10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

“Not enough,” Rathborne said harshly. “That’s why Vivian was killed.” The inspector took a turn about the room. “Suppose you explain that,” he said. JVILLIAM RATHBORNE took a deep breath. “The ransom asked was $50,000,” he said slowly. “We received our instructions through the mail. After each one was received we were to burn the letter.” “And did you?” . “Of course. We didn’t want to take chances. Anything was better than jeopardizing the boy’s life. All of the servants except a maid were given a month’s vacation with pay in order to facilitate negotiations. We told the maid Ronnie was away on a visit.” ““Where was the maid tonight?’ “This is her evening off.” *I see.” “Two days ago,” Rathborne con- tinued, “I was approached by a man who said he knew where the boy was being held. I took him at his word because only the kidnapers and our- selves knew the boy was gone. “This man suggested that I pay him $25,000 and he would return Ron- nie. He would be getting more, he reasoned, than if the original ransom was paid and split up.” Donovan sat down in a chair and fumbled with his cigar. “So you paid the money and got the boy?” “That's right. I brought him home tonight, expecting to surprise Vivian —and found her dead. I think one of the other men involved found out what had happened and took this way of exacting revenge.” “Just who was this money paid to?” the inspector asked quickly. Rathborne ran his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture, “I don’t know. I was instructed to drive to a certain spot and wait. Another car pulled up and I paid out the money. Ronnie was in the back seat. I put him in my car and brought him home.” DESIGN FOR A RUB-OUT ate — “And you don’t remember what he looked like?” “He wore a mask. And prior to that, all arrangements were conducted by mail.” “Too bad we didn’t have a squad of men along that road,’ Donovan said regretfully. “After you got the boy we could have nabbed the guy without trouble.” The telephone jangled shrilly. Rath- borne lifted the receiver. “It’s for you,” he said. Headquarters was calling. Donovan took the message placidly. : “We've got your killer,” the desk sergeant said urgently. ‘“Muggsy Rob- erts just walked in and gave himself up. Even turned in the gun he says he did the job with.” Donovan chewed his cigar. “You say he gave himself up? Why?” “It’s a screwy story. You’d better come down and hear it personally.” HARLI€E THATCHER was vis- ibly disturbed. In company with the inspector he had spent the greater part of the night grilling their pris- oner. But Muggsy Roberts was a hard nut to crack. He talked readily, ad- mitting everything, but why he had suddenly decided to pin the rap on himself was Mugegsy’s own personal secret. “The whole thing smells,” Thatcher said angrily. “Muggsy has been around for years. He’s tough and smart. Not one conviction against him. Now he turns up with a headache like this.” “It’s no headache of ours,” Dono- van said mildly. “Everything checked, didn’t it? Muggsy wore gloves, so there weren’t any fingerprints, but hig gun matched the bullets taken from the body. He doesn’t stand a chance. We ought to give him a vote of thanks for turning himself in.” Thatcher snorted. “Look, Mike. The guy was in the clear. Give me just one good reason why he didn’t ditch that gun and stay in the clear.” Donovan dampened his finger and GORmiGooo S (C(O) nn