must enter his room alone. Whilst she waited there, with scared eyes and fluttering bosom, he went to take from an oaken coffer the letter signed “Philip Danvelt.” Gomichbooks