Adventure Magazine Cover — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

2S "THE FOX 'S EARTH A Gray Ghost’ Story =- Muricl A’ Pollexfon HERE were three words ringing in Algy Brett’s head, and even in the excitement of his narrow escape from Gray Ghost he re- peated them over and over again as the car which had befriended him took him swiftly back to town. ‘Phelps, Carmichael Chambers. Carmichael Chambers.” | It was the address given by Ostermann to his lieutenant, Berne, and to which he had been instructed to go to get the code-chart for the entrance to “‘the cove.” Where was the cove? And what secret did it hold which was such a great one that even the Emperor Maximilian intended visiting it in person, and which Ostermann boasted the British Government would give all the gold in its coffers to be able to buy? Did the man called Phelps know? Or was he merely a tool employed to trace code- charts? : Carmichael Chambers were in Jermyn Street, and the number, he remembered, was thirteen. He would go himself and interview Phelps, and if Lieutenant Berne recovered sufficiently quickly and com- pletely to be able also to call upon the gen- tleman at Carmichael Chambers—well, there was plenty of room for two everywhere! The “cove”? Where was it? What was it? Although he still felt ill and shaky, he determined to go to Jermyn Street then and there, brooking no interference from the motorists who had driven him in, though they protested he was mad to undertake such a business instead of going home to Phelps, bed. But Algy had said Jermyn Street, and he meant it; and accordingly the car was switched round and headed for that direction. Carmichael Chambers was a large block of flats near the Regent Street end of the narrow thoroughfare, and within five min- utes Algy was being deposited at the big main entrance and assisted to alight by the gold-laced commissionaire. Yes, he thought Mr. Phelps was in; in fact, Mr. Phelps very rarely went out, but an uncommon number of gentlemen visited him at odd intervals—mostly foreigners, too, they looked. But then Mr. Phelps himself was a foreigner, in spite of his Eng- lish name, so there wasn’t much to wonder at in that. No. 13 was on the third floor, and as the elevator was broken he would have to walk up. The light was switched on in the hall of No. 13 as Algy Brett pressed the bell, and a heavy footfall sounded on the tiled floor. “TI shall get 7m anyway!” chuckled Algy excitedly as he watched a massive shadow of a hand silhouetted against the ground glass of the door panel. ‘‘I shall get in, and T’ll be a fool if I can’t pick up some little _scrap of information concerning this secret ‘cove’ I’ve heard so much about to-day! What luck not having to turn burglar!” The man who opened the door was an enormous creature with a heavy, stupid- ’ looking face and narrow, cunning eyes filled now with a dull suspicion. If Algy had not been informed that his name was ‘Mr. Phelps,” he would have instantly taken him for a foreign subject—probably F.ussian or Low Dutch. As soon as the man opened his mouth it was very evident that the English name had been assumed. Algy asked to see Mr. Ostermann, who, he understood, was sometimes to be found at the flat. He had not taken the risk of 916 C© MICLOOKS C©