10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

——CRIME ON HIS HANDS died, father turned his money over to Henry Lambert to be the trustee for Pau] and me. That was about a year ago. Then, last week, Mr. Lam- bert wrote us that all our investments had turned out badly. That there was no more money left. He sent us an ac- counting, “Paul had studied law and although the investments were legal, he thought Mr. Lambert had been very careless in the ones he’d chosen. He even sus- pected Mr. Lambert of switching cer- tain of his own securities that may have turned out to be lemons. “He tried for several days to get in to see Mr. Lambert, but he always seemed to be getting brushed off. Then, today, he decided to have it out with Mr. Lambert. He left the house. I—I guess he was angry, so after a while I followed him here. But he hadn’t arrived yet.” Hallock said: “And you were here all alone with Lambert when he died?” “How does she know?” I said. “Somebody may have sneaked in while she was in the kitchen. Kenyon had a key. He came in without ring- ing.” Hallock ignored me. “Bring Paul Benson in,” he said to Greer. “We’re holding the girl on suspicion of homi- cide. ... You, Donald, where’re you staying?” “At the Y,” I told him. “Good enough. Stick around town in case we need you.” And he turned away, I looked at Sally, but her eyes were averted. Her face had that taut, wrenched look on it that seemed to make my heart eurdle. I’d seen Uncle Henry’s Filipino servant head to--: ward the kitchen, and since nobody was watching me now, I followed him there. CHAPTER IV CIJA was a small brown fellow who didn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds, but he was wiry and hard-bodied. He had nice = ok teeth and kept smiling at me, but there was something wrong with his eyes. The pupils were unnaturally di- lated and he would blink and squint and shake his head as if he had a headache. “You Mister Lambert’s nephew,” he said, grinning. I nodded and sat down at the enam- eled kitchen table. He took a pot of tea off the stove and poured a cup for himself. He asked if I’d have one, but I shook my head. “Where were you all day, Ecija?” I asked. “Afternoon off,” he grinned. “Go dancing, Fifty hostesses—very pret- ty. Have fine time.” He found a small pasteboard box, took out a white tablet and dropped it into his tea. It dissolved quickly. “Medicine?” I asked. “Oh, no.” He smiled and held the box up for me to see the word sac- charin printed on the label. “Better than sugar. Keeps me skinny, very hard.” “Ecija,” I said, “tell me something about my uncle and this woman, Gloria Kenyon. Did he really love her ?” “Oh, yes. She very beautiful.” He blinked his eyes again, “When did he last see her?’ “Today. She visiting with him when I leave this afternoon. Mister Lam- bert very fond of her, oh, yes.” . “Where does she live, Ecija?” “In Hotel Alverne. Right around corner.” I thanked him and left through the kitchen door. Then I went down to the street by the service elevator. J didn’t want to walk through the living room and see all those cops surrounding Sally. I didn’t think I’d be able to stand that frightened, haunted look on her face. I walked around the block and found that the back of the Alverne was jammed up against the back of Uncle Henry’s house. I went into the lobby, not knowing exactly what I intended to do. I saw a telephone OOO) (CONNIE A S (C(O) nn