Avon Modern Short Story Monthly #36 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

7 ‘ Sarees ae F ; hie? - : 4 ws rine ron. 2 - cSt) : é 4 : faa f ¥ i= A TRA Og a A eS : Pi Qig i tt <r "> ote Ch i ved + oe Ne See “Sri ¥ re = i es ee ee a.” a - es PE PRC ee ees ‘ , Ate Pr es } Oe dacs, ’ Se re ett a, pS £5 a Ee + Fae -, =: HG Lh ae . ’ 4 J a . . ¢ hy 7b - He folded the sheet so that the name only was to be read, and came to thrust it under her eyes. “What name is that?” he asked het gruffly. Her answer was very prompt. “It is my husband’s, but not the writing—it is ‘another hand; some other Philip Danvelt; there will be others in Zeeland.” He laughed softly, looking at her ever with that odd intentness, and under his gaze she shrank and cowered in terror; it spoke to her of some nameless evil; the tepid air of the luxurious room was stifling her. “If I believed you, your husband would. be delivered from his prison—from all danger; and he stands, I swear to you,.in mortal peril.” “Ah, but you must believe me. There are others who can bear witness.” “I care naught for others,” he broke in, with harsh and arrogant -contempt. Then he softened his voice to a lover’s key. “But I might accept your word that this is not your husband’s hand, even though I did not believe you.” She did not understand, and so she could only stare at him with those round, brown eyes of hers dilating, her lovely cheeks blanching with horrid fear. “Why, see,” he said at length, with an easy, gruff good-humour, “T place the life of Philip Danvelt in those fair hands to do with as you please. Surely, sweeting, you will not be so unkind as to destroy a And as he spoke his face bent nearer to-her own, his flaming eyes devoured her, and his arm slipped softly, snake-like round her to draw her to him. But before it had closed its grip she had started away, springing back in horror, an outcry already on her pale lips. “One word,” he admonished her sharply, “and it speaks your hus- ‘band’s doom!” “Oh, let me go, let me go!” she cried in anguish. “And leave your husband in the hangman’s hands?” he asked. “Let me go! Let me go!” was all that she could answer him, ex- pressing the only thought of which in that dread moment her mind was capable. —comicbooks RAFAEL sient com