10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

62 blow fell. An old woman’s voice rose in unholy triumph. “There, Charlie dear, now you can rest — without your pretty heart!” The old hag cackled in merriment. “And now for those strange gentle- yy? men in my parlor, Charlie! Shuff, shuff, shuff went the foot- steps. “Just a little minute, gentle- men!” pleaded the old voice. And then the lights went out. “Al, Al!’ the Runt shrieked. He made gurgling noises. There was a thumping at the great oaken door. And then the weird laughter of Charlie’s Haunt echoed hollowly in the room, “Go ’way, you old witch!” Al called in terror. CHAIR went crashing to the floor. There was the sound of a heavy blow. A man groaned in pain. © And the room was still. “All right, Kay,” Fred’s voice broke the silence. “You can put the lights on again.” The light from the antique chan- delier shone on a strange sight. On the floor, crumpled up like a sack, was the Runt. Near him, hunched over the table, holding his head and groaning in pain, was AL And Fred stood there, automatic trained on the thugs, breathing quick- ly, his face flushed with triumph. He and Kay smiled at each other, as lov- ers smile. She tried to smooth back her rolden hair. “Great work on the screams, Kay,” said Fred. “You were a marvelous “‘Haunt’—never better on the stage!” “Thank you,’ Kay made an old- fashioned curtsey. “You weren’t half bad yourself—Charlie! And your foot- work was really impressive!” Al groaned, blinked pain-soaked eye- —10-STORY DETECTIVE———_—_————- lids. “That old witch—she hit me?’ Fred rubbed his knuckles reflective- ly. “Yes,” he said sorrowfully, “I’m afraid I did.” Slow comprehension began to dawn in Al’s little eyes. He looked hard at Kay and Fred standing there. “Hell, I might have known it! A frameup, huh ?” Fred grinned cheerfully. “Yes, my big friend, a frameup proper.’”’ He and Kay laughed at Al’s befuddlement. “No, of course you don’t.see how we did it,” Kay said. “Our hands were tied, weren’t they ? And the footsteps and voices did seem to come from overhead, didn’t they ? And you did get a bang-up wallop on the jaw!” Fred carefully slid a little card out ot his wallet on the table. He held it gingerly before Al’s face, keeping the gun pointed at the big fellow. “You and the Runt were smart, Al,” he said gently, “but you weren’t smart enough. You didn’t trouble to find out the exact business of your prospective victims !’ “Yeah?” gaid Al. “Yeah!” Kay laughed. Al peered at the words on the card: FRED F. FOSTER King of Komedy and Konjuring Sleight-of-Hand, Escapes, Iusions The Man with a Hundred Voices Fred handed the gun to Kay, picked up the ropes the thugs had used to tie them. He drew a tight noose around the big guy’s wrists. “Maybe you'll get to see our show sometime, Al,” he laughed, From the ceiling overhead, “Charle’s Haunt” cackled in blood- curdling merriment. Fred looked at Kay admiringly. Her lips never moved as she “threw her voice.” “Yes, Al,” mocked Charlie’s Haunt, tf we ever play San Quentin!” MIGoOo (C(O) S (CO in