10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

A Rg Pe z, —SHARPSHOOTER—WITHOUT BULLETS———————99 | “For all we know, the murderer may be hiding out there.” The indirect lighting in the mu- seum left many corners in darkness. The figures of the mounted animals threw weird shadows. Norvale said, “You better tell the trooper outside, Mr. Weston, so he can notify his headquarters.” Weston nodded. “I'll do that right away.” ; “T’ll look around here in the mean- time,’”’ Norvale told him. Weston went out, peering nervous- ly into the shadows around him. Norvale stooped once more to the body of Doctor Loring. The taxi- dermist’s face betrayed no fear or sur- prise. It was settled calmly in death. The body had become rigid already. There was a lump at the back of his head. He had been hit first, probably knocked unconscious, and then de- liberately stabbed with the needle. Norvale examined the rest of the room, finding nothing of significance. He went out into the museum and walked from one end to the other, searching out all the dark shadows. He climbed into the enclosure in which the panther was crouching to spring upon the black-tailed deer, and examined carefully the mounted jun- gle cat which he had caught on his last trip. Loring had done a sloppy piece of work there. The cast had not been properly made, the completed speci- men had not been well posed. The skin had been stretched hastily, and the head was askew. T was not like Loring to work so carelessly. He must have been un- der some strain, or else in a great hurry. Had he known something of Brenda Ewing’s disappearance, and been in fear of being killed for his knowledge? Norvale looked at his wrist watch and frowned. Weston should have been back by this time. Casting a last glance at the body of Loring, visible through the doorway of the smaller room, he went out into the corridor, He came around the bend into the main hall and heard voices raised in heated anger. Near the front door stood Parker wearing his hat and coat, with two bags on the floor beside him. The state trooper was standing silently just inside the door, while Weston, red in the face shouted at the ““You’ll not leave this house, Parker, till the police talk to you again. I don’t care how you feel about it—you stay right here!” | Parker towered over his little em- ployer. His voice drowned Weston’s. “T tell you I had nothing to do with Brenda’s disappearance. You know damn well I wouldn’t hurt her.” His eyes blazed with sudden hate. “Why are you down on me all of a sudden— because I’m quitting? I’m not a slave. You don’t own me!” They saw Norvale and stopped. Norvale came up to them, said to the secretary : “You leaving, Parker?” “Damn right, I am. There’s nothing for me here, My job’ll be gone here, and I have to look out for myself. I don’t owe Weston a thing; I worked hard for my pay!” Norvale turned to Weston. “Have you told him about Loring?” “I didn’t get a chance to,” Weston said. “I came out here and saw him pegs My first thought was to stop 1m.” y The state trooper shifted his bulk a little and displayed interest. Parker asked sulkily: “What about Loring ?” “Doctor Loring,’ said Norvale quietly, “has been murdered.” The trooper stiffened to attention, frowned at Parker, and put a hand on his shoulder. “And you were scram- ming, huh?” Parker’s face beeame a pasty white. He wet his lips with his tongue and exclaimed, “I swear to you—I’m not the one that stabbed him!” Norvale smiled grimly. “I didn’t say