Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1922-04-16

would have been to knock you on the
head-and have done with it. But l
prefer to do it easily and quietly.
That book means ruin and the peni-
Tertiary for several persons. They
have no intention of being ruined and
stuck behind the bars just in order
to furnish sensation for cheap,
gutter-snipe newspaper"
The vein on his forehead swelled
out again. and Trumbull perceived
that his companion also burned with
a white-hot hatred.
The bogus lawyer took a cigar from
his vest pocket and critically exam
ined it, as he added:
II didn't start this thing for the
purpose of failing. A cheap little rat
of a reporter means no more to me
than a, bug" Again the upper lip
lifted in a peculiarly unpleasant smile.
Take an hour" he said.
Opening a penknife. he cut the end
from his cigar. put 1t in his mouth
and lighted it Tossing the burnt
match to the floor. he turned his
swivel chair sidewise to the table and
took a lounging attitude. with his
legs crossed and his head leaning
against the back of the chair. putting
very leisurely at the cigar.
Trumbull tried to think it over, but
1t was so absurd and Incredible! Half
an hour before he had crossed
thronged City Hall Park. That bust
ling, brilliantly lighted scene and
roaring, crowded Broadway were only
three or four minutes walk from his
newspaper office. Could a man be
kidnapped and assassinated right un-
der the whole city's>nose, with a thou
sand electric lights blazing just be-
hind him and fifty thousand people
fairly within sight?
But for all practical purposes this
vaultlike room in the deserted build
Ing was as remote as Siberian dun
geon. There was the man behind the
table. Trumbull tried to think he was
only bluffing, but failed.
Then there was that Internal trick
of the suicide. He saw his wife get
ting the news, and his heart rose to
the base OF his throat and cracked.
But he hadn't the least notion Of CIV
ing in. Sheer. unspeakable hatred of
the beast behind the table prevented
his even thinking of that.
Half an hour may have passed be-
fore the beast, lighting fresh cigar,
broke the silence by observing:
II might remind you that We'll
probably get the memorandum book
anyway. Tomorrow your fiat will be
thoroughly searched. I suppose your
wife will be away from home on that
business of the suicide. But If she
isn't we can easily send her mes
sage in connection with your disap-
pearance that will take>>her over to
Newark or up to Stamford, giving us
plenty of time to search the fiat!"
\ \
THERE was silence for ten or If
! teen minutes more. Then Trum-
bull sprang from his chair and rushed
upon the man behind the table. The
distance was barely a dozen feet. but
the table was between them. and the
lawyer slipped nimb1y out of the
swivel chair and lodged around the
other end. In doing that his hands
made two motions-the right one
drew short, heavy revolver from
the pocket Of the sack coat; the left
one pressed an electric button on the
table.
AS he and Trumbull fronted each
other lengthwise of the table. the door
flew open and the amateur typist ran
in, a siung-shot grasped in his huge
right hand, and as he came on toward
the reporter he grinned in a manner
which suggested that beating a man
TO a pulp was one Of his most cher
ished diversions.
Trumbuil took one look at him,
stepped forward ana slid into the
empty swivel chair, then folded his
arms on the table and buried his face
in them. He could hear his captors