10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

———CRIME ON HIS HANDS TSD “If you’re convicted of murder the judge has to sentence you to the chair. That’s the law. But not if you confess. If you confess you can beat the chair and take a life term. Now, why don’t you be a good fellow, Donald, and make it easy for us? Why don’t you tell the truth? You’ll feel better. It'll take a load off your mind. Believe me, boy, I know.” ALLOCK finished talking and took a deep breath. That was a long speech for Hallock, I imagined. But I didn’t cringe. I had pretty good hold of myself. I didn’t back away and turn green like he maybe expected. I held my hands tightly against my thighs and drew myself up and said stoutly : “TI didn’t kill my uncle. Yes, maybe I did tell a couple of lies, but it was only to protect somebody.” Hallock rubbed his huge paws to- gether. “Ah, now we’re getting sov.1e- where. Who were you trying to pro- tect, Donald?” “A girl. The one who left with the blond man.” “And who was she?”’ “T don’t know,” I said. “But I found her here when I came. Uncle Henry was dead then, but I don’t think she killed him.” . “Why, Donald?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I just don’t think so, that’s all. You can tell 2 killer when you see one. She didn’t have that kind of a face.” “And what kind of a face does a kill- er have, Donald? Is it anything like yours? Especially when there’s a mat- ter of a quarter of a million dollars to be gained?” I put it to him stoutly. “I don’t care about the money. I wouldn’t kill for ten times that. I wouldn’t kill any- body for all the money in the world.” And I meant it too. There was some- thing about just being alive that made me blow inside. On the farm it’s the smell of the new cut hay and the solid earth under my feet and the warmth of the sun and the heauty of twilight. ——_49 It’s hearing the dog bark and seeing him romp. The thin cry of the calf, and the wonderful sound of the rain against the roof. I remembered then how I felt when old Bess’s first calf died. It was like putting a grappling hook in my stomach and twisting it. Couldn’t I make them understand that? Couldn’t I make them see that it was impossible for me to have killed Uncle Henry? There was a burly plainclothes de- tective standing beside Hallock who hadn’t said a word so far; only lis- tened with a contemptuous sneer spread across his beet-red face. He took one step forward and hit me against the cheek with the back of his hand. It knocked me back onto the ottoman. ““C’mon,” he snarled. “We’re wast- ing time with the weasel, Hallock. I can make him talk. He’s lying. Everything he said has been a hie. Get up, you!” He grabbed me by the necktie and yanked me off the seat so that my face was stuck up close against his. There was alcohol on his breath and I could see the large pores that studded his clublike nose. “Talk, Donald, talk, or we'll strap yen into the chair so tight the juice’ll come out of your ears.” The knot of my necktie had jammed up so tight against my Adam’s apple it was choking me, I felt my face flush and the breath expleding in my nostrils. I didn’t like this man. I didn’t like anything about him. I brought my knee up into his midriff. The air whis- tled out of him with a loud whoosh and he fell back, doubled over with pain. “7T LASTED only a minute. He straightened and his jaws were ridged whitely with anger. Red veins streaked his eyes and anger slashed across his face like a thunderstorm. He stared at me for a second and then his voice blasted like a furnace. “That does it, punk! I’ kill you!” I guess more than anything else he OOO) @) (CONNIE S (C(O) im