Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 144: what you’re looking at

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6-614 but equally sure, in avenging any act against their sacred though monstrous cult. So, pitifully enough, and by some inverse | psychology, Miss Loring died by the hand of one of the very superstitions which she had scorned all her life.” 3 “Oh,” I defended, “that was just chance. Surely you would not have me become a fatalist?” Nancy shrugged. ‘ These are the facts. Make your own explanation, your own an- alogy.”’ + CHAPTER XXII. THE FINAL SECRET. H,. another thing, Nancy,” I queried. “I had all but forgotten it in the multiplicity of enigmas.” «é Yes?” “ What was Julius Czsar’s ghost? He said he saw a dim figure swooping down in the soft moonlight. He saw the light through it. even its skeleton could be descried.” Nancy smiled, then sobered again. “The creed of the Piuchis is very punctil- ious in many respects. Undoubtedly this Hindu messenger believed himself to be but offering a sacrifice on the altars-of their dogmas, to propitiate the wrong they be- lieved done by the purloining of their sacred relic. “So, as the Hindu priest swept along stealthily, he was probably clad in the soft silk of the altar gown. It is fine spun and as transparent as heavy veiling. And it would be gray. So his underclothing showed through black, looking to the su- persiitisns Julius Cesar like a bony skele- ton.” “But where was this Hindu when Julius : went out to investigate?” “He could easily have been at the top ~ of the first rope he had thrown over the branch and in the act of fastening the sec- ond one. When he heard Julius coming out it was easy for him to remain there — quietly. The foliage on the tree is very heavy and the shadows proportionately dark. Such a position offered an admirable hiding place for the dark garbed figure.” ¢ And it was so transparent that pe ss WEEKLY. I sat pondering over the scene her words conjured. ““ But one thing now remains for expla- nation,” she said abruptly. “ And that?” I inquired, striving to think of any remote point in the incredible mystery of Voodoo Manor which had not been already elucidated. “YT must now try to fathom the riddle of the pearls.” I had all but forgotten that not incon- siderable fortune invested in precious stones and hidden away somewhere. “Where do you begin?” I asked. “Jn that room which has played so sin- ister a part in the life and the death of Felicia Loring.” “Ugh! ~Well, I don’t want to go in there again until—” “Well?” “Unless you find them in some very un- common spot. Then I might just stand in- side the door. But for further poking around in that room—you may just count me out.” : “I do not wonder at you. a desirable task for me. But I owe it to Miss Loring. It is her wish. And since I have vindicated her death, I must now fulfill her other desires.” So saying Nancy disappeared, ieiving me staring out on the pattering raindrops and the gray, weeping day. It was as though all Nature paid belated tribute to the mistress of Voodoo Manor—and_ be- moaned the Strange beliefs of mere men who rise and fall in accordance with the dictates of their dogmas. It is hardly I do not know how long I sat there musing. I was conscious at last of the swish of skirts, of Nancy poised on the threshold. An apple blossom pink suffused her oval _ face, and the dark eyes glowed with hidden lights. It was her success face! She nodded at the question in my eyes. “Yes. You see, thick crowding events had not previously ‘admnitted of a thorough search on my part. Come.” — When Nancy applies that word “unique,” which the casual person uses too, too much, I know it is that and more. It was uniquely done. Ol EOomicbooks com: