Adventure Magazine Cover — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

The Great Keegles ‘““‘What’s happened?” he asked of the world in general. Receiving no answer, he turned his head and looked about the room. He saw Keegles in the chair, grinning at him. “Why,” he said, ‘‘Why——” He started to get up. “That’s an excellent place for you, right where you are,” drawled Keegles, reaching over and seizing the revolver and placing it on one knee. ‘“‘If you try to get up you might have to sit down again. I wouldn’t move at allif I were you.”’ He tapped the revolver significantly. Pounds’ face assumed a ghastly pallor. He sagged into a limp heap, his lips working curiously. “‘W-who are you?” came from him presently. Keegles took a long pull from his cigar before answering. ‘‘My name is Keegles,”’ he said. ‘‘What’s yours?” “TVm—I’m It’s none of your busi- ness!” he suddenly blurted. He was silent for a full minute. Then he blurted again: ‘““We’ve got into the wrong house!” “Yes,” returned Keegles coldly, “you have. You'll discover that before you leave.” He fingered the revolver absently. Pounds’ eyes were fixed on the weapon with a fascinated stare. He was a prosperous looking man of forty, with a partly bald head, a big nose, and thick, sensuous lips. Keegles had formed a pronounced dislike for him immediately—a dislike tempered with a kind of contemptuous pity. Lig reached an erect position simultane- ously. Clothespole stuck a mourn- ful visage above the bed—two heavy swollen lips bearing testimony to the terrific force of the blow that had struck him. He turned and he and Pudge exchanged glances across the bed. Neither made any attempt to rise. “That’s right, Clothespole,’’ said Keegles, “sit still. I naturally desire to make an inspection of my nocturnal visitors before disposing of them.” He shifted his gaze until it rested upon Pudge, sitting beside the foot of the bed, holding tightly to the post. “You’ve got a black eye, Pudge,” he said, smoking his cigar slowly; “‘an awfully black eye. Some one must have been mighty careless with you.” Pudge’s gaze rested on Keegles for only an instant; now they were fixed on Pounds with a malignant glitter. “‘T knowed we was goin’ to git it,” he said, CLOTHESPOLE and Pudge had 821 “‘soon’s I seen him! What’n —— did you tell us he was a little feller fer?”’ ‘“‘He’s a devil, that’s wot ’e is!”’ whined Clothespole through his thick lips. ‘“T’ll never git mixed up in this kind of a deal ag’in, so ’elp me!”’ ‘“We got in the wrong house, mister,” said Pounds again, ignoring the plaint of his two confederates. ‘“‘We apologize for disturbing you, and we'll be going if you don’t mind.”’ “T don’t think you’ll go,” drawled Kee- gles; ‘‘at least, if you do go before I say the word, you'll go out feet first.” Pounds groaned. “What I want you to do, Clothespole,” said Keegles, pointing with the end of his cigar, dagger-l ke; to the tall man, “is to gather up all the pieces of rope.”” He waited until the man had collected them. ‘‘ Now,” continued Keegles, “go and bind Pounds hands and feet.” : Pounds sat very rigid, his little round eyes glittering wrathfully. “I won’t stand for it!”’ he almost shouted. “By , Lwon’t!” “We are not going to get excited,” drawled Keegles softly. “I’m only giving you a choice. Do you let Clothespole bind you, or do I call the police and turn you over?” “Call and be !””? snapped Pounds. Keegles rose leisurely and walked toward the door. But before he reached it Pounds called him back. ‘‘Don’t doit!” he pleaded. “Tl let him!” He held out his hands to Clothespole. “That’s gentlemanly of you,” returned Keegles, resuming his seat. He watched Clothespole until that gentleman had bound Pounds’ hands and feet with yards of rope. “T’m doin’ it right for you, you durned four- flusher!”? said Clothespole while he bound Pounds. ‘You told us he was a little feller —an’ he’s a giant, that’s wot he is!” “Now fix Pudge the same way,”’ directed Keegles. ? This was accomplished quickly, without - any objection on the little man’s part. ‘““Now tie your own feet,” directed Kee- gles. Clothespole turned a mournful, swollen, objecting visage to the adamantine Keegles. ‘“‘T didn’t do nothin’,” he said. ‘An’ I’m hurted; I’m hurted bad.” “Tt doesn’t go, Clothespole,” smiled Keegles. “I’m not showing any favors. Get your feet tied—or shall I slug you?”’ Clothespole tied his feet. Then he hopped COmiclbook ©