Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

Ne | ¥ Nitore\! \ i a} AM ‘Wi ee ee At a ae ah ra bho , ve Sa < , <= = , nA : LEC ho ASE - it wo UL {tq ® ott SS ge ae RT tS Reigate c Pe a Ae. : i aE ee gem en raee - I Se ne ee re ny “ aS lee oo > “T myself heard it as 31 was sitting down- stairs there outside the judge’s door. 1 heard you fall. And later I heard some- thing more muffled in one of the rooms— the mozo’s room, no doubt. “We'll let it go at that,” I-said. “The mozo was killed instantly by a blow. I myself was slated to die in the same way, but by a miracle I escaped. You see, I made a’lunge at the Thing, which it probably hadn’t expected. And that saved me.” We went down and told Miss Shirley what had happened. I asked for the doc- tor, but she said he had left his room earlier in the night. Where he was, none of us knew. And now I will tell you how we found Pythagoras Awls. The next morning after the events I have just described, Cronk confided something to me. He was, he said, on the verge of a nervous breakdown—or something worse. He felt that something inside his brain was crumbling, like a rotten shack—that it would collapse any moment. It was an actual physical sensation he had, of dry- ness inside his skull. His headache, he affirmed, had grown worse. He was unable to sleep. “Four nights have passed,” he said, “and some malignant spirit taking posses- sion of the judge’s body has walked each night. The deputy, that death cry of Pythagoras Awls, the mozo—I am to be next.” I was startled at the quiet assurance, the resignation of his tone. “T can tell,” he said. “I have some- thing of a gift to feel what’s in the air. When I was a child I saw the figure of my uncle—even though, as my parents explained to me, he had been dead several hours.” “ T would advise you to stop fooling with spirit photography and all this nonsense,” 1 said. “Tt is not necessary advice,” he said quietly. “I won’t touch that camera up there. . it betrayed any of — sae oF distracted brain could stand.” Then he added firmly: “Im withdrawing.” “ A splendid idea,” I said. “1 advise it strongly. Don’t think we’ll blame you, or call you afraid. You’ve got reason enough to leave this place. What with that head- ache—”’ “ Ah, yes—that’s it. The headache.” I looked at him anxiously. “You don’t think—” “Yes, I think I’ve been poisoned.” I pretended to show surprise at this. As a matter of fact, I had had a grave suspi- cion that my poor friend was in a very serious condition. “It’s that coffee I’ve been drinking,” he said. “Y thought we’d exploded the coffee theory, now that the mozo’s dead. He is | one of the murdered—not the murderer.” “ True enough. But there may be some one else who has been poisoning us.” “ As a matter of fact, all the deaths thus far—except the judge’s—have been sudden deaths. A violent attack.” “Not necessarily. You remember the doctor’s idea that Deputy Marteau might have been drugged before his fall from the gallery. He was a pretty big man to be hurled over the banister without some sort of a tussle.” ‘* Drugging first, then a coup to finish it,” I said, “is that the procedure you think this murderer indulges in?” ‘“T’m not so sure but that you’re right. Every death thus far—with, as I say, the exception of the judge’s—corroborates that idea.” After a moment he added: “ And i’m not going to stay here for the final coup.” “1 think you’re very wise,” I repeated. “And I would like to add, Tim, that it would be still wiser if you went to some good physician about that headache.” I remember he said calmly: “I have no hopes for that.” So Tim left us. 1 reported his with- drawal from the case to Miss Shirley, and she seemed to agree with the opinion at which Tim and I had both arrived—that he was withdrawing in the nick of time. “ sae ~~. ae = ee 22: sl A oes —— ae Set <a Lee SA Sins 35 suet comicbooks.com