10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

re ee ee ee out from the road. There was a drive leading into the estate and Stuart’s tires protested shrilly as he made the corner too sharp and too fast. He straightened out, jammed the brakes and stopped two feet from a heavy iron gate that barred his path. He left the car there, found a small gate which wasn’t locked and began running along the rest of the drive. The house he knew fairly well. It was a rambling place. The low roar of the surf could be heard clearly. Lights burned in many of the windows. Stuart reached the porch, took the steps in two jumps and jammed his finger against the doorbell. The door was opened by a tall, hollow-cheeked man with deep-set, pale, colorless eyes. This was Michael Kerrigan. Stuart showed his badge. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Kerrigan, but headquarters received information that there was some trouble here.” “Trouble?” Kerrigan gaped. “Why —I don’t know. Come on in, sergeant. I assure you there is no trouble here that I’m aware of. I have a few friends up from the city. Partners of mine. We’ve been discussing busi- ness.” “Ah,” Stuart grunted, “so I’ve been made a fool of again, Sorry, Mr. Kerrigan, this sounded like the real thing.” “Come in,” Kerrigan offered. “I insist upon it. See for yourself.” TUART followed the skinny tower of a man into a huge, knotty-pine Jined living room. There were three men seated in comfortable chairs, each one holding a highball glass. Kerrigan made the introduc- tions. “Boys, this is Sergeant Stuart, one of our local policeman. Stuart, meet Albert Meredith, Gus Gordon and Doug Terry.” Stuart mentally tucked away brain- pictures of the men. Meredith was chunky, red-faced and jolly. Gordon ——TAKEN FOR A SLAY RIDE neeoge 9 a slim, pompous, white-haired type. Terry was the mouse of the quartet— small of stature and almost lost in the big chair he half oceupied. ‘“What’s a policeman doing here?” Gus Gordon a.ked bluntly. Stuart grinned. ‘‘Looks like some- body played a trick on all of us,” he admitted ruefully. “A man phoned, said there was going to be a murder here tonight. I checked on him—he even gave me his name and address. Said he was John Alexander.” Stuart expected no reaction to the name—a practical joker would have used an alias. But all four men whirled to face him. Doug Terry eurled deeper in the chair and looked more frightened, Meredith’s fat, red face became grey. Even Gus Gor- don’s pomposity left him. “John Alexander?” Kerrigan gasped. “I— Damn it, men, relax. Now we're sure it’s a joke. Alexander has been dead for more than a year. He and Leonard were lost in that storm.” “What quickly. Kerrigan said, “Fourteen months ago six of us went to Alaska. We were all partners in mining enter- prises here in the United States, but we wanted to see if: there were any possible developments in Alaska. One day we were at the top of a moun- tain, A storm came up—rain, not snow, mind you. A wind arose that was so strong it robbed a man of his breath. “The four of us, whom you see here now, slid down from the ex- posed heights. But Leonard and Alexander were at the very top of the peak and—well, the wind just swept them over. We looked fo: them, but they were gone. Buried in the snow, I suppose.” Stuart rubbed his chin. “But if Alexander’s body was never recov- ered, as you have inferred, maybe he did come back. Perhaps he is storm?” Stuart asked planning something against you men. IGbooo COIN S (C(O) im