Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

THE TEMPTING TANGLE. “T-told my mother about the clothes. ‘Don’t say anything,’ she warned me. ‘Talk just.makes trouble.’ She told my father, and it seems to me that he went to look at our horses. I must have spoken about it, though, to some of the bigger boys with the caravan, for next day when we were about to leave the police came and took us all to Bothwell. “T could not understand what it was all about, except that Tom Fagg was missing, and my father and mother were very much troubled. By and by they let us go; and we went away from Bothwell.” He took up his coffee, and put it down again, untasted. “JT had forgotten, long ago,” he said. “ But that’s all I know of Tom Fagg.” “They wrongfully suspected your par- ents of having made away with the man?” Glory suggested. Cassilis stared hard at the tablecloth. “Of course, that would be it,” he said. “ But I couldn’t understand then. You know,” he added with a touch of bitterness, “‘whatever happens, the gipsy is always guilty.” Glory Adair, with well-feigned careless- mess, took up the questioning. Se I suppose your mother told a good many fortunes at Bothwell?’ she sug- gested. Cassilis flushed slightly under ‘his tan; this theme was plainly unpleasant to him. “TI do mot remember,” he said a bit shortly. ‘“‘ She located some wells—” ‘“‘T suppose so.” ‘“Tncluding one for Malcolm Ferin- tosh?” “I do not remember that.” Glory’s eyes seemed to search his face. She shook her head slightly. “‘ Ferintosh,”’ she said, ‘“‘ was an English- man—or rather, I think, a Lowland Scotch- man. He was supposed to represent an En- glish syndicate. Later he was partner with an oil man named Creighton.” But this and other efforts to stimulate the man’s memory failed. ‘A tall man,” she said, “ with a mus- tache, perhaps. Very straight. Dressed like an Englishman.” 105 Cassilis started. “In grays—a Norfolk suit?” he de- manded quickly. Here he had Glory Adair at a disad- vantage. How could she know what Fer- intosh had worn when he came to Both- well? “TI remember a man like that,” pursued Cassilis. ‘I saw him one day hunting in the woods.” “Did he come to your camp, or consult with your mother?” “No.” Cassilis shook his head. “ At least, I never saw him there.” Then, with a smile: ‘“ We’re through? No—this is my check, you remember.” He spoke largely to the waiter, like a man of substance. Glory Adair regarded him again questioningly. They rose and passed into the lounging- room. “ Perhaps,”’ suggested ohne: nurse, “ your mother could—’”’ ‘My mother is dead,” said Cassilis qui- etly. “‘ And my father. They both died when I was still a boy. Ever since, I have been on my own—” Their lingering talk drifted into the in- consequential. Ruth Ferintosh knew that Glory Adair had failed in her-~quest—and she, with her own impulsive interposition, had tangled things irrevocably. The thought of Glory’s failure was en- gulfed in her own sense of shame at her deceit. ‘Where could I write you, Mr. Cas- silis?” inquired the nurse. Cassilis shrugged his shoulders. “ My address is the good old gipsy address,” he said a trifle bitterly. ‘The wide, wide world. I may be here for a day or two. Then, thanks to you ’—he smiled at Ruth Ferintosh—‘ I am going to run down to Bothwell for a day, and see my old stamp- ing grounds.” Glory Adair glanced at her wrist-watch. “We can catch that train to Carisford if we hurry,” she suggested. Smiling, she said good-by to Cassilis. The young man waited till she had passed through the door. “I can walk down with you to the platform?” he told Ruth; and they followed, out of ear-shot. CORMICLOOO© S (C©