Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

1124 ‘“Why, what’s this, Waynill?”’ asked Tor- rance in a tone of surprise. The detective smiled. “Major Stark’s cigar-case,” he said. found it out in the forest to-day.” Torrance laughed again, and, looking very steadily at the detective, shook his head in turn. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your effect, Inspector,” he said. ‘‘But it happens to be mine. I lost it a weck or more ago. Some one seems to have trodden on it.” He noted the sudden doubt on the In- _ spector’s face, and turned to Gregg, who had been hovering about the sideboard. “‘Gregg—what cigar-case is this?” The old man took it, looked well at it and handed it back. “Yours, sir—the one you lost ten days ago.” He looked at the Inspector, his old face grim and hard in the lamplight. “If there were any cigars in it when you found it, sir, they would be the same brand as these.” He pushed the open box on the table to the Inspector, who took one out and looked carefully at the narrow green, red and gold band. He shrugged his broad shoulders with an air of good-humored resignation and took from an inside pocket an envelope containing four cigars, crushed almost to shreds. There were four bands on them—three ragged and one intact. He handed them over to Torrance—who lazily compared the bands with those on the cigars in the box. ““Yes, the same cigars of course,” “Try one—out of the box, Inspector. We'll call it a reward, if you like.” The Inspector grinned ruefully. “T’ll take the reward,”’ he said, reaching for it, “but you’ve spoiled a very good clue —between you. Can’t you throw a wash in with the reward, Mr. Torrance?”’ he added. “Why, of course. Gregg will show you the bathroom.”’ The Inspector followed the old man out. ey I HAD remained very silent—know- ing what I knew. For instance, I was aware that Torrance had always resolutely refused to carry a cigar-case. He objected to take them on account of their size. He rarely smoked cigars at all. But evidently the Inspector did not share my knowledge. I leaned over to him. cigar-case?”’ I whispered. “Ts that your Adventure He shook his head furtively. “Whose, then?”’ I insisted, impatient with curiosity. Torrance put his lips to my ear. “Stark’s,”’ he breathed, his eyes glittering through half-closed lids. “But the cigars—did he smoke the same brand as yours?”’ Torrance shook his head. “No. The cigars Inspector Waynill found in the case were from my box. I gave them to him the morning he disappeared. No- body seems to have seen him alive after he left here. At least nobody has come for- ward yet.” “And he did leave here alive—you’ll never persuade me otherwise, Torrance,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘Did he say where he was going?” Torrance glanced at the photograph of the woman on the mantelpiece. If possible, he had become paler than ever. “He was going to her—to No-Man’s Court,” he whispered dryly. There was horror in his eyes. Then we heard the Inspector coming down the passage and Torrance began to de- scribe the ingenuities of his willing domestic slave at the back—the oil-engine. The Inspector was quite himself again now—stolid, heavily humorous, tenacious, but, I thought, not too intelligent. He lighted his postponed cigar, mixed himself a drink and told us the story of his day’s work, CHAPTER III MARY “TTYHERE’S something queer about this disappearance,’ said the Inspector. “Tt might be anything from an ordinary ‘flit? from a crowd of creditors to’’—he hesitated for the fraction of a second— “murder. I’m not sure that I ought to be talking about it even to you, Mr. Torrance.” He chuckled rather heavily. “If I hadn’t known you and your man in town for the last ten years, I’m not sure that I shouldn’t ask you a lot of questions that would sound a bit suggestive.” Torrance laughed very naturally. “My dear man, ask ’em now. I’ve always wanted to see how the police work,” he said. The detective’s chuckle deepened. C© MICLOOKS C©