Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

THE STOLEN NECKLACE, Santiago about faced to find himself look- ing into the eyes of a United States marine, out there on the prado, that hot, simmering morning. He was just a marine, white, _ breathless, khaki clad. He was molded ac- cording to:a type that rose simultaneously in the minds of the dusky Panamenos by simply mentioning the word “‘ Marine.” To Santiago he represented something strong, powerful, alien. Something definite. Small wonder then that Santiago, ambassador— duly Latinized—of that nomadic tribe of Indian Occidentals, the Barbadians, looked askance at the friendly arm the marine placed on his shoulder. “ Let’s walk on, not to attract attention,” the marine said. ‘I want to talk to you.” Tt would be well just here to point out that Santiago is a Castilianization of that very Zebedeean James. Santiago was a West Indian negro who had wallowed so voluminously in Latin civilization—or un- civilization—that it was almost a crimé even to think of him as less than a native Pana- meno. It had only taken him six years to absorb completely the native point of view, to dabble in its politics, of which science he was by no means a dilettante, to marry a nate senorita, who had died and left him a widower, and hobnob with some of the country’s best liked tinterillos. In fact, Santiago was one of the handsomest foreign blacks in Aspinwall. There was an extra- ordinary mating of the color and mystery and the spiritual mysticism of Egypt with the sheer treelike mightiness of Africa in the finely carved lines of his powerful bronze body. Of a dark black complexion, with somber eyes and white, glistening teeth, Santiago besides possessed a veneer of that omnipotent thing called personality. Santi- ago by all means had personality. As the marine walked along the prado with him, Santiago pondered the anomaly over. What could he want? Usually a marine is never cordial with a native, except he wanted him to buy him a drink or ask him to show him where such and such a house was. In consequence of which San- tiago was determined to be shrewd and un- communicative to the last. “You live around here, don’t you?” the marine inquired. 629 Santiago shook his head. ‘‘ No sabe,” he said. ‘“ Me no sabe.” “Say, you speak English, don’t you?”’ “Me no sabe.” Santiago shook his head. ““Me-no sabe.” “God Almighty!” Suddenly an idea occurred to Santiago. He turned. A trifling smile lit up his dark, shining cheeks. “You wantee ron Bolivar—drink?” And he put an imaginary glass to his lips. “No.” The marine frowned. “ Get that out of your head.” | They were now by the railroad station near the flagman’s hut. Going behind it the marine grew desperate as he drew the reluc- tant Santiago out of sight of passers-by. ““ You’ve got to understand me,” the ma- rine hissed, ‘‘ I must talk to you.” ‘ Nope, Santiago—”’ ae “ Cut that stuff out. I ain’t going to do nothing to you. “Listen, partner, it is just this way. I am a friend of yours, sabe?” Santiago capitulated and volunteered in English: ‘“‘ Go ahead, what you want?” - “Now you’re talking sense,” the other rejoined. ‘“ That’s the dope for me.” He was a nice fellow, Santiago concluded, admiring the white man’s crystal blue eyes, gold, sunburned skin, and tight, strong lips. ‘““ Here’s the idea,” he explained, “I just got in on that transport out there in the bay. Lot of us soldiers bound for the bar- racks up in Gorgona. You know where that is, I guess.” “Yes,” Santiago put in, “ two stations above Culebra. Near the mouth of the Chagres.” “Well, we are leaving to-morrow. But to-night the gang is coming ashore and there’ll be hell’s bells in town. Now, I’ve got to be with that gang, but I’m broke. I lost everything I had on the way down. Rotten luck! And I ain’t got a nickel com- ing to me. But I got to be with that gang to-night at Brady’s, and here’s how I am going to do it.” The marine unbuttoned his coat, dug into an inside pocket, and extracted a small square black box. With trembling fingers he pressed the spring and the box flew open. Lost in a world of bewilderment Santiago’s eyes rolled until only the whites, in the EComichbooks:-co