Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

290 ‘“‘ That’s a sound man,” he said, “‘ and— a mighty clever one.” ‘Almost as clever,” said Beatrice, Piers.” Stephen did not look at her. ‘““He’s dead—Piers. Isn’t there some sayin’ about the dead?”’ “To speak nothing but good of them?” ‘“‘T believe that’s it. As it wouldn’t be real easy to say anything good of Piers, the best thing is—” “To say nothing at all. quiescat.” ‘You're out of my depth, but I get you. Betty—” She laid a hand on his arm. ‘ Stephen, there was something more than ‘that happened when you met that man Mat- thew on the marshes.” “‘ Something? Yes. Just a burned hut.” “‘'What do you mean? I know very well you haven’t told me everything.” “No,” replied Stephen firmly, ‘“ and I’m not going to. You nor anybody else, un- less I’m forced to, for it’s nobody’s busi- ness but mine. Some day when things are smoothed out, maybe I'll tell you.” ‘“‘Smoothed out! What of Sloyd—and Puggy Flint? Can they be smoothed out?” ‘Why do you ask after Sloyd?” he said keenly. “Does he matter no longer? Won't he be called to account?”’ “T should say he’ll make himself mighty scarce. There’s a long term of the stone jug waiting for him, if ever he asked for it. Sloyd—Puggy Flint! Do you think I care for such trash as those? They’re down and out—they’re nothing but broken tools, thrown aside. Betty, I’m not a revenge- monger. I’m just Steve Marney, come into ‘my own after the devil’s own cruise; all I care for is to make things smooth for you— and Dickie! . There’s that little error of Dickie’s that worries him so. I’m burying that twenty fathoms deep—nobody will ever know of it now. That’s why I’m backing the lawyer-man—who’s shown me the way to do it.” ‘Dickie, yes! Where would either of us be now but for Dickie?” ‘“ Not in Mersea Holt, that’s sure.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. ce as Except—re- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ‘““And do you think I’d have cared to live,” she said, “ if Dickie had died?”’ She turned from him abruptly, and the door of her room closed behind Beatrice. Stephen sighed. “Gee, but we’re a.queer crew, we Mar- neys! An’ Dickie’s. going to be the most difficult of thes lot.” CHAPTER LIII. THE MARNEY WAY. TEPHEN MARNEY stood on the south terrace at Mersea Holt, in a warm flood of autumn sunshine that shone down through the yellowing chestnut trees. The tragedy was nearly six weeks old; Piers Marney, sleeping with his fathers in the churchyard, was no more than a memory, which now and then. came sharply back to those who had taken his place at the Holt. This morning was one of those occasions. Stephen, with hands. clasped idly behind his back, was watching the retreating form of Mr. Cornelius. Whiteheuse on his way down the drive. The lawyer had spent the best part of an hour with him, and the visits always left Stephen with a sense of solemn gravity rare in him. Mr. Whitehouse was always so formal and precise. Stephen heard a rustle, and turning, saw his sister beside him, her eyes full of in- quiry. ““ Well!” said Beatrice. he?” “None but the best. They won’t need me in London again, though the case may take a week or two yet. Success absolutely assured. They’ve got me set, as Sir Neville Marney’s son and heir of entail. Traced— proved—established.”” He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled. ‘‘ You’ve got a real brother at last, Betty. Success! That’s what Whitehouse’s report comes to ‘What news had ‘when you boil it down. He’s a windy sort of guy when he gets his tongue to work, but, gee, he hits the mark! Everything he told us to count on has come just so. All the rough stuff cut out. Piers’s record as dead as Piers himself. An’ now I’m going to settle about you, Betty.” comiclbooolx C©