Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

122 The duke waved him into the room, sig- naled Randal to leave and close the door, and then drew himself up to his full height, facing the Frenchman, while his glance went over the bravo from head to foot. “The peerless Lascelle!’? muttered Ips- wich again. ‘“‘ Peerless? Well, well—let it pass! I see you wear the new rapier— the bodkin pattern which lets out a life with a needle prick.” “Tt is true, your grace,” said the other, speaking in perfect English but very slow- ly. ‘‘ And there is no sword, permit me, except this. The others are clubs, axes. They hack and beat out the life; this little tool of mine makes the meeting with death as short and as sweet as the kissing of lovers’ lips.” “ H-m-m!” murmured Ipswich. “ Well, Lascelle, I am about to give you a com- mission which, if you execute it, will make you rich in my favor, burden your purse with a hundred pieces of gold, and give you so great a name that you can coin your reputation into a thousand pounds a year.” Lascelle bowed again. “Tn short, Lascelle, you are to encounter, in my behalf, a man about whom half of London is at this instant buzzing. I mean, Clovelly!” There was no doubt that that name had reached the ears of Lascelle before this mo- ment; instinctively, his long, powerful fingers touched the hilt of his sword. Then he ‘bowed again. “T know of M. Clovelly,” he said sig- nificantly. ‘“ Did your grace say a hundred pounds?” “ For such an encounter? Certainly not! Two hundred, Lascelle!” Ipswich eayeiaer smoothly. “Tt is enough,” said the other judi- cially. “Good! Randal will tell you the details of the plan and lead you to the place. But here it is for you, in short: While all London knows that this madman, Clovelly, is driving on toward the city and making his way in spite of the devil himself, no one can quite guess his goal. But I know it. It is a certain small house on the edge of the town, where there is ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. more country than city and the smell ot the fields in the air. To that place Clovelly comes, and the lady with him. And there, Lascelle, you must go to encounter him with your sword.” ‘And the lady?” asked the villain, lift- ing his brows. “She is not to be touched. As for her, she will be provided for in different fashion, You understand, Lascelle?” ‘““T do,” growled the Frenchman. ‘‘ Another thing,” said his grace, catch- ing at a new idea. “ If you meet him fairly and squarely, sword to sword, I shall add another hundred pounds. For I wish to be hidden near by to enjoy the battle. If what I hear of you is the truth, it should be worth that price!” “Tt will be short—but priceless,” Lascelle, with a smile of satisfaction. His grace frowned. “ Beware of confidence! And een that while your mere reputation may kill men for you in France, in England you will find different metal. Be sure of that! Drink no wine from this day. Take enough exercise to be sure of your wind. I swear, Lascelle, that you will need all your wits and every scruple of the length of your arm!” “T shall kill him,” said Lascelle slowly and sneeringly, “ by bits. He shall die five times instead of once, for the pleasure of your grace.” said CHAPTER XXX, THE MURDERER’S ART. HE little villa of his grace of Ipswich Jay on the Oxford Road on the edge of the town. It was no pretentious place for so great or so rich an owner. It was hardly more than a cottage settled well back in a wild tangle of trees and shrubbery through which a winding carriage road ap- proached its door. And along that road three riders slowly rode their horses on this evening. The sun was already down and the last color had faded from the sky, but still a pale band circled the horizon and the twilight was stronger than the radiance of the moon COmMicloooKs (E@)