Page:Weird Tales Volume 6 Number 3 (1925-09).djvu/7

buttonlike nose, above which peered pale blue eyes squinting involuntarily as if in distaste at the light which flooded the room in true country hostelry fashion. Carrot-colored hair stood in a stiff pompadour above a sallow face.

"Mr. Moderno?" queried Luke uncertainly.

The mysterious stranger bowed with tremendous dignity.

"Will you be seated, sir? And will you mercifully explain this?"

Luke lifted the newspaper clipping and his gray eyes searched the sallow countenance of the stranger, who seated himself opposite and at once became a figure of far more impressiveness, owing to the fact that his body was long, making him seem much taller, when seated, than he really was. He threw back the black mantle, displaying a flame-colored lining covered with symbolic figures embroidered in various shades. But in tossing back the mantle, he also uncovered his face, so that the combination of button nose, cupid's bow mouth and squinting pale blue eyes made up an ensemble oddly at variance with his air of mystery and importance.

"Call me Cagliostro," he commanded severely. "Young man, are you married?"

Luke parried.

"Well—what if I am?" he asked. "How can it matter to you?"

"It may matter much to me—and to you as well. Do not be flippant. Give me a direct answer. Upon your single status much depends."

Luke's firm lips curled whimsically at the corners.

"Good friend Cagliostro, I am still heart-whole and fancy-free."

The unknown drew what was obviously a deep sigh of relief.

"Then you can serve as my assistant," he exclaimed, pointing at the clipping which Luke still held between thumb and forefinger of one well-formed hand.

"But, my good chap, I don't know anything about magic of any kind," the young man retorted, humoring what certainly appeared to be a harmless madman. "All my magic consists of splashing colors on canvas."

"But you are young—and good-looking—and unmarried," the unknown insisted. "And my nephew disappointed me at the last moment," he confided, leaning across the table and unbending sufficiently from his high pose to look pleadingly at the artist.

Luke Porter stared incredulously at his vis-à-vis, the impulse to shout with laughter seizing almost irresistibly upon him. The man was amusing in his gravity.

"Have some of this steak," he offered. "Potatoes? As long as you are here, you'd better help me eat, good Cagliostro. And then, out with the whole story. You can't expect me to be your assistant unless you tell me the situation, you know."

Cagliostro Moderno hesitated, the squinting blue eyes searchingly upon Luke. Then he let himself relax comfortably in his chair, held out the plate the waitress had provided for the unexpected guest, and began to talk incoherently. Luke listened, and began to gather in details of an eery situation, the like of which he had never in his life believed possible.

Somewhere in the Pennsylvania woods near Shakerville, about a mile up Woddy Ridge from the main road between Shakerville and Spinnerton, there was the replica of a medieval castle, called Fanewold by the owners. This castle had been built by the present Madam Fane in her girlhood, as a surprize for her young husband. Madam Fane had had all the money, but the young husband had not remained with her long after the birth of their child, a boy; he had