Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

404 “But he’ll never plead to it—here. There was some more gun-play when we rushed in, after you’d been shot. Both Lestrade and his pal started to blaze away at us until .they’d used up every bullet, and naturally we retorted in kind. Frankly, it was pretty wild shooting on both sides, but Under- wood was unfortunate enough to get in the way of one of my shots. He got it clean through the head, and he died instantly. “It’s too bad,” the detective went on. “ T’d have liked to bring that fellow to trial. He was a wonderfully clever forger—a ver- itable genius. He could do thimmgs with checks that almost seemed like magic. And after all the trouble he’s given us, he goes and slips through our hands just when we've got a chance to land him. ‘“ However, from the standpoint of that little widow of his, it’s probably just as well that he got in front of that bullet. It’s the best way out for her, of course.” (The U U ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘‘ Perhaps it is,” said Hemment thought- fully. ‘‘ How does she take it, Oglivie?”’ ‘Pretty hard. Queer, isn’t it, that no matter how much of a scamp a chap may be there’s always some one to mourn for him when he cashes in. I guess she'll get over it, though. She’s young—not much more than a kid, and she’s got the whole world before her.” ‘Where is she now?” the newspaperman asked. “ve got her hidden away in a New York hotel. She shrinks from meeting people just now, and she made me promise that.I wouldn’t divulge her hiding-place to any- body.” Deputy Police Commissioner Oglivie smiled whimsically. ‘‘ She made one ex- ception, though, Mr. Hemment. I don’t know exactly what her idea was, but she told me that I might whisper her address to you when you're ready to leave here.” end.) U U UNDERSTUDY HEN David begged me to become his wife, Because his children needed mothering so, ’Twas like God’s sunshine to my lonely life— His little ones adored me from the start, As without stint I spent myself to make Them happy, hoping humbly in my heart, Even the surly house-dog hovered near, Beating his stubby tail upon the floor In welcome. Except the silent man whose name I bore. True—he was thoughtful, ever kind—but yet, Tor her he’d call—the dead wife Margaret, Who in the grave still triumphed over me! a Long years I’d loved him—though he did not know. David might come to love me for their sake. Everybody held me dear, O'nichts, when dreams set soul and body free, Mazte V. Caran DOO KS.COM