10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

SATAN’S SCANDAL SHEET of his trousers. “How long since you hit town?” “Four days.” “And the first you saw of Betty Boyer or Augie Shor or Mark Gregg was on the beach just before the mur- der?” “That’s right, except that I saw Shor after the murder.” AFT said: “Doesn’t it strike you funny—three pals of yours pop- ping up at that spot? The beach is pretty big.” “Not pals, I never met Betty Boyer before. Gregg I had little use for, and I have even less for Augie Shor.” “You tried to send Shor to the chair once.” “So you phoned New York?” “Sure.” Raft lit a cigaret and said easually: “How do you like our ken- nel clubs?” “Don’t know that I approve of them, They’re even more of a gam- blers’ paradise than horse tracks, We don’t have a thing to do with them in my state.” “I know. That’s one reason a lot of New Yorkers come down here.” He leaned forward. “What the hell! A little off-duty relaxation and maybe some advice on the way the hounds run from a guy like Mark Gregg who’s been living at the tracks.” “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Raft.” “Maybe I am.” He went to the door and turned. “Maybe,” he repeated. “But I’ve heard of cops committing murder.” I stood up and sank my hands deep in my pants pockets. “So now I’m a suspect? Frankly, I don’t hke your method. Why tip me off?” He flushed angrily. ‘You trying to tell us how to run our department?” “No,” I said. “Good-by.” The door closed softly behind him. I stood staring at the door and my hands were clenched in my pockets. What a riding the boys in my squad would give me if they found out I had become a Grade A suspeet in a mur- === 89 der case. Not that I blamed the local police for being curious about me. After all, I had been one of the very few people on the beach who had known Mark Gregg and I had been close enough to him to have killed him. But all the same I didn’t like it. While I was eating I resolved to take in a movie and then go to bed. But at eight-fifteen I was slapping down my twenty-five cents at the win- dow of the Bayshore Kennel Club on the mainland, The first race was just starting. By the time I reached the stands the dogs flashed over the finish line, it was over that quickly. I went down to the pari- mutuel windows and looked over the odds. The next race would be the first half of the Daily Double, and sure enough a dog named Whosis was run- ning in that one and a dog named Sun Gal in the next. The double on those two hounds was $130, and neither of them was anywhere near the fa- vorites, I’d never in my life bet a cent on races of any sort, but after a brief in- ternal struggle I bought a five-dollar ticket on that particular double, By the time the dogs were led out for the second race, the odds on the combination had gone down to $27.80. I smiled to myself. There was no doubt that Mark Gregg had got inside dope, but a lot of people had done like- wise and were playing the double for all it was worth. Whosis took first in a walk. There’d be no payoff, however, unless Sun Gal repeated the performance in the third race. She did, by a head, and I went down to collect, thinking of what I could have cleaned up if I’d ventured a couple of hundred bucks. If Mark Gregg had lived a few hours more, he would have been a rich man, even at the depressed odds. si S I approached one of the Daily Double windows, I saw Augie Shor standing in line. I hung back, waiting until it was his turn, Then I moved over on his left side and got a O/C) @ COMI S (C(O) nn