Adventure, November 1915 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

The Scarecrow groped. In a few seconds he drew out a little package of undressed leather. His hands trembled with excitement as he fumbled at the knot. Then with an im- patient curse he bit the cord through with his teeth, and swiftly unrolling the package, he emptied into his hand a glistening, fiery little heap of stones. As he knelt and gloated, the figure of the Scarecrow rose like a shadow out of the bushes and stood over him. “That’s the one thing I was waiting for, Gorman.” The quiet voice struck Gorman like a bullet. He gave a violent start and wheeled; then with an animal snarl of rage he snatched at his gun. At the same instant the Scarecrow closed with him and together they rolled into the pit in a struggling, fighting heap. The Burman boy, who had been sitting disinterestedly idle on the other bank, rose up and fled. Fifteen minutes later he burst panting “into the Inspectors’ common room and gasped that the “crow hunter Thakin” and the -Chief Inspector Thakin were slaying each other in the jungle. The three men who were present grabbed their hats and raced out, supporting the boy between them to lead the way. As they topped the hill, they were just in time to see the combatants step into the Managing Director’s office. “Gorman’s got him!” they cried. “Let’s wait outside and hear the news.” But they had to wait long for their chief. Mr. Stuart-Wilson looked up angrily at the unceremonious entry; but his face brightened as he saw the two men and noted their disheveled appearance. “Ah, Gorman. At last!” he beamed. “Tell me about it.” Gorman was morosely silent. The Scare- crow grinned and placed the leather package on the table. “Something to interest you.” The Managing Director opened the roll and gasped. = “Wh—What! Why! What’s all this, Gorman?” And then for the first time he noticed that it was the Scarecrow who - toyed with a revolver. The Scarecrow dropped his mask of slouching insolence and became an alert, wooden-faced man of business. “To put it briefly, sir, your Superinten- 99 dent is the man you have been wanting. There is the proof. The rest is up to you; I . step out of it right here, if you will be so good as to oblige me with the company’s check for five thousand rupees; which, is the money I spoke of taking out of the camp at our;last meeting.” The Managing Director gasped again. What? Gorman? His Superintendent? And he had never suspected it? Impossible! _ “T don’t believe it!’ he snapped. - “T have other evidence, sir. There’s Maung Gaung willing to admit now that he has been working illicit diggings in partner- ship with Mr. Gorman for the last two years. Shannon knows all about it; you might send for him if you care to.”” The three wondering inspectors outside saw a messenger hurry eae and presently return with the policeman. After a little while the door opened again and the Scare- crow emerged, alone, iron-visaged, carefully stowing away a strip of paper in his pocket- book. THAT evening McNair’s barroom held the biggest concourse it had ever known. Everybody was eager- ly asking questions, and nobody knew what to reply. Then the Scarecrow entered, and the babel of voices ceased as if broken off short as they all turned to stare at him. There was a striking alteration in the man. The smiling, half apologetic derelict had given place to an erect, hawk-eyed man of de- cision and action. He addressed them. “Boys,” he said, “I’m leaving the camp tomorrow, and I’d just like to work off some of the free hospitality I’ve received at your hands. You'll excuse me if Idon’t drink with you; Ive had more liquor during the last month than I’ve tasted in ten years. But my good friend McNair will set up whatever you call for. After- ward I’d like you to join me at a little good- by spread.” ) Even the invitation to drink was un- heeded for*a moment. “Say, who are you anyhow?” enquired a voice. “Well, boys, my name is Lincoln O’Neil.’”’ “What? ‘Daku’? Dacoit O’Neil, of the District Police?” | “So I’ve been called.” | “Set ’em up, landlord!” bellowed a voice. “Set ’em up for Daku O’Neil!’” comichbook (E@) } ,) INn AR eae oS Py AA lita ON elec? A ly RE EE im sh7 a ve. at fe ‘ bd 7 Le efit bs "Td “Gab tp see iad