Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

The Snow Driver A cup was thrust into the armiger’s hand and he tasted spiced wine. “To your journey, sir,” he said blithely. “Seek out the lady Elizabeth and her gentle- men, for she at least is stanch. But go swiftly hence. Tarry not the dawn, for each hour brings its peril. Fare ye well!” THEY clasped hands at the door for the first time in many years. ay Master Thorne took his son’s rapier and watched until Ralph had passed into the shadows across the highway. After listening a while, the old man kindled a fire in the hearth and fell to furbishing and polishing the weapon in his hands. He was tired and bewildered by the swift passage of events and turned to his unfail- ing consolation, his maps and manuscripts of voyages. Ligh ting the candles on the table he settled down to pore over them and lost all account cf time. Dawn had marked the tree tops and a fresh wind set the candle flames to flicker- ing when he looked up at last, having been for the past moment conscious of horses trotting along the road. The door had been thrown open and two men stood within it watching him. One, a slender fellow in a broad plumed hat, Thorne did not know. The other.was my ‘lord Renard, attired for traveling, who pinched his chin between thumb and fore- finger while his glance strayed from the sword and the two cups beside it on the table tc the old man’s charts and from them to Master Thorne. “You keep late hours, sir,” he observed, advancing and taking the weapon in his hand. “Come to the fire, my lord,” muttered the cosmographer. “ ’Tisa fair cold night.” “A cold night to bide awake,’’ nodded the envoy. “You are alone, too, I perceive. Vet I am informed that your son passed this way, going to London.” He raised his voice as if he had asked a question, his eyes full on the Englishman. Master Thorne, who was no adept at false- hood, held his peace, wondering what had occasioned this visit from such a notable. He did not think my lord Renard would hunt his son in person; indeed, the behavior of the envoy was far from alarming. Master Thorne wished now that he had thought to conceal the sword, but his visitor seemed to attach no importance to it. 23 “T thought, my master,” went on Renard slowly, “‘that you had no son.’ ‘‘Nay, we had a way of quarreling,” spoke up the cosmographer frankly, “but Ralph is a good lad.” His eyes, too, dwelt on the gleaming sword with more than a little pride. The sallow face of the nobleman was im- passive but he raised his heavy brows, and bent over the table to scan the charts and papers spread thereon. And now he frowned, picking up first one sheet, then another. Evidently he was able to judge of their contents, for a muttered exclama- tion escaped his lips when he examined the chart of the northern seas. “Ah, you have skill in cosmography, tis clear. I seem to remember that you learned your craft in Spain in Seville.” “That is true,’’ assented Master Thorne readily, pleased in spite of his distrust of the strangers, at the compliment. “Such knowledge is priceless in these days of discovery,” pursued my lord Renard amiably. ‘‘Perhaps it had been better for you if it were not. The merchants of Orfordnesse do not value you justly, but J[——_” As idly as if he were casting dust from his fingers, he tossed the sheets he held into the fire, first handing the rapier to the gentle- man who attended him. As the sword left his grasp he spoke swiftly under his breath and the other nodded understanding. Master Thorne gave a great cry when he saw the flames catch at his precious maps. He ran around the table and plucked one of the smoldering sheets from the hearth. As he did so, the gentleman who attended my lord Renard stepped forward and ran the rapier through the old man’s body, withdrawing the blade in the same second and wiping it clean on his handkerchief, which he then tossed upon the floor. Master Thorne made no further outcry. Swaying on his knees, he fell forward, his head dropping among the crackling logs. Stung by this fresh agony, he moaned and drew himself back rolling over on the hearth, the smoking paper still clutched in the hands that were pressed against his breast. In spite of the odor of scorched flesh and singed hair my lord Renard would not leave the room until he had seen the last of the maps burned upon the hearth. Then he removed the lace handkerchief that he held against his nose. COMiICcloOo (©