Pulp Fiction, 1938 · page 22 of 116
10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 22: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# 10-Story Detective Page Analysis This page contains **story prose** from a pulp detective fiction magazine titled "10-Story Detective." The narrative follows a character named Hammond, who appears to be a detective or government agent. The visible text shows Hammond interacting with a waiter with notably hairy fingers, then later encountering a South American man named Señor Rafael Pombal and a woman named Nevel Nason in a cocktail lounge. The story involves coded recognition signals between Hammond and a Colonel Ward, suggesting an undercover investigation plot. Chapter III is titled "The Laughing Ghoul."
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ab at ant yi TF aa Ree ! q 19 Wy wv ' Wey} ei uae BYE YET go ‘he vd ? fy) yey c Pi aia, 7? Wanye) « wv Mea ia Leama LA LSS MOON RA Bey Oe Be ei* ein ‘ ' a ay A LAE ba tne xy ; } AP ae Yah aioli »~ ged , A aint Vl > 4 the ifylJ ieole | “ ish Cr —10-STORY DETECTIVE- his operations. He screwed a Maxim silencer onto the nose of his thin- barreled gun. 7 There was a knock on the door, and he threw a.white scarf over the weapon, “Come in,” he called. A tall man, attired in the uniform of a waiter, appeared. He bowed as he closed the door. “Our dining room is going to be a bit crowded tonight, sir.”” The man spoke with the precise accent of an English-trained servant. ‘The head- waiter would like to know if you care to be given a reservation.” Hammond glanced at the man. He was tall, smooth-shaven. His eyes looked hauntingly familiar, but his face was utterly strange. “Why, yes, thanks, Please reserve a table for six.” “Six, sir? Very well, sir.” The man made a note upon a small tablet. Hammond’s eyes narrowed as he saw his hands. They were power- _ ful, long-fingered, and covered with hair that reached almost to the nails. “T’ll reserve your table, Mr. Ham- mond, Thank you, sir.” The man bowed and was gone. Hammond stepped to the telephone and asked for the Danvers’ head- waiter. “What do you know about the wait- er who came to my room a few min- utes ago, the chap with the long, hairy fingers? Did he come to you with ref- erences of previous employment?” Oscar smiled. “You mean Fred Wilkins? I have known him for not less than ten years, sir.” “And you vouch for him?’ Ham- mond asked. “Completely, sir. I have every rea- son to have the greatest of confi- dence in him, sir.” “All right. Sorry to have bothered you. Thank you very much.” Osear bowed himself out. Ham- | mond lit another cigarette. He was - not epurey satisfied. a s x —— —— Le Pi em, “ : Ce ee ee Sar a >= — pea Se te Ge ge ees Pee eS ss ee <a he, RR 25 a a = Oe ‘z= Banks BSS: a =< es es mS cee * eae = aS ~~ - = pee me 3 2 ees: a how Ay] See ee tN Sa he fn ae EEE Rt ge ES Bea ea ie ns ae CHAPTER III THE LAUGHING GHOUL FEW minutes later, Hammond was strolling through the Dan- vers’ cocktail lounge, where women with flashing jewels puffed perfumed cigarettes and chatted with their es- corts. He noticed a small group of South Americans approaching to- ward the bar. In their center was a short, squat man, with small, piggish eyes. Here was Sefior Rafael Pombal. When Senior Pombal and his party had disappeared into the bar, Paul Hammond drifted away. He had a task that demanded even closer at- tention than the South American. He strolled up and down the lounge until he saw Nevel Nason at the other end of the corridor. With her was a mid- dle-aged man of distinct military bearing. As he neared the couple, Ham- mond’s hand reached up to straight- en his tie. It was an idle gesture, yet filled with meaning, for it was a cue to which an answer must be given. The middle-aged man shot his cuffs back with a careless movement and then glanced at his watch. Hammond fingered one of the buttons of his vest. Signs of recognition had been given on both sides, according to the Department of Justice code. “Hello, Hammond, I thought it was you,” Colonel Ward called. Hammond turned, his face lighted by a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Ward!” They shook hands cordially. Ham- mond glanced at the girl. Her eyes looked laughingly into his. “Perhaps Colonel Ward would in- troduce us,” she suggested. “Pardon me. For sheer stupidity, I’d take any prize. Miss Nason, per- mit me to present Mr. Hammond. He’s an old friend of mine, Still in- terested in California wines, Paul?’ “So much so that I suggest some- thing stronger,” Hammond replied. They found a table in the cocktail room opening off the bar. con