Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

HIS SERVICE TO FOLLY. spread, and it was fighting a convul- sion. The white skin covered its beady eyes and with a shudder it fell—dead! Basil felt his heart grow cold. The wine offered him had been poisoned. He saw murderous hate in the eyes of the baron as he turned on his heel with- out a word and went forward. Twice in one hour, Basil’s life had been the object of attack; first by the marlinespike, then the poisoned wine. He was at bay and could trust only Jack Butts and Gefondo, the hunch- back. Worst of all, the next attempt to murder him might come in the dark and he would not have the opportunity of fair fight. All his youth rebelled against that menace of fear clutching at him, the thought of treacherous bludgeoning, a stealthy stab, or the convulsive agony of poison. He dreaded unspeakably a death on this ship, and the inglorious end of his son which would be the news carried to Squire Trelawney. Standing near the bow, thoughts gathered and wheeled like gulls swoop- ing as the cook cast scraps from the galley. Those thoughts, feeding on fear, grew darker. Never before had he been afraid. Yet he wondered why the baron did not strike boldly. He was in the man’s power, and could have been dispatched quickly with piratical license. Standing there, a prey to his troubles, he heard his name spoken, and turned to find Jack Butts beside him. “Lad, that marlinespike—”’ began Jack, but Basil touched his finger to his lips, a warning for silence. “T’ve just come through worse, Jack. The wine—” “ Aye,” interrupted Butts. “I saw the dead parrot. But the men like your songs and antics, lad. And they have no love for this ship’s captain. “He has tried to have you knifed by one or two of his crew. But they’d as lief kill a kitten, or a bird whose songs waken them in the morning. I’ve a9 heard the talk fore and aft. Even the cabin boy, Tomba, who served the poison wine, hated his task. “No, this Banana—God’s wrath on such rotten fruit—is hard set to finda murderer for you. ’Tis passing strange, for they like killing and bloodshed if half the tales they tell are true. “Then, also, the hunchback is a power on board. Some say he deals in black magic, and they tell wild tales of jungles where blackamoors dance about fires and roast a ‘ goat without horns,’ and pray men to death. “The hunchback often comes below warming a candle between his palms and grinning. He asks whose likeness he'll make of the wax. And one night he made a true figure of Tomba the cabin boy, and stuck a dagger in its belly.” Butts paused to wet his lips and take a deep breath. “True as I live, the black boy screamed and doubled up with pains that broke the sweat on his brow,” continued Jack. He wagged his head as if he could not understand the thing he stated, but knew it to be true. “Then the hunchback squeezed the wax into a ball, and as suddenly this Tomba was well. I am afraid of Gefondo.” “No need to fear him, Jack. He sleeps inside my cabin. I do not know why he favors me, but I trust him.” _“T know why men like you, lad,” said the big man earnestly, “ although I can’t explain it. From a little chap I’ve liked you, when you and Mistress Betty Roe ran away from your nurses and caught my fingers in your little fists, and badgered me to tell you sea tales, of whales, and sharks, and storms. Mistress Betty’ll miss you, lad,” “ As a sister misses a brother, Jack. But have a care ‘for yourself. We'll need each other yonder.” He turned and went below. There, he played patience with slips of ivory on which kings and queens were Gomichbooks — (EO)