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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Gold of the Gods"

"Did he tell you any more than he told us?"
It was clear that Lockwood felt now that every man's hand was
against him.
I thought I could discover a suppressed gleam of satisfaction in
her wonderful eyes as she answered, "Nothing more. It was only
that I carried out what he asked me."
Could it be that she was taking a subtle delight in the turn of
events--the working out of a curse on the treasure-secret which
the fatal dagger bore? I could not say. But it would not have
needed much superstition to convince any one that the curse on the
Gold of the Gods was as genuine as any that had ever been uttered,
as it heaped up crime on crime.
We waited in silence, the more hopeless as the singing of the
night insects italicized our isolation from the organized
instruments of man for the righting of wrong. Here we were, each
suspecting the other, in the home of a man whom all mistrusted.
"There's no use sitting here doing nothing," exclaimed Lockwood in
whose mind was evidently the same thought, "not so long as we have
the telephone and the automobiles."
These, at least, were our last bonds with the great world that had
wrapped a dark night about a darker mystery.
"There are many miles of wire--many miles of road.


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