10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

r 46—————————_—_—_——_ 10-STORY DETECTIVE —— door cracked open and I started to step out into the bright sunlight, when sud- denly, with the sharpness of splintering timber, something inside my head ex- ploded and the yellow sunlight turned to inky blackness. mas pungent odor of spilled gasoline and the acrid smell of burning pine awakened me. I was on my feet before my eyes even had time to focus. Staring wildly about the room, I saw what was up. Ahead of me, the front wali and door were a livid sheet of flame. Smoke stung my eyes. Whirling about, ' [— stumbled backward through the tiny room until my feet smacked something lying on the floor. I fell again flat on my face. The thing I struck was soft and yield- ing, and I was now lying beside it. Rais- ing to my elbow, 1 peered at it through the yard of thickening smoke. My blood auddenty ran cold. The thing lying there was & human body, a man, Chinese, and very dead. The hair of his scalp was ad- ready singed and burning. i retched, pulled myself to my feet, and careened drunkenly toward the op- posite wall. Glass splintered about my head, and’ I tumbled into the cool open air I lay on the ground a minute catching my breath, Then I stood, stumbled away from the burning walls, and headed for the clump of pine, Already I could hear voices—-someone had spotted the fire. I reached the grove of scrub trees and fell down exhausted. When I had lain there for a few min- utes £ rose again, glanced at my watch. Ié was already past twelve. Skirting the edge of a field, I spied in the distance a farmer loading some vegetables onto a little truck. Walking over, I pulled a wad of bills out of my pocket and held them in front of his face. “Twenty bucks to take me into the city,” I said. The Chinese took one look at it and jerked his thumb at the front seat. I climbed in and relaxed against the cush- ions. N THE city I headed for the nearest pay phone and dialed Mark, His husky voice answered the ring. “This is Bill, Mark,” I said quickly. “Got anything more on the Herrick busi- ness?” Mark’s answer was a healthy laugh. “ve about decided to cali that one a dead duck, Bill,” he said. “I had the coro- ner recheck the chest and larynx. He did- n’t find a thing. No bruises on the throat, and a chest full of phlegm. So he wasn’t choked to death, and therefore obviously must have died a natural death as the result of his asthma.” I hesitated a moment. “Funny thing, though,” Mark went on then, “what a guy can dig out of the family graveyard once he starts lookin’ up the vital statistics.” My ears perked up. mean ?” Mark chuckled, “Remember the glam- or girl, Miss Post? The one who was afraid her virtue was threatened by the houseboy? It seems sheeain’t exactly the old maid we'd typed her for. She’s a mar- ried lady” The news didn’t excite me much. Mark chuckled once again. “And get “What do you this, Bill. Her name ain’t Miss Post at . all. It’s Mrs. Harris.” It took a full second to register on my slightly battered mind. Then I fairly shouted it. “What?” “Yeah,” Mark went on, obviously en- joying himself. “They were married twelve years ago, up at Tampa. Been sep- arated eight years.” I was speechiess. A thousand little bits of remembered items went spinning through my head, all in the moment or two that Mark stopped talking. A few of the little bits were beginning to make some kind of a pattern now, slow- ly but painfully, like the pieces of a puzzle. “And that ain’t all.” Mark’s voice woke me up. I drew a heavy breath. “Shoot.” “It seems that Cupid finally got our friend Henry Crowell, too, although it's been kept a secret. He’s been married almost a month—to a frail by the name of Kitty Melville, a dancer. She works at. the Pelican Club. Quite a dish. Saw her act once—fans.” ; The pieces in the puzzle began to move about again. Wearily but excitedly, my fast-moving mind watched the outline be- gin to take shape. There. was a long pause. Then I was speaking, “Listen, Mark. Do me one final favor.” He laughed again “S’matter ? Got some- COmiclooOoks (©