Page:Weird Tales v01n01 (1923-03).djvu/88

Rh thirty stories below, were probably silenced by the same sinister hand.

Silently, his gun held rigid as a rock, he approached the lumber-room door; then, a step away, he paused, with a sharp intake of his breath.

Here, six paces at his left, a narrow corridor led to a fire-alarm box and a window directly overlooking the main entrance and the street. Quarrier, back to the wall, thrust up a groping hand to where, just above his head, a light cluster hung. Three of the bulbs he unscrewed; then, going to the window; opened it, leaned outward, and, with intervals between, dropped them downward into the dark.

Then, pistol in hand, his feet silent upon the concrete flooring of the corridor, he approached the lumber-room door.

On hands and knees, he listened a moment at the keyhole then, still on his knees, his fingers, reaching, turned the knob, slowly, with an infinite caution, in his face new creases, grim lines. His face bitter, bleak, mouth hard, he straightened, got to his feet, thrust inward the heavy door with one lightning movement; stepped into the lumber-room, his gun, swung in a short arc, covering the two who faced him across the intervening space.

"Those documents, Martson," he commanded bruskly, "I can—use them."

His gaze, for a fleeting instant, turned to the other man, who, hands clenched at his sides, his eyes wide with sudden terror and unbelief, stared dumbly at the apparition in the doorway.

But Marston, his face gray, his hand hidden in his pocket, shrugged, sneered wryly, his hand thrust out and upward with the speed of light.

But, for the difference between time and eternity, he was not quick enough. There came a double report, roaring almost as one: Marston's sneer blurred to a stiff, frozen grimace; he swayed, leaning forward, his face abruptly blank; then, in a slumping fall, he crashed downward to the floor.

Quarrier stooped, swept up the papers where they had fallen from the dead man's pocket; then he turned curtly upon his body-servant.

"You may go, Harrison," he said, as if dismissing the man casually at the end of his day's service.

But if Harrison felt any gratitude for the implied reprieve, he turned now to Quarrier with an eager gesture, his speech broken, agonized:

"He—you must listen, sir—Mr. Quarrier," he begged. "He—Mr. Marston—he knew me when—he knew about "

His voice broke, faltered.

"Well—?" asked Quarrier, coldly, his face expressionless.

"Mr. Marston," continued the man—"he knew—my record—I was afraid to tell you, sir. He—he found out, somehow, that I'd—been—done time, sir He scared me, I'll admit—he threatened me—threatened to tell you  You didn't know, of course "

"Yes—I knew," explained Quarrier, simply, and at the expression in his master's face the valet's own glowed suddenly as if lighted from within.

"You—knew—" he murmured.

UT there is one thing you can tell me," Quarrier was saying. "You had the combination of the safe, of course; we'll say nothing more about that—but—how did you get in?"

Harrison bent his head.

"Well, sir," he explained, after a moment, "it was simple, but I'd never have thought of it but for—him." He pointed to the silent figure on the floor.

"Well—there are just three doors, sir, as you know," he resumed. "The entrance door of your office, with the combination lock; the entrance door of the lumber-room here, both giving on the corridor; and the inside door between the lumber-room and your office. We couldn't get into the office by the entrance door from the hall on account of the combination lock, but we could and