Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

AN 800 TO 1 bers: Street it was dark. For which Sam gave thanks. Only thirty minutes or so longer, and—hello! What the hell? Panic arose in the throat of the profit seeker. A burly traffic cop was shouting at the driver. “Hey, you! Pull over there!” He in- dicated the curb. The driver swore softly under his breath and obeyed! Sam debated whether to cut and run. What a fool he had been not to cover the stove with a tarpaulin or something. He had known that the police were on the look- out for a stove such as this, and this cop had spotted it! Visions of the station house, of a cell in the Tombs, of a cold-eyed judge, rose quite as vividly as had Mr. Shapiro’s equipage registered yesterday morning! Sam broke into a cold sweat as the officer leisurely made his way across to where the truck stood! Looking up at the driver in the most ap- proved contemptuous manner, the bluecoat inquired; ‘‘ Who the hell do you think you are, anyhow?” After the manner of his kind—if they had had been well-trained—the driver answered nothing; just waited. Sam’s horrified eyes saw those of the policeman travel to the sorry-looking stove and back again. He waited despairingly for what followed. The officer said, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘“ Youse Joisey guys tink you can get away wid murder, don’t you?” Then the driver spoke up. ‘“‘ What’s the row about, officer? What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong! Get down outa there an’ give a look at y’r number plate. How th’ hell y’ gonna read it—hangin’ by one wire?” ““T didn’t know it was loose.” “ That’s what they all say! I damn good mind ta give ya a ticket. Get down an’ fix it! Get a move on!”’ The relieved victim scrambled quickly down from his seat. Sam was glad of this. It afforded him an opportunity of collecting his wits. And presently he found himself in his own establishment, door locked and shades We tetto SHOT. 119 open the stove door, plunged his fingers among the litter in the fire pot! Papers! More papers! Cardboard boxes! Ah! Something soft! Sam pulled it out. An old sock—empty! With both hands he scooped out the contents of the receptacle. The stuff ought to be near the bottom, anyway, he surmised. Little by little the emptying process pro- gressed, until finally the searching fingers of Mr. Tack scratched nothing save fire clay and metal! He thrust an electric torch into the bow- els of Mrs. Conti’s stove. Nothing there! Dumfounded, he poured through the mess on the floor! In the end he sat weakly in a chair, staring at his purchase! “Oy! Oy!” he groaned. Versenkt!” Sam knew the loss of some thirty dollars would not break him. He would get it back all right. Only—only—who in the devil had abstraeted the money? He could sleep better if that were explained. Wild notions of going back over the route on the morrow came to his mind. If he could go down the line, threatening every one with exposure if a split was not forthcoming, he might yet cut in on the profits. That was his last thought before falling asleep. “ Versenkt! Vil. Hasit is a strong master. On the day after his Jersey adventure Mr. Tack shook out his morning paper—at quite the usual time. Also, as usual, he perused the clas- sified material first. Then a glance at the news. There it was—on the second page: FREAK OF FATE AIDED BY;HOOCH' RETURNS LOST WEALTH Pair Find Selves Millionaires For Day Prosperity Proves Fatal Two. men, describing themselves as John Smith and Fred Jones, of no address, were picked up last night in Battery Park after Smith had endeavored to crash the doors of the Aquarium, declaring that he was a sea - Jion and wanted to go to bed. Evidently the ‘pair hoe. been engaged in =: cs eonmlcboolket com