Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

picked up a book that was lying he small table near the davenport. “Nietschet” he exclaimed, and then led. “With the pages still uncut,” he _ Fielding moved to the hearth and beck- oned for Garry to come and sce. In the Open grate some one had been burning pho- tographs and letters. Quite a heap cof them, half destroyed, lay there—grim tes- timony to Da Costa’s extensive acquaint- ance among the fair sex. Not a personal photograph had been left about. ~ What do you make of that?” asked Fielding. ~ Looks a little as though some one had been here before us,” answered Garry. ~ And yet—who could have known of the murder. The doors were locked. No one ——except ourselves—-has left the club.” “ But the murderer—knowing what he was about to do—might have come here first,” suggested Fielding. “ That’s true,” admitted Garry. “ But, in that case, it must have been a premedi- tated thing—carefully planned. It didn’t seem like a deliberate, cold-blooded kill- ing!” ~ Is there any use in our looking for evi- dence here?” asked Fielding. “ Why not look—so long as we are here,” said Garry. “The most careful person sometimes overlooks something !’’ Fielding shrugged—and went round the grand piano that stood in the window niche with a Chinese embroidery over it and a bowl of orchids on top—strange orchids of a Tare species, colored with reds and yel- _ lows. There was a small carved cabinet, alf hidden away there. % My guess is that the key fits this,” he the cabinet proved to be without empty. Along the further wal] ases, but the key to them was 2 lock. the bedchamber,” suggested the way. And he smiled as ARGOSY-ALLSTORY Ww EEKLY, It. Tapestries, gay-colored stuffs, ang ~~ broideries lined the walls; with here and there a nude of the modern French schoo} or a black and white, after Beardsley. 4 small marble statuette of a shepherd boy piping, stood in the window, bathed « moonlight from out of doors, and in an amber glow from the hanging lamp above him. Across from him stood Da Costa’s desk—locked. And the second key that Fielding had fitted it. “It will be empty,” Fielding predicted as he inserted the key in the lock. « Some one has already been here to cover traces'”” “No harm to look,” said Garry. And then the desk Opened under Field- ing’s hand—and it was not empty. Direct- ly in front stood a picture of Katherine—a beautiful picture—with « Yours, K.” scrawled across the bottom of it in her big, careless hand. And beside the picture lay a little stack of letters—in the same hand -—four letters addressed to Guy da Costa. There was nothing else to be seen. “ Katherine Kendall,” breathed Field- ing triumphantly, “and some of her let- ters. I guess they’re evidence in the case!” “ I guess not,” answered Garry, reaching for them; but Fielding was before him. “ What’s the idea?” he cried, turning to look up at the older man. “TN take those,” said Garry, without directly replying. His jaw was squared. “Oh, you will, will you—and let Joan face the music with the cops? I guess not. They go back to Silvers!” They eyed each other in open antago- nism, now-——each man fighting for the wom- an he loved. Fielding still sat before the desk, his hands closed over the letters; Garry stood over him. “I don’t see that this has anything what- ever to do with the murder,” said Garry calmly. “She was interested in Da Costa! Well—we all know that! Half the town knows it! She wrote him letters! Well— is that going to add anything to the know'- edge we already have? Letters are such intimate personal things. I don’t like the idea of having hers paraded before the pub- lic gaze!” s e 3 e _“ Because you are in love with her,” said Iv UF 4 e ~ comicbooks.com