Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

138 He saw nothing incongruous in the splendid, empty rooms with their glittering lights as if for a fiesta. He saw nothing odd nor tragic in his tall, slightly stooped figure, and narrow, thoughtful face pictured in a hundred mirrors as he wandered alone. ‘In that house Gloria had left no trace of personality. Not one room in it could sug- gest, even faintly, that Gloria had dwelt there. And his mind was as bare of memo- ries of Gloria as the house itself. He wandered with lips moving, forming soundless words that fed his vanity. Some- times he smiled and occasionally laughed to himself. Perkins, spying his master at this unholy game, was driven, shuddering, to the companionship of his fellow servants in their wing at the rear. He hurried back to them, shaking and wide-eyed, like a man who has seen the devil. Then it was time for La Salle to take Diana’s answer. He had the roadster sent to the door, and started with a laugh. This thing only remained to be done. A few more moments, and the last big question would be settled. Having Diana, he felt he held the unfailing talisman to all future success. Diana was not at home. Geoffrey Thawn told him with a frightened quaver that his daughter had planned to stop a few minutes at the Temples. “ Ought to have been back two hours ago,” he explained eagerly. ““ Come in, La Salle—wait here: She won’t be long now—” “At Harvey Temple’s, you say? I’ll get her.” He jumped into the machine and whirled it about, clashing the gears and racing the engine. He roared away into the night. Wait? Sit and wait! Not on this night. The slight checked roused an impatience that maddened him. “Temple’s,” he murmured, and frowned. _“T don’t like that idea. Won’t do. I must speak to Diana—but, of course, after she’s my wife this Temple friendship will end fast enough! ”’ | The roads were miserable. In the blackness, depending only on the landmarks of bush and tree, unfamiliar in the glare of the headlights, he lost his way more than once. Every delay added to his mad im- THE ARGOSY, patience. The powerful car floundered and wallowed in the mud, and he urged it on with shouted blasphemy. Once he came near to disaster on a strange turn. For a few seconds he was close to violent death. By the time he had reached Temple’s home he was wet; mud-splattered, and wild with impatience. Devree answered the peremptory snarl of the horn, throwing wide the door and peering into the dark with fire-dazzled eyes. Behind him Temple loomed. The blind man also peered into the night as naturally as if everything was not night to his eyes! ‘‘ Miss Thawn,” La Salle ordered bluntly. ‘““T’ve come to take her home.” At the sight of that pale, narrow face in the lamp glow Devree bristled. ‘‘ Miss Thawn! Miss Thawn is not here—” ‘‘ She is here, and I’ve come to get her—” ‘“ She’s not here. And when did you get the notion Miss Thawn wanted your escort, La Salle?” “Oh,” exclaimed La Salle, peering, “why, it’s young Devree, chap who tried to’ But Temple broke in with a shout. “Frank. That’s Frank La Salle! Can’t fool me, I know that voice. Why, Frank, come in, come in, man! Diana’s here; rl send for her. Come j in to the fire!” Temple’s hearty grasp drew La Salle within the door. ‘‘ Excuse me, Harvey,” Devree muttered, white to the lips, “ I’ll be on my way—” ‘“ No—nonsense,”” Temple insisted, bois- terous in his happiness. “ You stay—” “No. Another time, Harvey—” “Not much. To-night. You sha’n’t get away now, Gordon—” “ But I tell you I must!” Devree spoke with a bitter impatience, intent only on avoiding an unpleasant scene. La Salle’s smiling. presence so close to him acted like a violent poison. There was a cold sweat on his face. Temple moved with an uncanny quick- \ ness. Temple’s big hand was on his shout- der as he tried to slip past, and Temple’s powerful arm spun him about. ‘““Go?” Temple’s voice rose in a jovial shout. “You go? Not much. Why, here’s good old Frank—Frank La Salfe. Come cCOomiclbooks.com