Evening star., 1940-06-02
Il Short Story Complete in This Issue

equipment was hung and slid the service
d revolver into the pocket of his trousers.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror and
for a moment peered at the reflection: tall,
handsome man of thirty three, his athletic
torso rigid in the starched white tunic with
the gold ornaments, his face as hard and un-
smiling as Roman mask. He was not old, he
was not pot-bellied or bald - but neverthe-
less he was ridiculous.
Not, however, so blind as the proverbial
husband. And so somewhere between now
and midnight he would shoot man - and
kill him.
He had shot men before. and killed them
before. He had never hesitated. never felt
qualm in the line of duty He would not
hesitate now. A civilian might hire lawyer to
sue for divorce, but captain of the Legion had
to act according to his profession.
Outside, there was no sound in the night
except the rustling of the palm crest in the
freshening wind sweeping south from the
Atlas. At a measured, firm stride Forlier
walked across the civilian quarter of Ksar-
Lassar toward the house where de Traz was
staying. He passed group of unmarried
officers of the Foreign Legion battalion he
thought he heard chuckle, sly whispered
word. Of course, they had all known. long be-
fore he discovered it. The weight of the gun
against his thigh was comforting. Tomorrow
morning there would be no more chuckles
De Traz was alone; Forlier had ascertained
that. But now that he confronted the other,
he did not know precisely what to do. His
impulse was to smash his fist into that smiling,
family surprised face; that good-looking face.
Yes the captain acknowledged bitterly. one
could understand the reason for the fellows
success. He had lean, supple body, poised as
a fencer's blade; his face was dark and thin,
the nose aquiline enough to make it more
than merely handsome, the eyes alive the
black hair sleek as coat of paint Don Juan,
exactly. Perhaps one could stomach an author
of novels and analytical essays about women
who was himself no figure of man to admire,
but it was at once obvious that Andre de
Traz's success in his particular field of litera-
ture was linked to as formidable success in
the matters of which he wrote.
He had written book Portraits of Women,
that had been attacked and praised, the
former for its cool authority, the latter for its
skill, impudence and charm. His reputation
had preceded him to Africa. He was engaged
in leisurely tour of the colonies - it was
understood perceptive, amusing cynical
book would be the result He had been in
Ksar-Lassar some weeks ago, and had re-
turned. To Forlier, the husband of very
attractive woman that return was more than
significant - it was damning
! HE gun felt as if it must leap into his hand
And yet in cold blood it was impossible. He
had not spoken, and de Traz, after murmuring
qualification at the unexpected visit, now was
regarding him inquiringly.
Forlier drew the revolver from his pocket.
That will explain why have come here"
he said harshly. You are writer, but you
have, suspect. had training as fencer, an
athlete. Is it true?"
De Traz looked at him with complete as
tonishment Il don't comprehend, Captain"
y think the situation is quite clear. You
must expect, in these regions, blunter but per-
haps more honorable practices than you will
find in Paris Will you answer my question:"
De Traz shrugged. Il have fenced, boxed -
yes"
Good fancy am better shot than you,