Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 141: what you’re looking at

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

THE HOUSE leaping in, sent it grinding into the stream of lower Broadway traffic. The roadster was a huge, yellow car with a flashing nickel trim—a great, underslung, over-powered beast of machinery, mounted on four tremendous, over-sized wheels, ar- mored with fenders and guards, motivated by engines fit to hurl a giant airplane. Its crouching, sinuous body held but the one seat for its driver; the rest of it was power and arrogance. It was a car that expressed La Salle this day. : He drove daringly, hazarding the cross- ings, trying the patience of patrolmen to the limit of safety, scattering pedestrians, and followed by the curses of all other mév- ing traffic. But he kept within the bounds of sanity while he was within the city. Once across the ferry it was another. mat- ter. He roared through suburban traffic and sent humbler cars scattering toward the ditches. As country highways spread before him the great machine loosed all its giant power. It seemed almost.to quit.the earth. The gale of wind, bitter with stmging, cold rain, beat upon his face. His decorous hat blew away, and his dusty, brown hair rose ina wild mop. The roadster’s electric siren uttered one long-drawn, raucous warning, rising from whine to snarl, smking to a growl, and climbing again into a blood-. curdling shriek. And to its shriek La Salle would join his own voice in a wild whoop, and for hazard- ous seconds his hand would leave the wheel as if to dare the power demon he rode té run amuck.. For one red half hour the man was deliriously drunk with power. « The roadster rocked over the decorous ‘parkways of Renfrew Gardens, its siren bawling an obscene. defiance of every con- "vention in that conventional place. It ‘rounded the broad curve into La Salle’s own grounds on two wheels, and sped up a graveled drive. Before the broad entrance it stopped short with brakes shrieking and gravel flying. La Salle sprang out and stumbled up the broad stairs. Of the servant who opened the door, his grave face showing faint sur- prise, he demanded: “ Mrs. La Salle, tell her I want her.” we “Tm sorry, sir; Mrs. La Salle is out—” OF FRAUD. 131 “What? Where the hell is she? Get her—telephone—do something—”’ “Yes sir, but I—I’m afraid, sir, I can’t reach her. I don’t know just where—” ‘“Oh, you don’t!” La Salle pushed the man aside roughly. “Hell of a lot of things you don’t seem to know, Perkins,” he snarled. Perkins hesitated, then coughed gently to attract attention. ‘There are two letters, sir—Mrs. La Salle left one for you, and another one just came by special messenger.”’ _ “Why didn’t you say so to begin with? Give ’em here.” La Salle snatched the letters off a tray. The one addressed in Gloria’s hand he tore open first. He read: FRANK :~ | You told me one time I had come a Iong way with you. I guess maybe I did, but I’ve found a man who can take me a lot farther than you ever dreamed. I guess -we’re both out for what we can get all right, so- I’m going on with somebody who's no piker. Fix it up any way you liké about a divorce. The sooner you do the sooner I can take the name of GLORIA BARR. The second envelope bore the return ad- dress of Barr’s offices. It contained Barr’s bill for legal services in the defence of Frank La Salle, and the statement boresa rubber-stamped legend: “ Paid in Full.” Barr had added in his own handwriting: Dear FRANK: I guess Gloria squares the account. Perkins, after handing his master the two letters, had retired discreetly toward the rear of the house. He was stopped in his tracks by a sound such as he had never before heard from Frank La Salle. He stood dumbfounded, unbelieving. The great hall echoed with shouts— shouts of uncontrollable mirth. Frank La Salle was laughing! CHAPTER XXVI. DIANA DECIDES, HE siren of La Salle’s roadster, in- decently bawling, brought Geoffrey Thawn to his door. There was something tremulous in the haste of the faded aris- cComiclbooks.com