Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

Ady tic haste. broken mass of green, almost black now in- 550 ing in the evening breeze. It looked like a shred of cloth, but unless the wind had carried it and impaled it there it could only have been torn from the apparel of some- one who climbed over carelessly or in fran- The hedge beneath was an un- the shadows and revealed no sign of dam- age. When Cliff assailed it, however, the twigs, elastic with new sap, bent limberly and sprang back into place. He forced them aside and drew himself up the bars of the fence to reach and cap- ture the fluttering shred of cloth. Then he dropped quickly down again and ‘crouched beside the hedge, immovable, for footsteps crunched along the path from the ‘front and the low murmur of voices came to his ears. “Tt might have been, I couldn’t say for sure. I haven’t heard him speak in six years.” The voice was unctuously smooth. “<The call came at seven and I did think it odd that he wouldn’t leave his name.” They were talking of the telephone call at Monckton Manor from the unknown man on the night before! The speaker must be Peter Downes, the butler; the footsteps were uneven, short, trotting ones beside slower, heavy strides. Clift reconnoitered warily and saw that it was indeed the but- ler, with the policeman who that morning had been stationed at the door of the din- ing room. They were rounding the sharp curve in the path, going toward the garage and the officer’s deeper tones reached him even more distinctly. “?Twould be better if you could swear to it,” he growled. ‘We'll give you a chance to hear him talk downtown and then maybe you'll be certain.” “Perhaps so and perhaps not.” There was 2 world of meaning in the raised in- flection. “I’ve got myself to think of and I’ve held my place for eighteen years. I'd not like to make a mistake that would lose it for me and bring me no thanks.” The voice trailed off into silence as the men disappeared, but Cliff had heard enough to illuminate the situation. It was the crudest attempt to influence a possible witness that he had ever listened to, but it showed that the authorities were not as sure ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, of being able to make out a case as they had appeared. If they had decided on open bribery they would have employed a more adroit emissary than the blunt policeman, but it was plain that Peter Downes would not be averse to an offer. He must be reckoned with, Cliff reflected, as he crept back to the house and slipping in the window, closed it after him. That snatch of conversation might prove of value to their client if he were arraigned before the murderer was found. That he would be, sooner or later, came with renewed convic- tion to Cliff's mind. That rag of cloth now reposing in his pocket which he had not even examined as yet brought his confidence back in a wave and there was an added jauntiness in his manner as he hastened to the front door. “On your way already?” the detective demanded jocosely. ‘‘ Didn’t find your sec- ond story worker’s visiting card or a lock of his hair, did you?” ““ Something more personal than that!” Cliff smiled in an infinitely superior way. “It’s no wonder you boys always grab the first person in sight to hang something on when you never lift your noses from the ground!” His tone was bantering, but the other’s gaze sharpened with suddenly aroused in- terest and he could feel it following him as he walked briskly to the gate. He could scarcely restrain his impatience to examine his find, and when once more the subway was reached the ride down town seemed interminable. He arrived at the office of the Shadowers at length to find ‘Ethel still in sole possession and wrestling with the telephone. “T’ve got just one number left, Mr. Nichols,” she remarked. “TI had to hold Queensbridge nearly half an hour before it answered, and then it was a warehouse!” “Your intuition didn’t register this time, did it?” he asked. ‘‘ We'll call that last number after a bit, but first I want to show you what I’ve found! Come into my study where there’s a strong light.” The torn fragment of cloth was of the cheapest dark blue serge, worn threadbare and shiny, with more cotton than wool in its weave, but the two could not have EOmichbooks-co