10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

106 IS TORY through the fleshy part of his arm. He quickly tied this with a clean handkerchief. “Davis! Trooper Patrick was yell- ing from somewhere back near the house. “Sheriff, where the devil are you?” Davis didn’t reply. Perhaps the killer believed he’d settled him for good. At any rate, calling an answer would only have attracted the mur- derer again, and next time his aim might be just a trifle better. Davis stumbled back down the path until he reached the body of the little crook. He picked up the big gun, forced it loose from the dead fingers and stuffed the weapon into his back pocket. He felt a little better now. Of course, the county coroner would have a few choice phrases to utter about a man who deliberately picked up evidence, but Davis was more con- cerned with saving his own life now. Trooper Patrick met him as he ap- proached the house. Patrick was nervous, worried. “That shot,” he exclaimed. “I thought our former prisoner had finished you off.” “Our former prisoner,” Davis grunted, “is finished himself. Didn’t you shoot it out with him?” Patrick nodded. ““Yes—he tried to waylay me and darn near blasted my head off. I fired back—twice. He dropped, but when I went to look for him, he was gone.” “You got him all right. Now let’s zo back into the house. Montague will be half frantic with worry. Patrick, the way things have been moving here, I think that several of Spats Stafford’s mob are actually on the estate—beyond the fence. They’ve managed to cut off all juice too. Watch yourself—those monkeys are dangerous.” HEY returned to the house cau- tiously. Patrick, at Davis’ sug- gestion, went to the door while Davis covered him. Montague let him in, once Patrick identified himself. Then DETECTIVE—_——— ne ee ta Davis scurried up the steps and into the house. Montague was suffering from a bad case of nerves. “Both of you shouldn’t have left me that way,’ he explained. “While you were gone, someone put out the lights, and if you’ll go into my study you’ll see a knife on the floor. It was thrown at me through an open window. I thought you locked all of them, Davis.” “TI did,” Davis said. ‘““Never mind about that now. We’re in a rather bad spot. Phone is out of order, no lights, and the estate probably full of gun- men just waiting for a chance to blast us out. There’s no way to send for help and daylight won’t benefit us much either. Just give those killers a better opportunity to finish their business.” “Y’ve been thinking the same thing,” Patrick said tensely. “Our only chance is to get away from here while it’s still very dark. Can’t tell but a moon will come out at any mo- ment. Let’s try for the car, hurry back to town and get plenty of help. I’! call the barracks for twenty men.” “I—I can’t go,’ Montague sniffled. “It’s quite impossible. They’re here for just one thing and if I go away and leave it behind—” “Take it with you,” Patrick sug- gested. “There’s no use _ beating around the bush, Dr. Montague. Everybody knows about all the cash you keep here. That’s what those erooks are after. Let them get into the house and, believe me, you won’t be able to take your money with you. Leave now and you will. There’s no dishonor in retreat when you’re out- numbered.” Montague licked his lips, started to pace the floor and stumbled against a chair he couldn’t see m the darkness. ‘What do you think, sheriff?” he asked. Davis said, “Patrick is right. It’s senseless to throw your life away trying to protect the results of all these years of work. Even if you can’t possibly reach your cache and bring MIGoOOo (C(O) S (C(O) im