Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

t THE LEDBURY FIST, The marchesa rang for the butler, but he could give no information as to the location of Charpen Street, and there was no directory in the house. “Do the police know that you address your letters to Norwich at this A®gean Club?” Jimmy asked. The marchesa was horrified by the sug- gestion. “Certainly not. Nobedy knows, not even Angelo; and the police are not aware that I was ever acquainted with Mr. Nor- wich,” : It seemed to Jimmy quite clear that she had cut her acquaintance most decidedly. Yet here was this letter. Being but hu- man, he could not help wondering at the nature of its contents. The little lady was wily and might be up to anything. Still, Jimmy thought, it would be useful to know what sort of club a fellow like Bruce Nor- wich belonged to. . Charpen Street? He asked permission to use the telephone, and rang up his own club for the desired information. In due course the hall porter told him that Char- pen Street lay back of Holborn and ran into Red Lion Square. “ That’s a funny neighborhood for a club,” Jimmy soliloquized as he set forth, after having promised the marchesa that he would return and report to her upon the success of his errand. CHAPTER XIV, A NEW ALLY OR WHAT? IMMY CREIGH was in a hurry, and J hailed a cab, but he did not direct the driver to take him to 62 Charpen Street. He told himself that he was much too clever to do anything like that. He left the cab in Holborn and then began to explore the neighborhood. It was a warm summer’s evening, and the streets were filled with people taking the air, but there was not much air to be taken with impunity in Charpen Street, which he finally discovered to be a narrow, dirty alley ending in a cul-de-sac. “Now, I should call it the Augean Club, not the AXgean,” muttered Jimmy, 5A as aa” —. gee ee SS ee Sn a es eg + Se Le Ne I RN an ay a che ae —s S Spe = a. - -“~. - Where and what was No, 62? Far down the crooked alleyway he found it—a news- dealer’s place of business which seemed to have chosen for itself an uncommonly mod- est and retired position. Jimmy was glad that he had not troubled to get into eve- ning clothes that night. Charpen Street would have wondered at his magnificence, and as it was he felt himself conspicuous. _ There was a gas street lamp nearly op- posite the newsdealer’s, and it occurred to > Jimmy that here was a good place to halt a moment and light a cigarette. A woman brushed by him and turned to give him a brief, suspicious stare. all but dropped the match. Her face was familiar to him and to all playgoers. She was Rosslyn Bates, a well-known variety actress. “Tf I’m not careful,” thought Jimmy, * T'll be taken for a ‘ tec.’ ” When Miss Bates went into the news shop, otherwise the ASgean Club, the whole thing was reasonably clear to Jimmy Creigh. This was one of those places which sooner or later—unfortunately, generally it is later—attract police attention, The pro- prietor dispensed other wares than penny dreadfuls and sporting editions, and also had set up as a rival to the general post office. For a consideration, one who had reasons for not wishing his private address to be made public could receive letters here at his ‘‘ club,” so to speak. Jimmy crossed the narrow street and in- spected the shop window. It coritained a motley collection of yellowed and fly-blown literature of the lighter order, specimens of cheap stationery, postcards, lead pencils, bottles of ink, and the like. A notice pasted on the window read: ‘‘ Orders for Printing Taken Here.” Jimmy was trying to think of some rea- sonable excuse for entering—for he had not the slightest intention, in these circum- stances, of delivering the Marchesa di Trevi’s letter—when Rosslyn Bates emerged and again flung him that inquiring stare. Perhaps she thought she knew him. Any- way, Jimmy took it as such, and raised his hat. The woman hesitated, smiled yaguely, and offered him her hand, Gomicbook In his surprise he: be