Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

A BOOB THERE WAS. being signed?” Van Carpen interrupted con- temptuously. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve supplied a missing signature.” “Oh, I see.” J. P. frowned dubiously. “ But what’s the sense of figuring on any- thing like that? Moore’s an expert aviator. It’s odds-on against anything happening to him.” “On the contrary,” said Van Carpen, “ it’s a certainty that something will.” “You mean?” J. P. gave a quick glance of question. Van Carpen nodded. “Neither Northrup nor Moore is going to return,” he said nonchalantly. “ Pedro doesn’t do anything by halves. He mopped up clean while he was about it.” “ He told you?” “Sure. According to his report, the gmash-up in both cases should have oc- curred by this time. That is the reason I told you you were doing a lot of unneces- sary worrying.” J. P. considered this new development. He showed no horror at the disclosure. He was merely reflecting cold-bloodedly how it would affect themselves and their plans, And the lines of anxiety were not wholly erased from his brow. “ What arrangements did you make with the greaser?”’ he asked. “ Fifteen thousand for the kidnaping and this job together, to be paid as soon as we collect on Moore’s notes. Then we’ll have to pay Red ten thousand, and expenses will run five. Counting what we paid the colo- nel for his deed, we’ll only make about ten thousand apiece out of Moore; but that’s better than being in the hole. We may be able to pull off that bond-selling cam- paign.”’ “M-m-m. Sounds all right,” muttered J. P. “But I don’t like it. Too many people in the know. And this bootlegger would round on us in @ minute. If I can once get my claws on that ten thousand, it’s me for New York.” “ Still scarey, eh?” sneered Van Carpen. “Why not?” J. P. retorted. ‘“‘ You did not see that crowd down at the field. I tell you, they’re just on edge to start some- thing. And if they do—zowie!” “Rot!” The other flipped his cigarette 735 into an ash tray. “ What are they stirred up about? The supposed murder of the girl, of course. But she isn’t murdered, and we know right where we can lay our hands on her. As a matter of fact, I have already wired to Santa Fé for an airplane; and to-morrow or next day I’H sail out and bring her home in triumph. “Why, J. P.,” he exclaimed, “ with the credit Pll gain for rescuing the girl, and the colonel so grateful that he’ll do anything I ask, we ought to clean up big here. This is no time to talk of pulling out. You get busy, instead, practicing on Mooxe’s signa- ture, and I'll start figuring the best way to turn our advantage into cash.” J. P., in default of further objections to offer, somewhat sulkily obeyed; and with one of the contracts Bob had signed propped up in front of him on his desk, set himself to studying the chirography of the name “ Robert Moore,” so as to stamp it so thoroughly on his mind that he could reproduce if without danger of detection. Presently he began copying single let- ters or parts of letters and comparing them with the original. This ability to counter- feit the handwriting of others was a gift he had discovered as a boy, and was in fact the cornerstone of J. P.’s criminal equip- ment. He had served a term in State’s prison as a result of it when only eighteen, and had there become acquainted with Van Carpen, who was up for pocket-picking. So later, when Van had embarked upon his career of shady finance, and was facing am emergency where only the “ correction ” of some documents could save him, he had naturally sent for his old “ college ” chum; and in this way their association had been formed. J. P. was really a wonder in his line, capable of that most difficult form of for- gery, the duplication of another’s signature in free hand, and doing it so perfectly that the man himself would almost believe in ft, But he was out of practice now, and the results he achieved evidently did not sat- isfy him. As he scowlingly labored away, filling sheet after sheet with his futile attempts to catch just the right slant and shading, Comicloooks (C@