Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

106 not wholly his fault, for he was made of the same clay as Father Adam, and earthen- ware is brittle; besides, Leela Cabron wished him for a slave, or rather for a spy at Middleton’s elbow; and when she left him he was pledged to tell her of every move and word that Middleton used. “For,” said this barbaric witch-maiden, “Mr. Middleton is in great danger and we must watch over him. You will help me to do that; won’t you, Billy?” Had she asked him to help her steal the sun out of the sky while no one was look- ing he would have answered the same. “Of course, Billy, you will say nothing to Mr. Middleton. He might not under- stand—but you do?” “T’m on,” said Billy the Dude with en- thusiasm. ‘“Youse c’n jes’ count on it, noting ’ll get by me!” “T am sure of it, Billy.” And she patted his arm and left him. WHEN Leela and Billy were gone from the library Middleton slowly walked across the floor once or twice. His eye was attracted to the over- coat he had removed, and this recalled the work of the evening before. He lifted the coat and thrust a hand down into the pocket, and a very faint but remarkable expression came onto his face. He ran a hand into the other side pocket, drew it out empty, and tossed the coat care- lessly onto the chair as he smiled cynically. Leela had plundered the coat. It was fair enough. He had never returned any of the things that he took from her and her home. It had not been possible to return them, for everything that came to his hands was grist for his friend Drount, the jeweler. Middleton lighted one of his cigarets, flavored with opium, and dropped medi- tatively into the chair before the fire. Javotte? Ah! He understood why Holder loved. There was no mystery to that. She was full of delicate subtleties, of impenetrable feminine elusiveness, yet simple as a child—as a pretty, dear’ child. Prismatic, that was almost the word for her. Her quick speech and slight accent were a delight; in her pleased moments her voice was soft as murmuring water, with a foreign inflectional richness. Unlike Leela, she had been born in Italy. There was a sort of family feline temper in her, but she was of a gentler, truer nature Adventure than her brilliant, tempestuous cynical cousin. * Holder? Would he guess who had anony- mously given into his hands the informa- tion that flattened Cabron? Would he dare guess why? ‘This big, massive, impassive fellow seemed altogether another sort of man than he looked. There was the aggres- sive spirit of a fighter behind that Buddha- like immobility. There was still Cabron’s vengeance to fear; for Holder to fear; for himself to fear too. Middleton’s lips moved a little toward an expression of amusement; but on his lips a smile was not alwaysa smile. It might seem to mean anything from irony to indif- ference. When Billy the Dude returned to the apartment Middleton had him come into the library; and he asked— “You got Miss Cabron home all right, Billy?” | “Yes’r. Sure did,” Billy answered with the buoyant ease of an untroubled conscience. “Remarkable woman, isn’t she?” “Vl tell de worl’!”’ Middleton’s eyes shot toward him from their corners, and looked away. “Sit down, Billy. Let us talk a while.”’ Billy dropped familiarly into a chair, fished out a cigaret, lighted a match with one hand by pressure of the thumb, shook out the light and tossed the match toward the fireplace, then sank back with an air of satisfied relaxation. “Been a rather—ah—shall we say ex- citing night?” ‘““Ain’t it! Gee, t’ings has happened all in a bunch. Dat’s de way they hit! youse. Zowie! Bim! Bam! Jus’ like that.” “Ves. Pretty much like that.” Pause. Then: “What did she coax you into promising her, Billy? I mean what besides the promise that you wouldn’t let me know?” Billy the Dude gave a quick, injured glance. He seemed pained. “W’y Misser Middelton! don’t say ten words t’ me.”’ Only a veteran police officer perhaps can fully realize the imperturbability with which crooks le. Any kind of a crook, the cheapest little purse-snatcher in the game, is well fitted to outface St. Peter though he may have the Recording Angel’s book be- fore him. The little weazened rat of a moll- buzzer will stand before the Pearly Gate Not’ing. She CoOmicloooks E®