The Black Mask — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

After Midnight “No. He looks like a hobo.” “Are you going to leave him?” , cried his wife hysterically, “It seems so awful to leave a dead man out here on the ground alone! It’s so heart- less!” “He can’t be moved until the police arrive,’ Lannen answered. “Wil- loughby, take your wife inside. I’ll stay here until they come and see that nothing happens.” Louise Willoughby suddenly gave a cry of terror. “The police! Must you call the police? He’s a tramp— he died of heart failure! Don’t call the police! It will create a scandal! I couldn’t stand that—please—please do something else!” “My dear, my dear!” remonstrated her husband quietly, “this is very un- fortunate. I’m sorry the poor devil chose to die here. But it may not be heart failure you know; he may have been murdered!” “Murdered,” she sobbed the word, as though it burst from her against her will. yAlicg ery ignored her exclama- tion. He continued suavely as though he enjoyed her hysterical anguish: “If the man has been murdered and we placed an obstacle in the way of his murderer being appre- hended, we would be putting our- selves liable for more than a scan- dal.” She suddenly swayed. Willoughby placed his hand on her shoulder; but she turned on him in almost insane fury. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Don’t you dare to touch me!” The doctor shrugged his shoulders, turning quietly to his friend. “You take her inside, Lannen, she’s wrought up, no wonder, poor child. I'll remain here, Call headquarters please.” It WueEn they reached the house, the woman dropped wearily into a great chair. The intense pain in her face, the tremulous quiver of her mouth, caused a wave of pity to sweep over Lannen. “Are—are you going to call the po- lice?’ she whispered. “T must.” Her white hands gripped tighter, In spite of the things he had seen, Lannen again had a doubt as to her perfidy. Strangely enough, he now felt no sympathy for her husband. He lifted the receiver from the hook. .As he did = so, she touched him. “Mr. Lannen?” Ves,” “Are you my friend?” s “Yes—why—yes, of course, Mrs. Willoughby.” “T mean als, truly—my friend— or his?” - “Andrew’ 5?” Vass. “T trust I am a friend to you both,” he evaded. She shook her head impatiently. “You can’t be that. Can’t you see he hates me, and I—I loathe him—I despise him—oh my God! How I hate him—and yet—!” “Mrs. Willoughby !” “Oh, I know I horrify you!” She laughed and began to pace the length of the room—“if only I had someone — I could turn too, someone‘to aid me! Someone in all the world I could trust! You seem to be a good man— if only I dared!—” she paused abruptly, then in a sudden change— “Do you think I’m a bad woman—do you think I am what he thinks?” “Why, my dear lady, “ae “I see, He has lied to you too— poisoned you against me—as he has