Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

WHERE ALL wrenched from the hand of one and in the same second their resistance appeared to be overcome. ‘The judge cried for order, but for a few minutes the excitement raged high and rough voices clamored. Then a curious silence fell on the hall, and In- spector Dunne, who had hurried to the group of struggling men, made himself heard. ‘“‘' Who are these men?” Several voices answered him. They were the city men—Dodson and Smith. The larger man—he of the beard—recommenced his efforts to escape from the constables who held him. ‘“‘T know them, inspector,” cried Victor. ‘“‘T am glad to see them here, so hold them tight. My work is done—and well done.” “‘ Silence. Are you mad?” shouted the judge. ‘“‘T was never saner in my life—or hap- pier. Look out there. At the door! Watch the little fellow.” He stepped forward, in spite of his guards. Two shots rang out, and Alexander Dodson wheeled half round, tore himself from the constables and collapsed upon - the floor. He was dead before the reports had ceased to echo in the close atmosphere of the hall. Women screamed and the con- fusion burst out afresh. Dragging his guards with him, Victor made his way to Flora, who came forward to meet him. It was a matter of minutes before order was restored. The door had been forced open and the cold, raw air of winter swept sharp- ly and revivingly through the overheated hall. Victor was led back to his place. Flora followed and stood beside him, facing the judge. Victor addressed that official calmly. ° ‘What I have to tell you now, your honor, had better be told before a smaller and less excitable audience than this.” “You will say what you have to say here and now, my man. Remember that you are the prisoner at the bar—on trial for mur- der.” Victor handed a folded sheet of paper to Captain Farley, who now stood close by him. “ Give that to the judge, please. Read that, your honor.” He paused while the TRAILS END. 156 judge perused the page. ‘“ Have the pock- ets of Smith and the dead man, Dodson, searched, and I think you will find dupli- cates of that document. They will need explanation, I think.” The judge, without comment, handed the paper to the inspector, who studied it with bewilderment written upon his open coun- tenance. In the mean time Captain Farley had himself commenced the search of the pocket of the dead man who lay where he had fallen upon the floor. On of the con- Stables performed the same service for Smith. The big man was still struggling convulsively. His face worked frantically, but he did not speak. He was as pale as his com- panion upon the floor. The captain came forward with two pocket-books that had been discovered in the men’s clothing and placed them in the hands of the judge; and the judge quickly produced the papers for which he searched. He scanned them hastily and then passed them to the in- spector, and together they compared them with the first document. The inspector asked a question, and the judge shook his head. He looked at the prisoner, and Vic- tor saw that he, too, was puzled. “Where did you get this paper?” he asked, the anger gone from his voice. “’ From Faeter’s pocket after I shot him.” “What is that you say?” asked his ques- tioner uncomprehendingly. “Faeter? What Faeter? Are you mad?” cried the inspector, rising to his feet. ‘‘ Who are you?” “TI took that paper from the pocket of Karl Faeter after shooting him. For very good reasons he did not use that name here. He called himself Hiram Swithen.”’ Edmund Scott and Father Quinn were talking together in rapid undertones. The judge seemed bewildered, but determined to forge ahead and reach the truth of the matter by calm questioning. Farley was amazed, and Inspector Dunne could put no further restraint upon his keen excite- ment. He almost stammered over his next words. “What do you know of Karl Faeter? Karl Faeter in Canada? He is in Russia.” ‘ He is in hell,” said Victor quietly. comicloool C©