Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

866 THE involved her husband, was occupied with callers of her own. The chatter of girls, the tinkle of the piano, came from the drawing-room when Hemmett, shabby in the clothes of their engineering days and with his automatic pistol in his pocket for the first time in months, stole down the back stairs to wait for Steve Girton. He had kissed his beloved boy good night and—yes, be it admitted that Mr. Hem- mett felt a bit odd. “ He was coming back in an hour or two, of course. And really nothing would happen. And, now that the first shock had passed, he half expected to find that they had been making a mountain-range out of an undersized mole-hill. They would discover that the National Engine Works was harmless, and— He turned to Girton. | “Ready?” he asked. ‘“ We'll go out the back way, around Fernandez’s, and down the alley behind the garages; once we’re down the hill it ‘Il be easy enough to keep in the dark spots.” “Right!” said Girton, whose jaw was set. ‘It’s understood that we’re going into that engine works before we quit?” “T think it is.” “March!” said the retired secretary of war. Side by side, closing the door very softly, they stepped into the gloom. Side by side they hurried past Fernandez’s home, with its soft lights and its marble reaches, and then down-hill into the less opulent quarters of Puerto Carlo. And it was gratifying to note that in their old togs they drew little attention from the casual night prowler; they were, to all intents, adventurous derelicts of the type which drifted into Guanama often enough and drifted out again. Now they had passed the town alto- gether and were on the barren stretch, destined some day to be ‘an attractive suburb, that lay between the outskirts of Puerto Carlo and the bulk of the National Engine Works, looming big and black at the end of the wretched dirt road. ARGOSY. Four keen eyes peered through the pitchy blackness, as they trudged along, and could see nothing. Puerto Carlo wasted no electricity in this section, but there were weird tales of sentries who shooed the general public from the vast factory, shooting before they hailed. The tales were the product of the native mind, of course, but— “Halt!” said a voice directly in their path. | Its owner had come from nowhere, but he was there and with a flash-light and a rifle. More, he seemed puzzled as the light flared into their faces. His voice grew respectful. ‘It is not permitted to pass this point, senores.”’ ¢¢ We—” ‘It is not permitted to pass this point, senor! I have strict orders.” Unfortunate was it for the unknown ‘that Edward Hemmett had been meditat- ing hotly these last minutes upon the trick Guanama seemed about to play on his own United States. There was a swish, and the flash-light went into the air, to shine upon the grass a dozen yards away. There was a thud and a stifled yell, and then not a sound until: “Did you knock him out?” Girton asked interestedly. ‘“‘T think so. I have him here, and he’s limp,” Hemmett announced from the ground. “I’m tying his hands with the handkerchief from my neck. Jam yours down his beastly throat and make it fast, Steve. That’s the talk! Has he a belt? Made of rope, eh? So much the better. This Il do for his legs.” It was well for their reputations that no arc lamp shone upon their feat. Three minutes more and an unconscious man was lying with his closed eyes to the stars, gagged and bound—and the march to the National Engine Works was on again, silently as before and a little more grim because the stories of exaggerated precau- tion had been true and the significance was sinister. comicloool C©