Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 156: what you’re looking at

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

746 ‘cord passed about my wrists. With his one free hand the man tied me, and tied me se- curely. When his fingers clamped into my arm they were like steel points. “Now march into the house.” At this, comprehension flooded upon me, and I uttered a choked oath. He understood, and I heard a chuckle sound from behind. “Yes, I got them both. And I’ve got you. March!” The ease of my capture, the scorn and dis- dain with which he treated me, was madden- ing, but that revolver-muzzle was very soothing to the excited brain. He felt in my pocket and drew out his own box of opium-pellets and chuckled again. Whether he remembered all that had passed that morning I can’t say; but I imagine he did. I hoped some one might see us leave the garage, but the street was empty as usual. We went up the front steps of the house, and I marched inside, as gentle as a sheep led to the slaughter. I could try no tricks with this fellow. The tone of his voice told me that much. Passing into the dining-room, I saw first a bottle of Scotch on the table. Then I saw McAuliffe sitting in a chair, with his head drooling over the back and blood on his face. Opening a bottle of whisky is an absorbing task, naturally, and Death had caught him at it; caught him with a blow from the front sight of the revolver, I judged, for his scalp was cut and he was senseless. Death had tied him into the chair. Then in the corner I saw Kilgore likewise tied into a chair, but unhurt. He had been trapped as I had been, and like me he had too _ much sense to get shot. Probably he had counted largely on me at the moment. “You reckoned without your host,” I said imly. “Got me before I heard a thing.” Kilgore nodded. my back again. “Sit down with your hands over the back of your chair, your wrists behind it.” : In two minutes he had me bound hard and ast. There we sat, poor Mac with his bloody face and drooping head, Kilgore with his eyes very bright and keen, his face rather pale, and clumsy Craig Day; all of us helpless. James Death looked us over and popped a pellet of opium into his mouth. Then he grinned. “Well, ’ve got you!” ct “Where'd you get the hop?” I asked him casually. He broke into low: laughter. “Ah! I got it from friends. And I shall take your fine new gun back’to those friends, Mr. Kilgore! They are expecting me. They tried to follow me here, but I shook them off. I want no interference, you see.” Kilgore’s eyes went to me in a glance that Was significant. He had guessed exactly what The revolver poked into Adventure Death would do—had already done. Now he spoke. By the quiet level of his voice I knew that we were in a deadly situation, held by a man who was no better than a madman. “You know that I am a man of my word, Death. Will any price tempt you to let us go and abandon your purpose? Name your figure. I will give it.” _ “Money? Bah! I need none.” voice held scorn. I saw Kilgore settle back in his chair as if further argument were useless. “Nothing can tempt me. Iam going to get my orders from the Ten, you understand? I am going to bargain with them—your lives, for freedom from further pursuit, for pardon and grace. You will please not interrupt me, or I shall kill you at once.” So saying, the man drew up a chair to the table and sat down, laying the revolver out before him. Now. cr what I am about to write, I pray your grace. You will not believe it. You will say that it was impossible. You will call it a trick of an opium-crazed brain, a madman’s delusion. Conceded. Anything you like—but remember that this is my story; the story of what happened in that room. “T am about to open communication with the Ten,” said Death again. ‘‘Remember, piease!’’ His hand touched the revolver significantly and we saw that he meant his words. I have always thought that the fellows who did this brainwork went into a savage con- centration over it. Now, however, James Death did nothing of the sort. He stared at the mirror in the buffet, as if looking at some- thing far away, and relaxed utterly in his chair. He untensed every muscle and sat motionless, absolutely at ease. / His face changed, very slowly and imper- ceptibly. He became totally absorbed in what he was doing. His eyes fixed into a glassy stare, and when I vainly tugged at my bonds he paid no attention whatever to me. But Death’s Kilgore gave me a startled glance and shook his head. I desisted. , Sweat came out on the face of Death, and his lips began to move. I could not follow his words, although I could hear them; they were in a strange tongue. But, all of a sudden, he broke into English. And now his voice was queer, not his own voice at all. “T am standing before you,” he said slowly, mumbling the words. That was all. Before whom? The Ten, I presume. After this, his lips moved without sound. . | Was he really speaking in spirit with ten men on the other side of the world, ten men who sat in the temple of the Ten Dromedaries be- fore that supernal pillar which upheld the an- cient roof, and who answered his thought with theirs? I can not say. But I can avow that (E@) KOOKS (E)