Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

The Messenger month yet to run. My name is Kilgore; this is my friend Mr. McAuliffe. Since our lease has been paid in advance——” “Tt’s not a question of money, gentlemen,” I responded, nettled by his cool survey. “I’ve just come home to find my mother and aunt sitting in a garret and living by the rental of their homes. It isn’t square and I won’t have it. They have some right to enjoy the last years of their lives in the sort of home they ——” “Quite right, Mr. Day,” broke in Kilgore. “But we took this place to conduct cer- tain experiments, which are now nearing a conclusion. Further, we have dealt throughout .- with your aunt, and ‘while you may have every right to speak for her, I would much rather continue dealing with her. Of course, if she wishes us to leave——” “T sent ’em off to the mountains this after- noon,” I rejoined, “so you’ll have to deal with me. I’ve got the big house cleared out already, thank Heaven!” “We obsairved the exodus,” and Mr. Mc- Auliffe grinned. His accent was very Scotch. “But yell no find us vera tractable persons, laddie. We'll aye stand on our richts!”’ . “Be quiet, Mac,” said Kilgore. His blue eyes bored into me. “I say, Day, there’s no need to get spiffy about this thing. Suppose you have tea with us. We'll talk over the matter amicably, what? I’ve been going it rather hard and I fancy a cup of tea would buck me up. Mac, be a good chap and lock up the garage, will you?” I found myself going to the house with Kil- gore; the man had a way with him. I had begun to regret my hasty action. The man was a gentleman. Except from a standpoint of senti- ment my position was dead wrong. Yet he was calmly taking me in to tea! Before I realized it, I was warming to Kilgore. He explained that they had turned the garage into a workshop and had their meals sent out from a hotel in the city each day; they had no real need of a car, as the line to Twin Peaks Tunnel was within easy reach. It struck me as a trifle odd that they should have their meals sent from a hotel in town, but -f course I made no comment. I found Aunt Nora’s dining-table spread with a snowy cloth. Kilgore uncovered a large dish of excellent sandwiches, set out cigarets and excused himself to set the kettle going in the kitchen. A careless man is ever prone to the tempta- tion of a snowy table-cloth. As I sat, I picked up a spoon and idly creased the linen. What fancy sped my hand, I know not, but I drew with the spoon-tip that same fish-hook figure which had been on the brass cap of Death’s knife. I guessed that it meant something, and yet I knew of no written language that had any such form, though it was not unlike Tibetan. 131 McAuliffe came into the room and dropped into a chair. Kilgore followed a moment later. All stiffness had vanished among us, and with some bruskerie—for I never like apologies— I asked them to forget my words. “When I came over here,” I said, “it was with the thought that you were like the tenants at the house. You’re not. Just forget the whole affair, if you will. I was a bit carried away with getting home and all that. You’re an Englishman, Kilgore?” “Canadian,” he responded. ‘Mac here is American like yourself.” “Like myself is right,” and I grinned across the table at Mac. “My father was Scotch and he had the same lowland burr.” SN tric lights, as fog was rolling in and dark- msi ening the sunset. The English blood in him showed when he pulled down the shades, although the I _~se was 1n a lonely enough situ- ation. At this instant a telephone-bell rang and McAuliffe answered the call. The instru- ment was on a stand in the corner of the dining-room., said Mac. Then abruptly he spoke in Hindustani: “No, nothing new, Sir Fandi. be out tonight? Yes, he is here.” Mac turned with a lift of his brows to Kil- gore. The latterrose. At this I put out my hand. “One minute, Kilgore. I’d better say that I understand the tongue.” Kilgore gave me a half-smile and a glance from his blue eyes, then nodded and went to the instrument. Whether because of my warn- ing or not, he said scarcely a word, but listened to some message from the other end. McAuliffe came back to the table, gave me two or three glances, then picked up a spoon and began tracing lines on the cloth. Now the lights were overhead. As he sat, he caught the shadowed lines of the figure I had traced. My first intimation of this was when he caught his breath and half-sprang out of his chair. Next thing I knew, he was holding down a gun on me, anger blazing in his face. “Kilgore!” His voice bit out as the Canadian hung up and turned. ‘Look here—there’s the devil to pay.. This chap——” He pointed to the figure on the linen. Kilgore looked at it, then came around to his chair, dropped into it, and his eyes glinted on me like a blue sword. I took a cigaret and lighted it. “You chaps,” I said, “are either stark crazy, or else—I don’t know what! If you want a row, I’Jl give it to you. If not, cut out the comedy and bring on the tea.” Kilgore looked at McAuliffe, “Don’t be a silly ass, Mac. Put up the gun.” “But there it is—the sign of the ten——” “Put up the gun.” You will not GComichboo KILGORE rose and switched on the elec- : (E@)