Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

BORROWED PLUMES. What was it all about, And who the devil was he whom he had the honor to address? The man replied to the first and last queries. Monsieur might call him Bastien; sur- names were quite unnecessary, “Jc, nous sommes sans ceremonie,” he smilingly stat- ed. And the gentleman was thus secured lest he do himself a harm; since he was quite violent the night previous. ‘““ How am I going to eat?” Bastien replied by dragging him, with George’s clumsy help, to a sitting posture, with the pillows stuffed behind him against the headboard. Then he proceeded to feed George, as if he were an infant. Humiliat- ing as the situation was, he ate heartily. He was surprised to find how well he felt. Save for a ringing in his head, and a sore- ness over the right temple, he seemed as good as new. He downed an omelet, but- tered rolls, two cups of: coffee; and then asked for a smoke, half expecting to be re- fused. But whatever plans were making for his future, it was evident that he was to be treated for the time being with reasonable liberality. Bastien producéd a box of ciga- rettes, and some cigars. Because his hands were fettered, and the cigarette smoker is nearly as dependent upon them as is a Jewish orator, George chose a cigar. Bas- tien placed it not inelegantly in his mouth, and applied the necessary vesta. Then he lighted a tiny alcohol burner on the stand, and told George that he could manage, from this, to light as many cigars or cigarettes as he chose; and, taking up the empty tray, turned toward the door. “ How long am I to be your guest?” George called after him. The man paused, fixed him with a singular look, and waited deliberately before replying, choosing his words with care. “That, monsieur, is in other hands than mine. You are in possession of grave infor- mation which you may choose to misuse; and you have ventured to interfere with one. of our trusted agents. Your fate has not, I believe, been determined.” With which not altogether cheering words, he turned again, passed from the room and locked the door behind him. 687 Left alone, George pondered means of getting out of his harness. He scrutinized it more carefully. It certainly was not breakable by any force at his command, and it was too tough to be gnawed through by his excellent teeth. Hours of toil might fray it against some sharp surface, if he could find such; but it was very doubtful if he were to be left to himself for hours. He felt certain that Bastien, or another, would look in on him frequently. His eyes turned, by chance, to the tiny blue flame of the alcohol burner. Fire! That would take the life of the best rawhide, and in short order. How could he manage to connect with it? Listening carefully, but hearing nothing to indicate that any one was outside his door, he rose to his feet and approached the little table. As he stood by the burner, the flame was at the height of his chest. Then he pushed and kneed, as quietly as possible, a light chair against the table; and, kneeling upon its seat, raising and lowering his body till the proper elevation was se- cured, he had the satisfaction’ of seeing the blue flame caress the solid leather belt. An abominable stench rose to his nos- trils. Were he to be interrupted, the odor would certainly betray him. He leaned in closer, and in so doing nearly extinguished the precious flame. But already the leather was growing black and brittle, with little cracks radiating out from the core of heat. In a surprisingly short time, not much more than Houdini himself would have required, he had destroyed the vitality of the belt over a space equal to its width, and a tre- mendous outward thrust of both hands caused it to part raggedly. Sitting in the chair, it was easy to pass the belt under- neath, bringing his two hands _ together. From this position, one hand was able to un- buckle the other; and he stood free, swing- ing his cramped arms, trying out his leg muscles, proving to himself that he was, so to speak, ready for the bell. It was at this instant that a din from far below, but undoubtedly in the house itself, came to his ears. There was a thrashing about, the sound of slamming doors and padding feet, oaths and cries. What it por- tended he could only guess. It might be the - eo EComichooks. com: