The Argosy, March 1907 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

Se nae ARGOSY. = Inwood did not reply and, after a mo- ment, the man continued: “ Monsieur will pardon, but for many days monsieur has lain on a bed of sick- ness; during that time many things in Paris have changed; it may be just pos- sible that monsieur may desire something —a word—for, monsieur, Jens a aremger “* - He hesitated, and Inwood, Wie had been thinking of that very thing, seized the opportunity. “Yes,” said he shortly, ‘ doubtless mademoiselle has spoken in your hearing something of the matter. I must confess to you, my friend, that I am walking as one blindfolded; and you know Paris thoroughly? ” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Who better, monsieur?*” he an- swered. ‘“‘ And”—lowering his voice— “there are, aS monsteur knows, other houses besides those in the Faubourg St. Germain. Doubtless in one of these, to which J can lead you, monsteur will find some one of those who were forced to leave so suddenly.” What Inwood might have replied, how he refused the fellow’s offer to-take him into the midst of those who had sworn to kill him, was prevented by their sud- denly turning the sharp angle of the alley. Many yards ahead lay the opening jnto the broader thoroughfare; Inwood could see the trees, the moving vehicles, the figures of pedestrians. But between them and him he saw something else: something which _checked the answer upon his tongue. The gigantic figure of a man, standing motionless—and the figure was clad in the uniform of a *grenadier of the empire. He stopped suddenly—so abruptly that his companion bumped against him. It flashed upon him that this man had been stationed in the alley for the ex- press purpose of preventing his escape from the house he had just left. For the first time since setting his foot upon French soil he experienced a thrill of genuine alarm. ‘To face danger, even death, was an old story, and he shrank from neither; but to be taken prisoner in the street, dragged before biased judges, confronted by the _ sneering Ettori, and probably shot down like a stray dog, was a thing not pleasant to contemplate. He half turned, for the soldier had not — yet seen him. It was in his mind to re- trace his steps quickly and trust to good ae fortune to escape those who might search the house. Then he noticed something which in the first moment had escaped him. Save. for the short sword hanging from the grenadier’s belt, the fellow seemed to be unarmed. A foot soldier placed on guard usually carried a mus- ket; besides, he would not be smoking, and the grenadier was puffing vigorously on a short-stemmed pipe. The old daredevil confidence flashed up; for the fraction of a second only Inwood hesitated, then walked deliber- ately toward the boulevard. At the sound of approaching footsteps the grenadier turned* and glanced care- lessly along the alley. He was not thirty yards away, and Inwood could see | his face plainly. The recognition came suddenly, when it was too late to stop or turn back. The man before him was the giant follower of Napoleon, the same who had given him the lantern in the stable near Cannes. Then he had worn the uniform of a cuirassier; now he had on the turned- - back coat and broad straps of a grena- dier of the guard. Inwood was’a brave man, but his heart began to beat so rapidly that he fancied it could be’ heard by the silent servant at his elbow. Of all men to meet at such a time—the one who, next to Et- tori, he would most desire to avoid. He clenched his hands almost uncon- sciously, instinctively waiting for the shock. The soldier took shes pipe from his — mouth and blew a cloud of smoke direct- ly in front of him. His gaze rested on the American’s face, shifted to that of the Frenchman, then returned to its first objective point. The hand not holding the pipe moved upward—toward the hilt of the short, broad-bladed sword. Slowly, slowly, until Inwood could have shouted to the other to draw the weapon and make of him a prisoner. The moments seemed hours, the hours eternity. The hand was opposite the cross- ecomicbooks- co