The Argosy, Christmas 1912 — page 201: what you’re looking at

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

THE MOTOR-BUS MYSTERY. It was a message which was not in- tended for that ship at all—a fragment of conversation between two distant vessels which the apparatus had picked up—but the operator began to write out a despatch to Franklin Edwards as naturally as if it were actually coming in. The man at his shoulder gave vent to a gasp of terror as the wireless man’s pencil traced the following startling words: In spite of police have learned name man they seek as murderer. He is Les- ter Selling—Colonel Reynolds’s grand- son.—MorTIMER. “ Lester Selling,” remarked the wire- less operator, turning with a smile to the man behind him. ‘“ Why, that’s al- most the same name as yours. Queer coincidence, isn’t it?” “Yes,” gasped the other, with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “It is a queer coincidence. Only a coincidence though—nothing more.” He reeled out of the room, and as he disappeared, Edwards and Meador en- tered. “How did he take it? ” inquired the former. “Very badly,” chuckled the opera- tor. “I never in my life saw such a scared and despairing look on a man’s face. I declare I almost felt sorry for him. Are you sure that he really is the murderer? ”’ “Can you doubt it?” replied Ed- wards with a grim smile. “ Surely his behavior is sufficient proof of his guilt.” ““T guess the time is now ripe to put him through a rigid cross-examination and get the truth out of him,” declared Meador. “I don’t suppose he’s got enough nerve left to resist us. Third degree by wireless is a great institu- tion. I congratulate you upon invent- ing it, Frank—hello! What was that?” His exclamation was caused by a muffled report which seemed to come from somewhere below. With a meaning glance at each other, Edwards and Meador dashed out of 187 the wireless room and ran below to that part of the liner in which they knew Selling’s cabin was located. The door of the stateroom was locked; a little wreath of blue smoke was curling through the cracks, and there was a significant smell of gun- powder which caused the two lawyers to rush at the door and break it in with their shoulders. “By Jove!” exclaimed Edwards, his face white as a sheet. “I didn’t foresee this outcome. We might have guessed that he’d do it.” “ Didn’t think he’d have the nerve,” gasped Meador. “ By Jiminy! He has done it though!” | They were in the stateroom now, and their gaze fell upon the figure of Selling stretched upon the floor, a revolver clutched in his right hand. “ He isn’t dead,” exclaimed Meador, kneeling down beside the would-be sui- side. “ But the doctor, quick, Jack! Hurry!” Selling opened his eyes and stared fearfully at the man bending over him. “Don’t get the doctor,” he whim- pered. “I don’t want to be fixed up. Let me cheat the chair. Surely it can’t make any difference to you if I die this way. Don’t be too hard on me.” Meador came back with the ship’s surgeon, the captain, and several pas- sengers at his heels. The man of medi- cine knelt beside the prostrate form and shook his head hopelessly. “ Can’t live another hour,” he de- clared as he selected a hypodermic from his pocket-case and injected a stimu- lant. “ Selling,’ exclaimed Edwards hoarsely, “do you hear what the doc- tor says? You're done for. Your wish to cheat the chair is going to be gratified. But won’t you say the words which will free that innocent young man who is awaiting execution for your crime? Surely it can do you no good to withhold anything now. Confess while there is still time.” “Confess?” exclaimed the dying man with a hollow laugh. ‘“ What need oO cComicbooks CO