Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

310 “By examining this under the micro- scope, you will see that the fine hairs making up the yarn are crisp and fresh. If the yarn were old, it would have been pressed and become limp and lost its life. Besides, there was the print of a knee on the window sill. A skirt would not leave a clear print like that.” “Then that would indicate a man, but why a woman disguised as a man?” “That is the loose reasoning of the av- erage person,” chided Z. ‘ That would indicate not necessarily a man—merely a man’s clothing. Lacking other evidence, of course, we would assume a man; but in this case we do have other evidence. There is the pearl handled revolver—surely not a man’s weapon. But more certain evidence, we have the woman’s voice in argument with Frayne, heard by Mrs. Frayne, Sr. We therefore have as a certainty a woman Lo} u ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. —but almost as certainly a man’s clothing; therefore: a woman disguised as a man.” ‘““ And the left-handedness?”’ Z handed me the revolver. “The shot was fired at a distance of ap- proximately five feet. Stand five feet away and point the revolver at my head, holding it in your right hand. What direction would a bullet take, striking me above the inner corner of my left eye?” Of course, I saw at once she was right. The bullet would certainly travel across the brain toward the right, instead of to the left, as in the case of Frayne. “His head may have been turned slightly at the moment she shot,” I still objected. “Mrs. Frayne heard him cry out in fright’ immediately preceding the shot. He must have been staring directly at the gun.” I laid down the weapon. “Q. E. D.,” was all I could murmur, Le} FEAR | HAVE heard the siren shrieking in the blackness of the night: “There’s a U-boat near the convoy off to port!”’ And soon the guns are stabbing at the darkness with their light, As the crackle of the wireless makes retort. [ have heard the order given, ‘‘ Stations, men, and make it quick!” As we stumbled up the hatchway in the dark, And I know I gave my orders in a voice a trifle thick, For the launching of a lifeboat ain’t a lark. I have smelled the mustard spreading, as the shells kicked up the loam, And we squeezed our shoulders closer in the ruts; I have heard a picket challenge, as he shoved a cartridge “‘ home,” And its long steel nose lay pointed at my guts, Some men are bloomin’ heroes—never know the sort of fear That makes your gizzard wrestle with your heart— But I’m willing to admit it, and I’d like to make it clear, That I never won a medal for my part. Still, the clammy sort of terror that I’ve bumped against before Was as nothing to the quaky kind of dread That the ‘‘ boss ” instills within me when he has me “ on the floor ” And is rapid-firing questions at my head. Frederick S. Foltz. COnmicloool< C@