10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

ee sarily been Rance’s killer. But one of Rocky’s ideas might still be produc- tive, that Rance was killed because of something he had printed or might print in his column. Squeezing into a phone booth, Rocky called his friend, Les Lee, man- aging editor of the New York Recorder. He said: “Look, Les, I’m calling from the Coast and I’m in a jam. I want some info in a hurry. Your pa- per takes Jack Rance’s syndicated column, dcesn’t it? ... Read me the columns that came through this week, the unpublished ones. Start with the latest one and work back, Don’t ckip an item in any of them.” Lee ealled Rocky a few friendly names, clucked and left the phone. He came back reading bits of Hollywood gossip about big movie names. He was halfway through the second column when Rocky stopped him. “Hold it, Les. Read that last item again, slowly.” Les Lee read: “I know you’ll be in- terested to learn of the secret nup- tials of Donna Marlo, singing star, and Harry Hunt, prominent Coast ac- tor’s agent. Donna, you know, is the warbling lovely, whose studio has been trying to figure out a way to cut the balance of her long-term con- tract. We know they’!l be glad to hear about this. Heh-heh!’’ “Thanks, Les,” Rocky said and hung up. He went out, hailed a cab. He had a notion Jensen’s boys were in possession of his own car, back at the Albon Building, The hack raced him over to Donna Marlo’s place in Laure] Canyon. Just before they reached the drive leading up to Donna’s big, Spanish style bungalow, Rocky dismissed the cab. He staggered the rest of the way on wobbly legs, his head slowly be- coming a high-speed merry-go-round. Halfway up the drive he stopped, leaned against a tree, summoned all of his reserve strength, then went on. He didn’t knock on the door. He twisted the knob, fell against it and FILMTOWN FADEOUT Ot staggered on in. The entrance led into the living room. Donna was there in a gossamer negligee, kneeling on a stuffed suitcase, forcing down the lid. Rocky stumbled toward her, feet slipping under him on the highly waxed floor, and swaying like a drunk, 4a girl made squeaking noises and started to straighten up. Rocky put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay like that,” he told her, ‘I can slap you down better if you don’t do as I say. Where’s your husband ?” “My hus—” Donna’s already pale features went ashen. She pushed thick dark hair away from her forehead. “T —I don’t know what you mean.” “Stuff it,” Rhodes stopped her. He held his tired eyes open only with great effort. “I know you’re married to Harry Hunt. Jack Rance’s column that’s already been released will soon tell it to the world. I also know Har- ry killed Jack and then knocked off Hugh Rawlins. You know it, too. You’re an accomplice, an accessory after the fact. You’l! fry your pretty hide right with him unless you maybe help me out and spill all the little details.” “But—but I can’t do that. Harry would—” “Shut up, Donna!’ Harry Hunt stood in the doorway of the room, weaving a little black Spanish automatic in his fist. He stared at them through thick-lensed glasses like a puzzled human bullfrog. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flared and his mouth twitched to the pulsing of an infiamed nerve. “You should have stayed in New York, Rhodes,” he said raggedly. “Get out of the way, Donna. I’m go- ing to do some exterminating. I think you're the only one who found out so much, Rocky, but anyhow it won’t make any difference. Another killing won’t hurt my record. “Donna and I are going away. | was upstairs packing when you came in. Bven if T was going to let you )\O)O) © COMI S (C(O) nn