The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1910-08-03
he Game ann|
Tbe Gamble

among the many-faceted knick-
knacks that Uttered the desk,
caught and tossed back from
dozen shining surfaces, and mock
ingly echoed by deep-tinted walls
and draperies. Most ruddily, most
wildly, the light seemed to gather
around the writer, as IL its culver
ing pink radiance were a warning
or shield.
1t was like another presence in
the room, that fire, to the man be-
hind the curtain. He watched 1t
also as he crept stealthily forward,
clutching more tightly the object in
his hand. A man of the people,
shabby, gaunt, unkempt, he stole
out into the Regents study, STEP
ping cautiously on the cleaning
floor or on the treacherously soft
rugs, which slipped beneath his I'M
accustomed feet. From the velvet
hangings he gained the shelter of a
tall Vernis-Martin cabinet and
crouched in the shadow, shaking
from head to foot with nervous
tremors.
Stanief worked on undisturbed;
once he paused to choose another
pen, and the intruder covered to
the floor in abject fear. But the
writing was resumed without
alarm. After a few moments the
man again moved forward, this time
on his hands and knees, until he
reached the end Of high-sided
leather couch. There he halted
again. Coming here with pur-
pose so bold, the habit of lifetime
yet prompted him to hold his sOiled
garments away from the gilded and
perfumed upholstery with a vague
sense of apology.
There never was clock that
licked so loudly, so insistently as
the timepiece above the hearth, \
clock that set its beats so exactly
to the beat of mans hurrying
pulse. Once the man on the floor
| touched his chest curiously, as II to
be quite certain whether 1t was his
heart, or indeed the swaying pendu-
lum which sounded through the
quiet place. Reassured, he moved
on.
The glowing freight wavered
giddily across Stanier's bent head;
seeking in vain for hint of brown
in the fine black hair. which had a
slight ripple and tendency to lie
in tiny curls where it touched the
neck. The man noted this DULY. If
one struck there? Or lower, be-
tween the broad shoulders
Stanief leaned back and selected
a cigarette from the tray on the
writing-table. His drowsy lashes
fell meditatively as he reached for a
match, a half-smile curved his lips.
The man by the chair darted for
ward and struck once, from behind.
| The knife crashed ringing to the
floor as Staniefs quicker movement
met his assailant's. The man cried
out sharply as the strong white
hands closed on his wrists and the
superior strength forced him to his
knees beside the desk.
| "Clumsily attempted" commented
the level voice. "Have you any
more weapons, mon ami?"
'Excellency, Royal Highness,
pardon-I have no French"
Stanief shrugged his shoulders
and lapsed into the language Of the
country
He deliberately transferred both
captive wrists to the grasp of his
right hand and with his left opened
drawer of the desk. The man
made no effort to free himself.
Generations of serfdom had reas-
serted themselves: he might have
killed from behind. but before the
patrician's glance and voice resist
ance did not even occur to him. He
submitted passively when Stanief
produced pair of handouts and
snapped them in place.
Stand up, and farther Off" came
the contemptuous command. Il am
not accustomed to doing my own
police work. You need not try to
escape; the guard Is within call. I
might have had you arrested half
an hour ago when | first saw you"
Royal Highness, how-why-"