Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

486 ARCOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Sallie looked at him with a slight lifting of her straight brows. Mendez seemed to flush. For the first time I noticed that, beneath the well-fed plumpness of his face, the cheek bones were high, that his nose had more of an arch than I had thought. “ Well, you spring from a mighty race,” Sallie admitted with a smile. “You had wonderful armies, but you used to tear out the hearts of your war victims.” Sallie shuddered slightly. “The Aztecs,” said Mendez, plainly uncomfortable, “‘ have always been a just people—a rigid sense of justice. But—you seem to know a lot about Mexico, Miss Sallie.” “T do. Father and I have studied it pretty thoroughly.” “Tf I can ever be of any service to you down there, Miss Sallie—”’ They had forgotten I was along. Mendez’s nostrils, at the corners, quivered slightly. Sallie’s eyes, if any- thing, were brighter than usual. “T might take you up on that some day,” she said. Mendez looked at her with a steadi- ness I had never before seen in him. “Tf you will kindly give me the ex- treme pleasure,” he said, spacing his words distinctly. T’ was, perhaps, a week later when I next encountered my friend. The change that had come over him was striking; it was a calamity. The high gloss of his patent leather shoes was gone entirely; the bouton- ni¢re was a dab of faded petals. He was carrying two stitcases and just ‘emerging from a pawn shop; his eyes were tired, haunted. Nevertheless, he managed to greet me with a show of his old effervescence. “ T have been recalled,” he said, put- ting his bags down on the sidewalk. ‘The canaille has its own mairin my post.” Suddenly he reached down and slapped the side of one valise. “ Do you know what is in there, sir?” I did not. “The great seal of Mexico,”’ he said proudly. ‘ That is, the official replica of it, the one that hung over the consu- lar desk. I had it painted myself. Al- so, I have retained all important pa- pers; though I doubt if the dog can read, anyway. Can you direct me, amigo, to some quiet, respectable room- ing house?” A suspicion crossed my mind. “‘ How about coming out to my shack for awhile?” Salvadore Mendez winked his eye. “It will not do for us to be seen too much together. This thing is not yet over. The whole city is filled with spies. That is why I’m giving up my quarters at the Hotel Lorraine. What I want is a very, very humble lodging where they will never find me.” I inquired after his mother and sis- ters. A spasm of feeling crossed his face. His eyes seemed to melt. Thank you for asking,” he respond- ed. “ No mail is coming out now, but it is quite safe in the capital. There will be, of course, no actual fighting in the capital—there never is.” In parting he promised to telephone me. I did not ask where he was going. It was plain he did not wish me to know. AMON ALAVARDO was round in bulk, and he reeked of perfume. When I pushed open the door of the old office of Salvadore Mendez, he trundled around on his swivel chair and glowered at me with his broad, ugly face, as dark as an Indian’s. It seemed incredible that any necktie could be as red as the one he wore. “Well?” he demanded gutturally, | without removing the stubby cigar from between his yellow teeth. Most young reporters are brash; humility comes only with age. My reply, I suppose, indicated my youth. Our new Mexican consul got up and clapped me on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “So you're from the Post?” he bel- lowed. “ Well, I like you, young man. — ~~ -comicbook s.cOMm eh ee S| aa eS,