Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

814 Both Cora and her husband cursed volu- bly at the recollection of its anchoring in the ship channel, of its crew of piratical seamen; of its murderous old skipper, Jarvy, and of that detestable Mate Grimpen. Well, here it tells,” Herzog went on, “ how the master of the Orinoco takes on a new mate—by the name of Grimpen, properly certificated. Yes, that’s all right. Certifi- cated maybe. But the skipper knew well enough it weren’t nobody by the name of Grimpen who was shippin’ with him. It was that murderous cutthroat who had beaten his way across the Pacific, like as not before the mast; tried his best to get a berth, and failed until he bumped into that hulking pile of rusty iron—the tramp Orinoco. Glad enough they were to get a man who could sail a ship, certificate or no certificate! Do you get it? This here British noble who gets into a little trouble for cruelty to his subordinates, ships under another name, comes into the Gulf of Mexico as mate on a tramper, gets knifed by a Mex in this gambling hall of ourn and ends his glorious career in potter’s field. Do you get it?” he concluded fairly shout- ing at his wife. ‘‘ Are you as dumb as you look?” ‘“Dumb!” Cora snapped back. ‘“ Dumb! I’m dumb, am I? Yow’re the one who’s dumb, Herzog. When it comes to light that this here British noble was knifed in your lodging house, then what? A nice little nose full of lead for mine host!” ‘ That’s just what I been thinkin’ right along,” Herzog admitted with an astonish- ing show of bravery. ‘ Only I figured different. The mate’s kinsman finds him in potter’s field—a British noble down here on the Gulf of Mexico in potter’s field— wow! But they won't. I’ve thought it all out. I’m in for a reward let me tell vou! I snatched his body out of potter’s field and put it where it belongs, where no man in the world can get it without he uses dynamite——-in General Papaquillo’s tomb. The body’s still whole—the air mummified it. TI laid his bloody highness in state /’7/ tell you and I got the key.” ‘‘ Where?” ‘“ Around my neck, by cripes, and no man will ever touch it until I find my way to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, make a good little haul. And they'll be pounds sterling, too, I’m thinkin’—not cart wheels nor Mexican centavos but pounds and a heap of them, too.” Cora had had time to recover from her first thrill of excitement and surprise— yes, even jealousy. She had already jumped at the conclusion—before any rime or reason had developed in her brain—that if that body was worth anything she would appropriate that key. It hung around Herzog’s throat above the black flannel un- der clothes as a bather in a public bath house hangs his key by a string around his neck. Mfeanwhile, it was Cora Herzog’s usual policy to disagree with her husband’s plans irrespective of their face: value. ‘So you called me dumb, did you?”’ she snorted. ‘‘ You call anybody dumb after what you've done!” ‘Tt’s a clever trick, I’m thinkin’!” Her- zog said. ‘* Clever, to invite the devils of the Seven Seas to come here and lodge at this inn?” ‘* Now what kind of gas—” ‘Listen here, Herzog: you know this superstition about burying a sailor ashore after he’s made his dying wish.” “Yes.” Herzog knew about that only too well and he showed it in every lineament of his countenance. ‘“It means a curse,’’ Cora orated, ‘a curse from the sea and it’ll fall—” “No! Don’t for God’s sake. I don’t believe in that truck. Don’t start it!” “The curse will fall upon the man who buried him on shore.”’ ‘¢ Well, I didn’t. It was the authorities.” ‘* At first, yes. But now who buried him ashore? You! You put him in that old ant-eaten pile of ruins. That’s burial, ain’t it? And who done it? You!” ‘““I—I done it!” ‘“T reckon that’s clear enough. Mate Grimpen’s body ain’t going to rest until it’s floatin’ in the sea. You can bet your bottom dollar on that. No use talkin’ of rewards — th’t! Spirits! that’s whct! Banshees. Ghosts! Maybe a hurricane— who knows what the sea can do?”’ ‘It’s all bunko!” Herzog wailed. “ You yourself know it. You're the last to believe in the devil.” COMIC oool (©