Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

906 “Tm going to do nothing of the sort!” Bartiey snapped. “I may be sore on this job, but I haven’t turned murderer. No, when he gets here Steve’ll switch out the lights when I put up my hand. When they go on again, there’ll be several fewer peo- ple in here and Armstruther ‘ll be among the missing. We’ve got a cellar picked for him, Dick, and he’ll stay there just one week!” “And Bart, before that week’s out, - Wayne—” Richard began eagerly. “ Before it’s out,” Bartley broke in, im- patiently, “ Ill have little Prudence eating out of my hand and back in her own home!” “Eh?” said Mr. Flynn, without much interest. ‘“‘ How?” “With lies and deceit and double-cross- ing and artificial love stuff and all the tricks she has in her own little book!” young Mr. Greer said quite viciously. ‘“ And if ’m not good enough to accomplish that in @ week I’ll go to the old man and admit it and then quit for the first time! Ill get a truck-driver’s job or a good, safe place as janitor of a flathouse and settle down just like any other cold fizzle!” He lit another cigarette. With the first puff, too, he was grinning again. “But Ill get away with it, Dick,” he said confidently. ‘ All we have to do now is sit back and Jet him fall into the trap —and I guess we’ll move over to that table beyond the counter out of sight of the door. I don’t want him to see us and start running before the gang can get him.” Humming pleasantly, he led the way. He tilted back in his chair, comfortably, so that one eye could just range above the counter; and the impossible group of thugs noted the move and shifted their own chairs back a little, by way of being ready for action. Richard Flynn smiled his wicked approbation. “ They’re going to muss him up some, Bart?” ‘“T didn’t tell ’em to; they probably will,” Mr. Greer said, without great concern. “ He may put up a fight.” “Well, Bart, if he does and the lights are out—I don’t know that I’d want it to get back to Wayne later on—but if he ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. does you don’t mind if I mix in and take just one crack at him?” “Take a dozen, if you like, Dick,’ Bart- ley offered magnanimously. ‘I was jeal- ous of him myself, once upon a time.” The evening thus happily planned for Mr. Armstruther, conversation languished. Bartley smoked complacently and watched the door. 3 Mr. Flynn, in a more emotional state just now, tried two cigarettes, bit through both of them and ended by rummaging his pockets for a small, dusty square of to- bacco, into which he sank his excellent teeth. Then, eyes narrowed, jaw moving mechanically, he too watched the door, with very much the effect of a tiger about to spring upon its prey. “That clock right, asked suddenly. “Plumb on the tick, Bart!” said the gentleman behind the counter. ‘ That gets checked up every night by some o’ the boys from the railroad yard when they come in for a bite.” “Just quarter past, eh?” Richard mused. “He’s not crazy anxious to nail this new job, is he?” “He'll be here,” said Mr. Greer. The clock moved on, without the slight- est regard for the effect its motion might have on either of them. Eighteen—nine- teen—twenty minutes past eight, it an- nounced. “TI told the boy to bring back word, whether he’d care to consider the job or not,” Bartley said. ‘“ And the boy said the only answer was: yes, he’d be up. Did you hear him tell the boy that, Dick?” “ Well—I tell you,” Mr. Flynn con- fessed. “I was talking to Wayne at the time and maybe—here, hold on! Yes, I did hear Armstruther say that!” ‘“* Well, he—he’ll be here, then,” Bartley muttered. “ The sooner the better!” muttered Rich- ard and considered his hard fist. “ T’ve slipped up on a lot of little things on this job, but this one’s not going to slip!”? young Mr. Greer pursued, with the strangest suggestion of a small boy whistling as he passes the graveyard. ‘ Because I’ve been nervous, y’ know—and that was be- Steve?” Bartley comicboooks (©