Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

MARKED DOWN. own testimony entered the building and waited, without announcing her presence, in the outer room of the real estate firm. And the door behind which she lurked was but ten feet from the body. The distinctive little tap of the French- man came again. WNoiselessly he entered. His face was agleam with the light of triumph. “Who is he ” asked Nancy. “It is in your face that you have recalled.” M. Renaud gave a little shrug. It was the epitome of Gallic grace. “That man, mademoiselle,”’ he deposed, ‘ig beyond doubt Slippy Gates, just out of jail—less than a month. He has a bad record.” “For what?” “Twice for holdups, and the last time for safe-blowing.”’ ‘“My memory must have unconsciously picked out the face of this man from your criminal gallery,’”’ mused Nancy. ‘Memory is an erratic master,” mur- mured the Frenchman. Just then another knock sounded. CHAPTER VIII. DOCUMENTARY EVIDENCE. SHORT, corpulent woman stood be- fore the threshold. She seemed to breathe capability and self-reliance. Her face was plain, but pleasant and honest appearing. ‘From headquarters,” she murmured to Nancy. ‘One of the matrons.” ‘‘ Come in, please.” As the new arrival entered, M. Renaud stepped out. “‘ If there is any further serv- ice I can render, mademoiselle,’ he began to say in parting. “ Be assured that I shall call upon you, M. Renaud,” declared Nancy. ‘‘ Thank you for your courtesy.” The police matron was looking about her with unvarnished astonishment. ‘‘ What a heathen place!” she exclaimed. Nodding in confirmation, Nancy led her into the other room. She unlocked its cor- ridor door. “T know,” she stated seriously, “ that 853 you will overlook nothing in these women whom I send to you for a thorough-going search. Neglect nothing and retain any- thing which bears the slightest hint of any- thing mysterious and uncommon.” “You can trust me,” was the reply. “T’ve been going through suspects for twenty years. There aren’t many things they can hold out on me.” Nancy glanced at her keenly. “I am sure of that,” she agreed, “for I asked Chief Hutchins to send the most experi- enced woman he had.” The matron was not unpleased with these words. “You are to retain each person until I come to you for the result.” “Very well.” Nancy stepped out the door and paused beside Mlle. Mignonne. “Come,” she suggested in a low voice. Wearily the dark-clad astrologer followed the girl into her own consulting room where the police matron from headquarters await- ed her. Nancy stepped back again toward the other settle. ‘“ Mr. Cunningham, please,” she said. Cunningham arose and followed her. He was a short, thick-set man, much of the same build as his late client. His plain, gray sack suit hung carelessly from his fig- ure. Seemingly his interest in the practice of law was greater than that of the prac- tice of wearing modish clothes. Under the soft light in the medium’s re- ception room, Nancy studied the famous barrister. There was a suggestion of leo- nine strength in the strongly marked fea- tures, the heavy mane of white hair, the massive head with its overhanging brow. With mild curiosity Mr. Cunningham looked about him with a quizzical expres- sion. But he said nothing. One big hand cupped a knee while the other remained hidden in a pocket which bagged disconsolately. Yet this man was one of the highest salaried attorneys in the city. His reputation for honor and in- tegrity was a family watchword. By careful questions Nancy soon elicited corroboration of all the facts which the girl secretary, Margaret Seavers, had itemized. COMmiclooe (©