10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

LARCENY’S her open throat, and calling to Charlie.” The little guy’s face was twitching. “Hey, Al, whaddya say we move on to another joint? I got no use for them haunts!’ Al spat on the floor. “Here we are, and here we stay!’ He strode over to the great oaken door of the room, forced it shut, turned the protesting key in the stiff lock. His voice grew stronger, “I’d like to see Charlie Grimm get in here now—or Charlie’s Haunt either!” He scowled at Kay and Fred. “Sit!” They sat down awkwardly on horse- hair-covered chairs next to a huge mahogany table. Fred winked mean- ingfully at Kay. And she nodded al- most imperceptibly to him. “Runt,” barked Al noisily, their stuff on the table.” The Runt dug Fred’s wallet, ciga- rette case and watch out of his over- coat pocket, tossed them on the table. Then he added Kay’s purse to the little heap. While she glared at him he unscrewed the pearl earrings she wore, took her wrist watch, brooch and dinner ring. Al looked complacently at the loot. “At least eight thousand dollars,” he estimated. He smirked at Fred. “Anda nice check from you will make it fifteen.” He grinned crookedly at Kay. “Unless, of course, you’d like to see your lady friend suffer.” “No,” said Fred, “I wouldn’t.” He looked evenly into the big fellow’s pig- gish eyes. “Have you a cigarette?” “put L SCOWLED. His eyes dropped before Fred’s level gaze. He grunted, drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, stuck one between Fred’s lips. Fred drew a deep drag on the cigarette. Then he blew out the gray smoke sharply. Kay’s eyes were fastened sharply on his face. Suddenly, the Runt shot out of his chair. “Hell! What’s that, Al?” His hand tightened on the automatic. Al had heard it too. The room be- came deathly silent, except for the HANDBOOK 61 hoarse whisper of heavy breathing. Then, seemingly from the ceiling overhead, came a scraping noise. Shuff, shuff, shuff. Little beads of perspiration stood out on the Runt’s forehead. “It’s some- one walkin’, Al.” Hig voice cracked. “tt’s that old dame with the slit throat!’ “Shut up, you rat?’ Al tensed, gun in hand, staring at the ceiling. Shuff, shuff, shuff. Like an old lady shuffling across a wooden floor. The watch on the table ticked loudly. It was two o’clock. “Ooo-ooh,”’ quavered an old lady’s voice. “Why did you do it, Charlie? Charlie, why did you do it?” “Auntie, Auntie, forgive me!” a young man pleaded. His voice broke into a scream of terror. “Don’t point that knife at me, Auntie! Let me rest!” “You didn’t let me rest, Charlie,” the eerie voice complained. “And now I must cut your pretty throat before you can rest.” The old lady chuckled overhead. The Runt was hanging onto the table. His face seemed almost green. “Al, let’s get out—quick—before that old witch comes down here!” The automatie was trembling in Al’s big paw. “Let her come,” he whis- pered. “T’ll fix her!’ , “No,” said Fred softly, “you know you won’t fix her, Al. You know you ean’t shoot a ghost—they have no body to get hurt.” Fred looked at the Runt. “She never liked strangers in her house!’’ The Runt kept staring at the ceiling. Fred slid softly out of his chair. Kay caught his nod, rose without a sound. She inched carefully toward the door. The smoke from Fred’s cigarette rose in a thin spiral, like a thin blue snake. He let the butt fall to the floor. “Charlie, here I come!” the old voice screamed overhead. There was a thun- der of running footsteps. Al and the Runt stood frozen with terror. A man screamed in awful agony as a heavy O\O)O) @) (COMNI S (C(O) im