Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 156: what you’re looking at

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

306 ‘‘ Ah, yes,” Reilly’s voice was dreamy; “T guess that lets you out, for we figured the old man must have been killed about eleven o'clock! Have a nice time in New York?” he asked, with a blank stare. Bronson almost grinned in the fellow’s face: this was easy! He forced a bored tone to his voice, as he replied: “Oh, so—so! New York’s getting pret- ty dull, you know.” ‘Uh, huh,” the detective had relapsed into his usual dull manner, as he stared, with vague eyes, at the wall. Presently, he rose to his feet, and remarked in a flat voice: ““Uh—I guess I may as well go now.” He stared, vacantly, around the room. “ Ah, yes, my hat!” he suddenly exclaimed, with more animation than he had yet displayed, and, suiting the action to the words, he placed the hat on his head; then stared dully, at Bronson, who was watching his actions, with a faintly contemptuous ex- pression. “Yes, I may as well go now!” mumbled Reilly, once more, as he made his way to the door. Arriving there, he opened it, then, with the knob in his hand, turned, and stared blankly at Bronson. ‘“IT may want you to come over to my office to-morrow, Mr. Bronson,” he an- nounced, in a lifeless voice; ‘ it will be for only a few minutes, y’see? If you can get this thing straightened out right now, you'll never have any more trouble. Merely a matter of form, y’see?”’ and he smiled for the first time since entering the house. As the door closed behind him, Bronson stood for a moment lost in thought. Had it been imagination, or had he actually seen those gray eyes of Reilly’s change in such a wonderful manner? He was not sure! Possibly this Reilly would bear watching! But as a mental picture of that personifica- tion of all that was dull flashed before him, he laughed in relief. No; Reilly was any- thing but dangerous! Bronson lighted a cigarette, and relaxed. Should he go to this fellow’s office to-mor- row? Well, may as well get it over with! This clodhopper was no detective, anyway. In most of the yarns Bronson had ever read, the detective always prowled around, sus- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. pecting every one until the guilty party was found. But this fellow was positively stu- pid! Detective, bah! And Bronson chuck, led as he continued to smoke, placidly. IV Promptly at two o’clock the next day Bronson appeared at the address Reilly had telephoned him earlier in the day. He mounted to the second floor, where the de- tective had his temporary office, and fac- ing him, found a frosted glass panel with the legend: STEPHEN REILLY INVESTIGATOR Knocking at the door, Bronson heard the unmistakably lifeless voice of Reilly bidding him enter, and complying, he found himself in a bare office. An old desk, and three rickety chairs formed the entire furnishings. There was another small cubbyhole, to the left of the main office, and Bronson had a fleeting glimpse of some one bending over a desk before Reilly came through the door, closing it behind him, and motioning Bron- son to a chair. “T’m not as well fixed, as I would like to be,” he announced deprecatingly, as he seated himself and lit a cigarette. Bronson extracted his own case, selected a smoke, lit it, and lay back in the chair, fully at his ease. ‘““ Now, see here, Reilly!” he began. “You had better start on whatever it is that brought me all the way over here: I’m in a hurry, and want to get away, so get busy!” , “‘ Suits me, Mr. Bronson,” mumbled the detective. ‘‘ Now to business. What time did you see your uncle alive the last time?” “‘T don’t understand you,” grunted Bron- son. ‘¢ Uh—er—I mean,” muttered Reilly, glancing at a paper on his desk, “ what time did you last see your uncle alive?” Bronson laughed to himself. This fool céuldn’t even ask questions! He lazily blew out a cloud of smoke before replying: “Oh, about eight o’clock, I presume, on GOMIIGIOO S (C@) nn