Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

FOOL PROOF. there with the necktie. Then he came and stood in front of him. ‘J don’t want you to talk,” he said, ‘““ because you might interrupt me. Besides, you might make too much noise. You might get scared. You said men do when they see it coming. You’re going to die slowly, the way Jean Avery saw it coming, and then you’re going to die slowly, the way she died. I wonder if you'll stand it as well as she did.” Lathrop took hold of the chair and turned it to face the window. - “Tm going to let you look out here the way you used to when you’d watch for a taxi to stop, and listen for the doorbell that gave you just two or three minutes to sleek your hair and light a pipe and take the proper theatrical pose on that sofa to make some fool girl think you had tem- eee © Lathrop quietly crossed the room and opened the door of the tiny kitchenette. He jerked the rubber tube loose from the gas stove, carried the end as far as it would reach into the room, and turned on the gas. Not a sound had come from Freyne. Lathrop returned to the window. “You won’t have to turn around to see it coming. You'll see it right over those house tops, as far as your eye can reach. It’s coming now, but you don’t see it. You will soon. I'll know when you do because Tm watching you. speak. You won’t ever speak again, with that damn plausible, filthy voice of yours. I won’t disturb you for a while. Let me know when you see it coming.” Lathrop folded his arms and _ leaned against the window jamb. His eyes never left Freyne’s face—Freyne staring out of the window, his mouth stretched wide over the silk tie, breathing in short quick breaths, through his nose. Much more faintly came the sound of the gas flowing from the open tube. Lath- rop could hardly detect the nauseous, sweet stench, but his eyes never left Freyne’s face. The cries of the children in the street _ seemed getting louder, A rare Sunday train _ thundered by on the L, and a wagon with You won’t need to T9% metal tires rattled over the Third Avenue cobbles. Suddenly Freyne’s gaze withdrew from the sky line. His mouth twitched and he jerked his head to stare with a look of sick horror at Lathrop. ‘You see it now, do you? Yes, the gas is leaking. It’s leaking fast. But it will take a long time coming. A couple of hours at least, I should think.” Lathrop started away, but stopped at the strangled rasp of terror that came from Freyne’s throat. “No, I’m not going to leave you—the way you left her.” He went again to the hand bag, took out a gas mask, and put it on the table. “J told you I’d figured this out care- fully. I can’t afford to miss anything. Be- sides I want to give you something to think about. MHere’s a letter. It’s from Bridgeport, dated last Monday—two days before she died. I want to read it to you before this gas gets too thick.” Freyne leaped against the tight cords, and the chair creaked and staggered. His feet hammered the floor. Lathrop took a cushion from the couch and wedged it under Freyne’s feet. “IT can’t read,” he said, ‘if you make that racket.” He opened the letter. “ Ill leave out the first part because it’s about herself and it’s written to me. You wouldn’t understand. Further on she says, ‘ Jack Freyne promised to come and see me, but he hasn’t come or written. I wouldn’t mind the loneliness so much if I didn’t feel so deserted.’—she’s in a boarding house, you know, with a cheap doctor; ‘I had to tell the family I was visiting at Westport. They expect me back now, but I can’t travel yet, so if you see them, tell them I’m all right and coming home soon. Tell Jack not to be afraid. There’s nothing more to worry about. If I could only see him for a minute I wouldn’t make a scene; tell him I promise on my word of honor. If he could come just for an hour—’ ”’ Freyne gave another wrench against the ropes and fell back choking. Lathrop sniffed. “God, that stuff is getting strong. It makes my head ache.” oO (S@) GCOmMmicbooks