The Argosy for May — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

308 This, too, was the meaning of that interrupted and misunderstood signal which the old servant had tried to give him at the door. The faithful fellow, devoted to Laszlo, no doubt, had at- tempted to give him some intimation of the truth, and he had been too much of a numskull to take it in. Yes, that was what he had been from first to last, a numskull! But he would be one no longer.” He would have Las- zlo out of that house, and back into the arms of his Muriel before one could say Jack Robinson. By this time Der Schnadble had fin- ished a short colloquy with old Franz upon the doorstep, and had lurched off up the street; so Caxton, dismissing his police allies, sauntered blithely up to the house, with the same question which had been upon his lips when he was there before. The gray-haired servitor gave a quick start of recognition upon seeing him again, but almost immediately let fall over his features the deferentially ex- pressionless mask which is the mark of the butler the world over. “The Count Laszlo Chegnay is not at home, sir,” he replied, without a quiver in his face. ‘‘ He has not been here for some time, and I do not know when he will return.” Caxton thrust forward a quick foot, and held open the door, which the other had started to close. “You mean,” and he mockingly mim- icked the man’s precise tone, “ that the Count Laszlo is home,-has been for some time, and you can’t tell me when he will depart. Well, I can tell you; he will be leaving here in just about three min- utes, or else the whole kit and caboodle of you will be bundled off to the station- house. Now, are you going to stand out of the way and let me go to my friend?” At that moment, however, there came a harsh, imperative hail from over the banisters. “Franz,” it called, “is that the im- pudent Yankee who called here the other day and annoyed us so? If it is, tell him if he does not immediately. cease his stupid threats and go away from my house, I shall open fire on him from the upper windows with my pistols.” There was a ring of resolution in the THE ARGOSY. speaker’s voice which indicated that he would do exactly as he said ; and Caxton, having no desire to be pot-shotted in any such fashion, not unnaturally hesi- tated. While he was debating whether to stand his ground or retreat, however, he suddenly noticed that old Franz was distorting his right eye in a peculiar manner, and, at the same time, nodding violently with his head toward the ad- jacent street corner. Taking these signs, therefore, as an invitation to a rendezvous, and reflecting that discretion is ever the better part of valor, he parleyed no longer; but, withdrawing from the inhospitable door- step with as much dignity as he could master, took his stand around the corner to await developments. Nor did he find that he had been mis- taken in his reading of the signals ;_ for, presently, almost before he had got well settled down to his vigil, Franz came trotting along with a market-basket upon his arm. ‘Are you really a friend to my young master, sir?’ he questioned, peering into Caxton’s face as though he would read his very soul. ‘As good a one as he will ever have, my man; and prepared to be a friend to you, too, if you will help me get him out of that house. Come now, tell me just where he is confined, and what is the best way of getting to him?” “Oh, sir, don’t ask me that!” and the old servant began to tremble vio- lently. “‘ I can answer no questions. | can tell you nothing. The old master compelled all of us to take a binding and terrible oath that we would disclose none of the affairs of the family to any out- sider.” Caxton began to lose patience. “ All right, then. So much the worse for him, and you, too. The only thing left for me is to call in the help of the police.” Old Franz drew himself up with a touch of arrogance. “You talk nonsense,” he said. ‘‘ The police would not dare to invade the resi- dence of General Chegnay. A civil writ might possibly get you in some time; but that would doubtless take several weeks.” (C@ DOO (C@