10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

been cold for a long time. Feel him if you don’t believe me!” Jenny wasn’t crosseyed, but she gave the impression. She was able to hold them at bay and still look at Elmo’s face as she bent to touch it. Her brows ran together in a scowl as she snatched at his hair. “A bead!” But it wouldn’t come loose at her first touch. It was threaded in Elmo’s hair. She held it up, rolling it between her fingers. “A bisque bead. Who put it in his hair, and why?” “Please put the gun away,” Clayfus quavered. “You make me nervous!” Nelson remembered. “Just as I was coming in, a redheaded fellow came out and hotfooted it to a big green car,” he said. “But he couldn’t have done it— unless he hung around for hours after- wards—” “Ward Taylor!” Jenny Jacques said thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe. The broken dolli—he wanted what was inside of—” She stopped, gulping back the rest of her words. “It’s a lie!” Nelson shook his head. “We ought to call the police,” suggested. Jenny looked a snarl at her. “We’re callin’ nobody. Not ’til I get to the bot- tom of this! Whoever’s done it is goin’ ' to get his, before any cops can stop me! All right, you three. We'll take a run to Ward Taylor’s and have a little talk with him. If he’s got an alibi, it’ll be just too bad for one of you, the one who can’t prove he didn’t do it!” Her hands were shaking alarmingly. It made even herself nervous. She lowered the gun for an instant and just in time. Her jittering fingers squeezed the trig- ger and it hopped in her hand, spitting flame and smoke, like a-live little demon. Inadvertently Gerry clutched Nelson from one side and Clayfus from the other, steadying him as his knees buckled. Jenny seemed satisfied, oddly enough. “Just a hint of what you got comin’— one of you,” she said. . “Listen, Miss Jacques,” Clayfus bab- bled eagerly. “Why, I’ve been in the shop all afternoon! Mr. Monfrede called for his doll at five-thirty, and I didn’t leave until twenty minutes ago. You can verify that with a customer who called me to place an order,. just as I was leaving to Gerry bring the glass dome and pedestal here.” He gestured excitedly. “Yes, and peo- ple must have seen Mr. Monfrede leaving MURDER IN MINIATURE —————_—_——67 my place. They’d have noticed his scar and his funny—I mean, his distinctive— suit. Yes, and I took a taxi—you can check up—” He hung on Nelson as if afraid he’d sink through the floor, “Please put that awful gun away, Miss Jacques! I’m an old man, and my poor heart—” 3 Jenny considered, for just a fraction of an instant. She jerked her gun in a gesture. “Okay, grandpa, You’re out of it, because I know where I can get you if I want you, and you wouldn’t bump off a rich customer. You can beat it.” Her weapon returned to Nelson and the girl, “You two had good motives, ’'m thinkin’, You'll come along with me. Beat . it, pop!” Clayfus hesitated, glancing around as if he thought he’d forgotten something, Then, with the lightest of whimpers, he scuttled to the door and scurried down to the street with almost youthful agility. “Going for the cops,” Jenny observed. with a cobra’s smile. “But they won’t get here until we’re gone. You two start out. Remember, I’m right behind you?!” “My car’s at the door,” she said, as they reached the sidewalk, “Get into it, and no funny business. I’m apprehendin’ a murderer, in case I have to shoot.” There was only one pedestrian, far down the block. He didn’t seem to sense any- thing wrong as Jenny Jacques maneu- vered the pair into her sedan. “You dxive,” she told Nelson from the back seat. “I’ve got a bead on the both of you!” dt address was up in the West Seventies. While on their way, Nel- son tried to explain his movements of the afternoon, then realized that if he cleared himself he would only put Gerry that much deeper in the hole, As they stopped before Taylor’s house, parking behind the long green car, Jenny warned, “Go straight up the steps into the vestibule, I’m watchin’ you, see?” Taylor’s housekeeper opened the door. “Mr. Taylor isn’t at home,” she protested firmly. “Oh, yeah?” Jenny displayed her gun. “Where his car goes, he goes. Get back in there and call him—and stay away from that telephone!” Taylor’s room was the first door down the hall—double doors to be exact, He had the front room, what had been the Comicoooks (C@