10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

9g ——————_—_______10-STORY DETECTIVE weeks, upon reaching her twenty-first birthday; that is, with the exception of minor bequests which have long ago been paid to relatives in Aus- tralia.” His eyes became filmed with moisture, and he hastily donned his spectacles to hide the sign of emotion. “You’ve got to help me find her, Roger. I brought that girl up from childhood. I have been more than the executor of her estate. I have felt— like a father to her!’ Norvale crossed over to the other, put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “We'll find her. Suppose we take a look around.” Weston nodded. ‘We'll stop in and see how Doctor Loring is getting on with your skins. ‘Then you ean wash up and I’ll show you Brenda’s room and let you talk to the maid:” Weston’s private collection of mam- mals was in a wing at the west side of the house. The door was locked. Wes- ton rapped, and frowned when there was no answer. “Strange,” he said. “T’ve never known Loring to lock him- self in.” “Can we get in any other way?” Norvale asked. “Yes. This is Loring’s workroom. There’s another door through the mu- seum proper.” E led the way around a bend in the corridor, and into a large, high-ceilinged room, This room had been built into the house, the two upper floors being torn away, so that the room extended up to the roof. It waa the contents of this room that had been valued by Norvale at a mil- lion dollars. It contained specimens of almost every mammal known to man, and they had been mounted and ar- ranged in expert manner by Doctor Loring. “T suppose Parker mentioned to you about my—er—losses?” “He did,” Norvale said. “Well,” defiantly, “I may be broke, but I'l! never sell this collection.” _ hey crossed the exhibition room, passing groups of animals arranged in lifelike pose. They represented the consummate skill of Loring, the taxi- dermist. There was one group of blacktailed deer in the center. They were placed in a setting of imitation rock and foliage, and seemed to be in the very act of grazing. Behind them was a long and vicious-looking pan- ther, crouching to spring upon them. “That's Lorimg’s masterpiece,” Weston said enthusiastically. “The panther is one of the skins that ar- rived yesterday. He mounted it first. It completes that group perfectly.” “I had a elose call with that cat,” Norvale told the older man. “He al- most got me.” There was a door at the other end of the room. “That’s the other en- trance to Loring’s workroom,” Wes- ton explained. The door was unlocked. Weston pushed in first. The place was in dark- ness. Weston felt for the switch along the wall and clicked it. The light re- vealed a compact little room. Every inch of space had been utilized. There were racks on which skins were being stretched. There were frameworks on which clay models were being built up. When the skins were ready, they would be sewed on to these clay models. And on the floor in the center of the room lay the body of Doctor Loring! He had been stabbed through the eye with a long glover’s needle—one of the implements used in sewing the skins—and it had pierced his brain. Weston recoiled from the body, his face draining of color. Norvale controlled himself with an effort. He had known Loring for years. He knelt beside the body and assured himself that Loring was be- yond aid. “Good God,” Westen said hoarsely, ‘there’s a murderer somewhere in the house. And yet it seems impossible with all the protection Fve got.” He glanced fearfully over his shoulder into the museum room and shuddered, cComichoo cS (E(0)