10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

(ee se TSD came out, holding them in his hand, he was stabbed. He dropped the brush and the teeth. I—” “Put that back where you found it,” Rocky Rhodes said quietly. “It’s evidence.” Rawlins blinked, studying the quiet strength and toughness that showed in the detective’s craggy face. He twirled the brush between square- tipped fingers briefly. Then he set it back on the floor, half under the rug. Lew Jensen, head of Homicide, bustled in with some of his boys. After listening to the whole story, he told Rocky: “It’s open and shut. This thing hap- pened just like your brother says. What else could it be? Unless you can find me a better suspect, we’re taking him in.” Rhodes tightened his lips, rubbed a hand impatiently through his curly hair. “Of course he couldn’t be cover- ng anybody. He couldn’t have loaned the knife to someone else and he fig- ures they did it, and he’s trying to shield them?” Jensen’s florid face grinned. He shrugged. “Listen, here, this ain’t New York. We don’t do things the hard way, here... .C’mon, Greg.” Greg Rhodes turned toward the door and Lew Jensen lumbered after him. Rocky clenched his fists against his sides in futile rage. In a few mo- ments he went downstairs with the others. Although the spirit of the party was broken, guests still lingered, some dressed to leave. They stood in little groups, talking in hushed whispers. Rhodes circulated, looking in vain for Donna Marlo. He spotted Harry Hunt the agent, and-Hugh Rawlins the den- tist, in a corner away from everyone else. The two were engaged in an ani- mated if not violent argument. Raw- lins’ square jaw was jutting, the blunt corners of his bald head glistening with sweat. Rhodes caught his rich, deep voice as he drew nearer, heard the tail end of what he was saying: FILMTOWN FADEOUT 33 “And if you think I’m bluffing, just fail to show up!” Hunt pulled at his fleshy nose, shifted his feet nervously. He started to reply, then spotted the New York detective. He turned to him. “Oh, hello, Rhodes. Say, I’m sorry as hell about your brother. Anything I can do?” “Same here, Rocky,” Rawlins echoed. “Hither of you seen Donna?” Rocky asked. “Not in the last few minutes,’ Rawlins answered. “Don’t know where she is, Say, Rhodes, Harry and I were just discussing squash. He was bragging, and I told him I’d whip the daylights out of him any time he’d come down to my club. You play?” Rocky shook his head negatively and moved away. He had just seen Donna Marlo pass along the hall. He caught her going out the front door. “Mind if I tag along?” “Oh, it— it’s you, Rocky.” She ran her fingers through the lustrous thick- ness of her dark hair. “I—I’m a little upset. I was going out to get some air.” HEY walked through the moon- glow to a secluded little summer- house out of sight and earshot of the house. The sheltered spot was heavy with the scent of roses and with Donna’s own subtly inviting perfume. “Rance’s murder kind of got you down, hasn’t it, Donna?” he said. His voice was soft. In the dark Donna could not tell that his eyes were cold and hard as granite. She said: “I—I’d rather not talk about it, Rocky.” She hunched a soft shoulder, let her head drop back so that the milk-white eurve of her throat gleamed in the moonlight. “You know, Rocky,” she whispered, her long-lashed eyes flut- tering. “You’re not handsome; you’re almost ugly, but I’ll bet lots of women go for you. You’re so tough, so hard. Your hair is nice, too, and so are your eyes.” GOMiGooo S (C(O) im