Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 130: what you’re looking at

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920 it had ever been used. The rest rioted in beach weeds. Wondering, but silently he walked be- fore Natalie Reed ignominiously. He had business of the utmost impor- tance elsewhere than on Walrus Island. He might have been boiling with impatience to be away from the spot, but he accepted what must be with a philosophical shrug of the shoulders. But when his opportunity came he would be ready to act on it. They went into the unfurnished bunga- low and within it was as pathetically incom- plete as without. It had started out to be a home and become, instead, only a camp. Yet there was no suggestion of the happy occupations and interests of a camp, mere- ly the confusion, the inconveniences and an air of bitter discouragement; of high hopes gone to smash. ‘“‘ Sit down,” said Natalie Reed. It was an order, not an expression of hospitality. She stood over Francis, the weapon still in her hand, and studied him through nar- rowed eyes. For his part he awaited developments with a calm that concealed a lively curi- osity. “T think you know very well where you are—and why,” the young woman began. “But if you choose to keep up this pre- tense—” _ The prisoner shrugged. that I do.” “ Very well. I am Foster Reed’s daugh- ter. This is Foster Reed’s house and the house is on Walrus Island, the island that was sold to Foster Reed by a certain plausi- ble, oily tongued, shameless crook with just about as much conscience as the man who sets false beacons to wreck a ship—” “ And you think I am that man?” “T know you are that man—” Francis made a gesture of dissent, but she brushed it aside. ‘ I know you are the man by the best evidence in the world, though I have never seen Valentine before. Don’t argue. That’s futile. “Vou are the man who called himself Valentine. Three years ago you found the sort of prey that gentlemen of your sort must delight in, a city man, middle-aged, whose wife had died recently, whose busi- ‘“ Let’s assume ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ness had failed through no fault of his own, who had the responsibility of a daughter kept in a fashionable school—a man who was making his last, brave stand against crushing odds, ready for any desperate ven- ture. Very cleverly you showed that man the pleasure and profit in an island ranch and tolled him across the range to this place. You sold him Walrus Island, sold it and gave him a deed—a deed worth less than your promises because Walrus Island was government land, held in the mineral reserve, and you knew it! Yet that deed is worth something. We have kept it very carefully against this day, because this is the day my father and I have prayed for, Mr. Valentine! We have asked God to send you back to us, to give us our day of reckoning—and when we’re through with you, your own deed, signed with your name will be enough to send you to the one place fit for your kind—a prison!” Natalie Reed’s eyes were flashing. Her breath came fast. The wrongs done her father were hers to avenge and her joy was unholy. Even in this crisis the man who sat listening could not forget her Strange beauty. “God was good to us!” she exulted. ** You had never seen me. My name meant nothing to you. How simple that made it to get you into the motor boat and bring you back where Foster Reed has waited almost three years to face you and make you pay—and pay dearly! And when he comes next week!” The prisoner spoke finally. He said quietly: ‘‘ All this, of course, being based on the assumption that I am the man Valen- tine who defrauded your father—” “Why pretend? You can’t expect to fool even yourself into hoping—” “Listen to me.” He spoke quietly, but with a tone that stopped her tongue. ‘‘ You have been misinformed. I am not this man Valentine.” She answered with spiteful calm that matched his own: “ You are a liar!” His face reddened, but he gave no other sign of annoyance. ‘I am Tom Francis, of Boston, as I told the storekeeper at Hope. And, I have no doubt it was that man who informed you I was Valentine—” Ccomicbooks CO