Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THE DUKE he had shot himself, but the reason for that, too, was beyond even a wild conjecture of mine. Then, as I looked at the rug, I saw my own pistol blinking up at me. And again I stared at that—numbed afresh and more dazed.” “You recognized the pistol?” “At first no more clearly than I had recognized that silk umbrella. Only when O’Brien got there the pistol was still real and there was no sign of an umbrella.” Into Noble Howard’s fine eyes there came a sudden gleam of hope. To hide it he looked out of the window casually. ““ How did this umbrella appear—open or closed?” ‘““ Spread wide open—unless I had an hal- lucination—and I never had one before that I know of. I can almost see that figured Persian silk pattern right now. Only, while it was open, it was also tilted, sharply, at an angle as though some one might be holding the handle—but, of that, I cannot be at all sure—the impression is too vague in details. Ordway’s shocking death, too, makes other things seem misty and dim.” “But if you felt that way why in the name of goodness didn’t you summon help?” “ Noble, I don’t quite know. I had an odd feeling, not unlike being chained to the chair. Then, before I could shake this off, I saw my aunt’s face look in through the curtains. I told her, then, to send for an officer. After that I sat quite still in the chair, because, chiefly, 1 wanted to be able to state, on my oath before my Maker, that I had not moved from it before or after entering that room. And this feeling, too, was in consonance with my unusual physical lassitude—I was ‘all in ’—al- though I don’t know why. You see, my whole story is highly improbable.” “Not if you are holding nothing back, Claude.” “T’m not, upon my honor. But, with it all, there was a feeling of a kind I can’t define—dull rage at such a thing happening —as well as that feeling of lassitude. For instance, I was growing more angry at the poor devil dying there on the floor than I had been at what he had said—although what had killed him was evidently as much OF DISDAIN. 211 a mystery to him as it was to me. You see, I’m candid with you.” ‘Did Ordway say another word?” “T think he started to speak. But, as he opened his lips, the blood gushed out.” Howard nodded. “A shot through the lung generally does bring that effect,” said he. “ Do you remember anything else?” “Tt seemed a very short time before O’Brien came in. I was still trying to figure out what had happened.” ‘But, Claude, didn’t you realize that if Ordway had been shot by some out outside of the library, you should have rushed cut and looked for the person that did it?” “ That thought first came to me after I saw my aunt’s face. Not before. Then I realized that it could not have been she. You heard her testimony. Bear in mind, at first, I thought Ordway had shot him- self. Until I recognized my pistol, I thought this, absolutely. Then I doubted it. Next, it seemed to me—equally absurd, of course —that perhaps an invisible person holding that lost umbrella had shot him. The whole affair reacted on me so terribly that the minute I was locked up in that wretched cell I grew deathly sick. The odor of the place was insufferable.” “This place isn’t quite so bad,” said Noble Howard. ‘‘ By the way, I have pre- pared a power of attorney for you to sign. It will lessen complications and will enable me to look after this case more closely.” He took out the paper and extended it toward his client, who waved it away. “Tl sign it whenever you come with a notary. I trust you, Noble, implicitly. Be- sides, what does it matter? After such an experience as I have been through, it sick- ens me to think of ordinary things. I had no especial affection for Marshall, but the poor devil had just as much right to live as you or I. And, as God is my judge, 1 don’t know what happened beyond what I have told you.” ““T'll lay a bet that you don’t, too,” said Howard, emphatically. ‘‘ And that’s where I’m going to slip Mr. Myers a nice little lemon. He’ll wake up, but he’ll be too late. Now, to-morrow, I’m coming down for an- other conference with you. I may have company—Dorothy is wild about this.” GEomichboo (c (E@)