Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

THE BLACK TUBE. ings. ‘The magnitude and beauty x was plain to be seen even at night. _ “We are going in the back way, ex. plained Marsh —as ‘the car swung into a narrow lane where the bushes Banked close. “It happened at the office, a big, old fash- ioned house at the lower end of the estate where Sands handles his business. He lives some distance above—a mile or more.” ‘“T think I’ve been through the property before,” nodded Craton. “ Suey one knows it for a show place.” “Jt will make some stir ii—if he dies,” muttered Marsh, tapping. pesvousy on the car door with is fingers, “Tt certainly will,” agreed Craton. The car shot down over a hill and halted before a big, white house alight from top te bottom. Marsh was down and running up ‘the walk almost before the car had come to a full stop. CHAPTER II. CUT WIRES. OHN DESTON, his jaws set, hardly a J sign of blood in his drawn face, met them at the door. “ Well?” cried the lawyer as Craton came across the veranda. “ Mr. Sands is still alive. He is upstairs. Dr. Forbes is here with a nurse. He has sent for two specialists, although he thinks there is little hope. Miss Thurston is also here, upstairs—waiting.” He was almost mechanical in tone and words. “Mrs. Sands?” ‘ Went to town early this evening, and we haven’t been able to locate her yet.” “You said he was shot, Deston? When did it happen? Have you any idea who could have done it?” Marsh rushed on. Craton, standing a little to one side, was studying Mr. Sands’s secretary intently. He noted the least pause before Deston answered. “TF haven’t any idea. If found = here in the library—” leading the way into the room. “J was upstairs when I heard the shot. I came running down the back way from my room and in here. He was lying right by that door. The revolver. was just beyond his grasp. I had hardly reached him when Miss Thurston arrived.” “The revolver just beyond his grasp,” frowned Marsh. ‘“ What do you mean, Deston? Wilet Sands is not the kind of a man te commit suicide.” A startled expression flashed across Des- ton’s face for a second. *T hadn’t thought of that,” he admit- ted. “No, I hadn’t thought of that.” Then with a quick turn he pointed toward the huge davenport across the room, ‘His son, James Sands, is there—dead, Mr. Marsh.” * The lawyer drew back as if struck. For a second he was rigid, his horrified gaze riveted upon Deston’s face. Then he was around the davenport, which flanked the fireplace on the right, and looking down at the spot Deston had indicated. ‘Good God,” he whispered, lifting the steamer rug. ‘Craton, look! Sands’s son! He’s been strangled! 4 Banard Craton had moved to Marsh’s: side. He dropped to his knees and peered intently at the ghastly figure. His eyes narrowed. : James Sands was a man well past forty. A big, bulky figure like his father, but fat- ter, puffier, with the signs of dissipation clearly written in flabbiness of flesh and facial lines. Even in the death pallor upon his distorted features heavy black puffs were plain to be seen beneath his eyes, while his jowls hung soft for one of his age. Now his mouth was agape, his head thrown back, and on his throat were red lines and bruises where fingers had undoubtedly set hard. “Both of them,” whispered Marsh, turning away; and then, quickly: “Is Mr. Sands conscious? Can he speak?” Deston shook his head. “I got him up- - stairs before I telephoned for “the doctor and you. Miss Thurston stayed. with him until Forbes and the nurse came, She is in the room above here waiting.” Craton dropped the steamer rug over the body and rose to his feet. He looked at | s Yes, »” snapped the lawyer. “ Mr. Desten, this j is Mr. Craton, Banard Craton, , vt Eomichbooks €om=