Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

SHELBY’S HEAD-ON CRASH. Shelby had been with the road only a year. He had met Simpson perhaps half a dozen times. But he knew that Simpson was taking a more friendly attitude toward him than the detective took toward most men. Undoubtedly Simpson had something beyond his cuff. Shelby wished he knew what it was. He had eaten nothing since morning, and his young appetite was beginning to clamor. He went to a modest restaurant near by. He did not notice as he entered it that a man stopped across the street. As Shelby ate his supper this man went into the drug-store. He telephoned hur- riedly. Shelby whs just paying his check when a messenger-boy entered the restaurant and approached him. “You Shelby?” he asked. “ That’s me,” Shelby said. “ Message for you,” the boy said. ‘‘ Shove a pencil along that line.” Shelby signed for the message. He was so anxious to know what it was and whom it was from that he did not think to ask the_ boy how the latter had known that he was in the restaurant. On his part the boy did not wait in the expectation that Shelby would slip him a dime. He seemed to be a very busy little messenger. He stuffed his book into his pocket and skipped out into the night. Shelby paid his check and walked to the door. There, in ‘the light from within, he slit the envelope. The message was written on company stationery. Shelby read it half a dozen times in blank amazement. Then he stuffed it into his pocket and stood staring into the street. With twilight, clouds had banked up in the northwest, and now rain was falling steadily. There were mutterings of thun- der and now and then a long-held flare of lightning. Shelby forgot about his new serge suit. - He stepped out into the rain and started for Thornton’s boarding-house. For ‘this was the message: They’ve suspended me indefinitely. I’m practically fired. Come and see me to-night at eight o'clock. Be prompt. I’ve got some- © thing to tell you. 61 Thornton’s name was signed to the mes- sage. Shelby proved himself a poor sleuth just then. He did not notice that the message, including the signature, had been written on a typewriter. He was too eager to see Thornton to heed externals. Perhaps Thornton had had a change of heart and was going to confess his blame for the wreck. With his coat-collar held up about his throat he hurried through the rainy streets. In a short time he was opposite Thorn- ton’s boarding-house. It was very dark beneath the big trees, but an occasional flash of lightning split the darkness. Shelby’s first eagerness had died. Sus- Picion had come to replace it. It seemed quite unlikely, in his change of mood, that Thornton was going to confess. He wasn’t that kind of man, Shelby feared. Even if he lost his job, he would not make reparation. He would face the problem of getting another job, and if he confessed his responsibility for the wreck he would have a harder time than if he continued to lay the blame on Shelby. He could still call on Osborne to vouch for his having sent the questioned order. Doubt lent Shelby mental acuteness. He decided to move slowly, to consider what he should do if Thornton was not square with him. Certainly he must not lose his temper. He must keep cool and match his own cunning against Thornton’s. So he crossed the street and rang the door-bell. A woman clad in a raincoat and carrying an umbrella came to the door. “Is Mr. Thornton in?” Shelby asked. “He isn’t just now,” the woman an- swered. ‘“ He had a phone call fifteen min- utes ago and went out. Said he would be back shortly, so I could tell anybody who called him up to call again. Will you wait?” ‘No, I'll come back,” Shelby said. He went down the steps and recrossed the street. He wasn’t going to sit in the parlor of Thornton’s boarding-house and mark time for Thornton. He stood under the trees, watching the house in the recurring flashes of lightning. He became aware presently that he was comiclboooks C©