Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

530 “Hush!” His fingers went firmly over her lips. His father’s insanity had embraced all criminals. Lonsdale was a criminal— and he was the father of the girl Serviss had blamed for the death of Jacqueline! _ And Lonsdale might reach home to-day! A burning fear consumed him. He jumped to his feet, pulling the girl up with him. ‘Wait here for me,’’ he told her rapidly. “Tl explain—I must go to my father now.” Certain that his worst fear would prove true, he ran home. The servants could tell him nothing; they had not seen Serviss go. He noted the time. An hour had elapsed since he left his father. And—here was a cogent factor in his presentiment—the after- noon train was due at the village, two miles away, fifteen minutes ago! Running back to Dorothy he asked her: “Why was your father in prison? Quick!” he shook her by the arms. ‘“ Tell me.” ‘He shot a woman!’ she whispered. “This last time. Before that, he was—a thief. He did not kill her—” The rest of her speech was lost as Rex drew her down the steps and along the road. “We'll get an automobile,” he said grim- ly, ““and go to meet your father.” Yet even then he could have sworn that they were too late. John Serviss grinned at Lonsdale. They were seated together in the one jolting ma- chine that the village boasted for hire. ‘‘ Dorothy asked me to meet you,” he re- peated. ‘‘ Her mother is very ill, so she couldn’t come.” Lonsdale, his health ruined by the years in prison, stared ahead. His features bore the imprint of his thoughts—and his thoughts were poisoned with the dirtiness of his heart and soul. He was going home to make them pay, his wife and daughter; to take out upon them his revenge for the penalties that the law had extracted from him. He’d make them sweat and cringe! ‘“Do the people know where I’ve been?” Even Serviss, wrapped up as he was in his own designs, felt the uncleanliness of this man’s spirit. THE ARGOSY. “No; they don’t,” he replied. ‘“ Just your own folks—and I.” ‘“‘ Good!” Lonsdale chuckled. ‘‘ Good!” He couldn’t have wished it better, than that his wife had succeeded in preserving the secret of his whereabouts. Their shame would be the greater when he himself told it, as he would, to grind them down. It would be sport to watch them shrink as their neighbors pointed at them, the wife and daughter of a convict. He looked inquiringly as Serviss ordered the driver to stop. ‘My girl was killed down there,” said Serviss. ‘I always stop when I come this way—to say a prayer for her.” Lonsdale never had heard of Jacqueline’s death. - Serviss did not tell how it had oc- curred, but he did mention that he had turned the Rock into a monument. He asked Lonsdale to accompany him, and to- gether they walked down the path. Sneering over his speculation upon the welcome that awaited him, framing the first biting speeches for wife and daughter, Lons- dale only half-consciously noticed the five numbers in the carven panel. He saw the mother’s name, however, and spoke of it abstractedly. 3 Serviss answered with a grunt, and passed round the angle of the Rock. He started to climb to the top. “Come up here till I show you,” he called. Still absorbed in jeering contempla- tion of his reception, Lonsdale followed. His blazing face averted, Serviss walked over to look down into the gorge. ‘“ She fell down there,” he said. ‘ Look.” Lonsdale stepped to his side at the chasm’s brink. With a wild shriek Serviss seized him. All his maniacal frenzy burst forth. . He shoved his victim over the edge, and with the strength of madness held him. ‘It was your. daughter that killed her,”’ he screamed, ‘“ killed my girl!” His hellish laughter resounded as Lons- dale, his feet still on the rock while his body was suspended over that seventy-foot drop, scrambled vainly to save himself. ‘She killed my Jacqueline!” shrilled the madman. ‘ And when I’m done with you I’m going to kill her!” Hopeless as his position was, Lonsdale cConnicloool.