Adventure Magazine Cover — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

918 indented the miles of desolation; nothing grew save the rank marsh grasses and sedge and black fungus; nothing lived save the croaking marsh-fowl and in the Summer the myriads of mosquitoes and the little blue moths which fluttered continuously above the sedge. The very place in which to hide a secret! Invulnerable! Inaccessible! Si- lent as the grave! Untrodden! And then the nearness of the rugged coast! The nearness of the coast! Had he found the secret? Was it there the ‘‘cove”’ was? Should he try and gain possession of the tracing-paper on the blotter and rest con- tent with that? Phelps’s voice speaking in his ear recalled Algy from his brief reverie. ‘Iss it a subscription vot you vant, or just Mr. Ostermann’s promise to vly? I haf his orders to give subscriptions if I think so good, and I haf power to enter his name to vly if the meeting is recognizable by the Club. If you will give to me particulars I vill take them down and inform you the > result within a day or two.” He sat down heavily at the table and picked up a pen. Out of the side of his eye Algy saw that he surreptitiously covered over with a piece of blotting-paper the trac- ing-drawing upon which he had so evidently been at work at the moment of Algy’s un- welcome intrusion. That Ostermann should employ such an obviously slow-thinking and stupid man as Phelps for his confidant was surprising to Brett, and he found himself wondering whether the notorious aviator really con- fided in the man or simply and daringly em- ployed him as a draftsman. And yet the fellow had called himself ‘‘ Mr. Ostermann’s private secretary.” Leisurely he gave the man a mass of in- formation concerning an entirely fictitious meeting to be held at a place to be selected later, supplied him with a number of well- known names as references, and begged him to use his influence with his em- ployer to consent to permit his name to appear as a competitor—all of which the secretary carefully wrote down in laborious long-hand. Then Algy rose to take his leave, and, as he did so, swayed for a moment, uttered a sharp cry, and staggered back into his seat, pressing his hand over his heart as though in sudden pain. In an instant the secretary was fussing Adventure over him, muttering thickly, a look of an- noyance on his heavy, stupid face. ‘Brandy, brandy!” murmured Algy from behind clenched teeth, hoping fervently that there was none in the room and that the man would fall into the trap and leave him alone for even a moment while he fetched some. But, to his immense disgust, the fat, self-styled secretary shuffled over to a little side-table in a far corner and Algy could hear the clink of glass as he removed the stopper from the decanter. He gave a swift look round. The table with the bit of tracing-paper he was so anxious to get hold of was almost within an arm’s-length; the secretary’s back was toward him. He had but to reach over the table from where he sat and slip the coveted paper from beneath the blotter, and the secret he so urgently desired to discover would be his—he was sure of it! But was it possible to move without the fellow becoming suspicious and turning round? Was it? He braced himself up for the try; he heard the trickle of the spirit pouring from the decanter to the glass; stealthily he leaned over the table; farther—farther; he heard the man replace the stopper; his finger touched the blotter and moved it an inch aside. The edge of the gray transparent tracing-paper jutted out from under; his fingers closed on it, drawing it swiftly, noiselessly, to him. As the secretary turned from the side- table, glass in hand, Algy staggered to his feet with a groaning sigh, declaring that he was better and that the air would be the best thing for him, and profuse in his apol- ogies and thanks. He left the flat with his hand still clenched over his heart, but it held the tracing Phelps had been so anxious to hide, and Algy could scarce control the triumph he felt. It was blazing out from his eyes as he ran down the steps and sprang into the car which still waited for him. Looking at his watch, he found there was just time to catch the North Mail. II boy SEX hours later Algy Brett was wee standing on the tiny platform of Tarnside station. Such utter dark- ness reigned that, having turned his back on the feeble light shed by the oil-lamps on © MICLOOKS ©