Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 2, 1922 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

ABOVE Started for the willow-fringed brook in the pasture on the adjoining estate. He had no desire to encounter Sergeant Eliot of the district attorney’s forces and still less to be interviewed just then by little Miss Millie, unprepared as-he was to explain to her his misrepresentations of the previous © day should Mrs. Van Wert have communicated with her. Besides, he wanted to think in peace and quiet. After they separated from Detective Lyons the night before Dr. Hood had pes- tered him with questions concerning the source of his information about the woman Zoe Dawn. He was not at all certain he had succeeded in convincing the shrewd medical examiner that he had told all he knew. His suggestion in regard to Lane’s pos- sible interview with the Dawn woman on the night of the murder had been a mere shot in the dark based upon a course of reasoning wholly his own. Having offered it to Lyons for what it was worth it had ceased to be his business. Lane’s bluff in refusing an alibi had been characteristic of the man and that, too, did not trouble Geoff’s thoughts. As he had told Adrian Middleton, his own work at the Cayley place would soon be finished and he would no longer have an ex- cuse to linger in the vicinity. The Corners was a far cry from the scene of the crime. While the authorities remained at sea as to the identity of the murderer he felt loath to leave the center of their activities where he could at least be an unobtrusive by- stander and keep in touch with Doc Hood. If he could contrive a way to prolong his duties without the dishonesty of accepting pay for unnecessary work, and from a Jone widow woman, at that— His thoughts were rudely interrupted when he reached the brook among the wil- lows by finding another there before him; a frail, solitary, stoop-shouldered figure, who sat with thin hands clasped listlesly about his knees and faded eyes staring straight be- fore him. Geoff coughed uncomfortably, then bent forward and filled his dipper with the spark- ling water. As he straightened and turned to retreat the other spoke. SUSPICION. 57> “Good morning, Geoffrey. Were you go- © ing to eat your lunch here? Don’t let me — disturb you; I must go and pack my bag shortly, anyway.” “**Mornin’, Mr. Dunn,” Geoff responded. ‘Tf I won’t bother you I’ll set right here and eat. You thinkin’ o’ runnin’ up to the city?” ‘“T am leaving Sunny Beach,” the secre- tary observed, as though voicing a state- ment to himself. “I can be of no further service to Mrs. Cayley and I must clean out my old desk in the Broad Street office to-morrow before its doors are closed.” He remained seated, blinking at the glare of sunlight on the narrow, rippling stream, and Geoff ventured: “« S’pose you'll take a little rest afore tack- lin’ somethin’ new? It ‘ll be kinder hard, gittin’ in with different folks’ ways after ’sociation’ so long with Mr. Benkard.”’ «Something new’?” Dunn _ repeated vaguely. ‘‘ I—TI have no idea. Perhaps | shall take a rest—a long rest. I have often planned what I should do when this—when my late position expired and I felt very courageous, but now that it has come I find that my plans do not seem feasible. My thoughts turn backward; I cannot look to the future.” “It’s the shock, mebbe.” Geoff chewed ruminatively on his sandwich. There was something in the level, unemotional tones of - the secretary which gave him the creeps, and his worn, lined face was pasty gray in the bright sunshine. “You didn’t have no intentions, then, o’ stayin’ for always with Mr. Benkard?” “[ should have been at his service as long as he needed me.” The hands about his gaunt knees gripped tensely for an in- stant, but his low voice did not change. “However, I believed that he had other plans for the future in which I held no place and I suppose a man who has failed always dreams of coming back, at first, anyway. But the days pass, and the years, and sometimes he loses heart. He either plods along on the same old treadmill or—or else goes mad!”’ His tones had dropped to a mere whisper, and Geoff glanced at him narrowly.’ He had shown no signs of madness, he had Gomichbooksrecom