Adventure, February 1917 — page 199: what you’re looking at

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

- ‘Against Chance were to keep a sharp lookout for one Gray Billy Henshaw, known as the Shadow, a pickpocket of parts, who was likely to operate in the district. He was reasonably sure that this prisoner could not be Gray Billy, and he had small hope of apprehend- ing that astute criminal; but he found it easy to wish that this man might be one of Henshaw’s mob. That would make the big lieutenant sit = and take notice, maybe. Larry’s suspicion becime certainty as he recognized Terrell’s rapidly increasing un- willingness to visit the station. He was convinced that he had a pickpocket, and he redoubled his vigilance. Chance had helped him to capture the man in his charge, but chance should not help that man to get away. Larry was resolved upon that, and he was alive to his.duty. They arrived in front of a dingy, red brick house that sat twenty feet back from the sidewalk. The front,yard was baked, hard-packed earth, fenceless, and littered with old papers and other chance refuse. There was a sagging, raised porch, the rail of which had gone for kindling long ago, and under that a sunken, brick walled area without steps. The place squatted there, victim of time and fortune, its air part frowsily pathetic and part sinister. Then a window in the second story went up and a shrill, terrified voice rang sharply: “Help! Murder!’ HE street was almost deserted and no pedestrian was near to help. And, although Larry hesitated while he cast a despairing glance up and down, he knew his duty. He had resolved that chance should not aid his prisoner, but here was a wild chance no man might reasonably expect. He knew that human life is the greatest of all treasures, and that any officer must protect that even if in so doing he must let a lesser offender go. _ “Help! Murder! Help!” came the cry again, this time fainter and with a sort of choked horror. Larry whipped out his handcuffs, forced his prisoner’s wrists behind him, and snapped them on. There was nothing in sight to which the officer might fasten Terrell, and Larry’s desire was to hold him as best he could. He pushed him forward and dumped him, protesting volubly, down ‘197 into the depression under the porch. Then he took the steps two at a time, threw open the front door, and entered the hall breath- _léss and brave with authority. One glance showed McQuade that at _ least this part of the house was untenanted. It had been dismantled, the fixtures were gone, and a coat of dust lay thick over everything. In the instant of his strained pause Larry heard the sharp crack of a beard toward the rear overhead, and stealthy, hastening footsteps. A vision of the escaping mur- derer flashed across his eager mind and he ran lightly down the hall toward a doorless way that led to the back part of the house. He reached the kitchen and saw swiftly that here too was evidence that the place was uninhabited. The sink was torn away, and the plumbing gone from the grimy walls. And even as he crossed the kitchen floor there was a scrambling in the back stairway that came down by the outer door, and the fugitive—cut off, whoever or whatever he might be—returned precipi- tately to the second story. Larry followed, as eager as a young hound. Upstairs it was the same. The place was undeniably vacant, and as he peered swiftly into room after room in search of the fugitive, it was borne in upon the officer that the house was also unoccupied. His examination was the work of a moment, but there was no sign of a struggle anywhere and no hint or sound of a victim. Only that cry, having come from the front room he had just seen was quite empty, bore evidence to a crime. It was a queer thing, and as he hesitated at the head of the front stairs he could not understand it. Then the back door downstairs banged and the sound of it echoed through the house with hollow and mocking reverberations. With a sudden sinking chill at the pit of his stomach Larry realized how he had been tricked. Some confederate of the pickpocket had come down the alley, arrived first at the old house, and cried the false. alarm. And neatly McQuade had fallen for that deception. He bolted down the stairs, crossed the porch, and leaped to the hard packed dirt - of the yard. As he feared, the pickpocket had managed to jump up, throw his torso over the edge, and squirm out of the area, shackled as he was. And so, once again, Larry was forced to EOIMICG OOO KS (C (E©) ee