10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

te NT LULOM- NOOSE —— as low before I dozed off. I was that poohed out.... The next morning I told Jake I wanted to take a bath. I locked my- self in the bathroom, turned on the ‘shower. Then I dug the reel of film out of my pockets and the two bottles of developing material. I put the stop- per in the washbowl and then poured into it what there was of the develop- ing powder. I slowed up the flow of the shower and put the plug into the bathtub. Then I poured the fixing powder into the tub. I snapped out the light. S SOFTLY AS POSSIBLE I opened the reel. I fished out the roll of film and began drawing it through the fluid in the wash bowl. When I’d finished with this, I did the same with the fixing fluid in the tub. I had a pretty tough time stringing the film around the room in a fashion that would allow it to dry, but some- how I did it, and got it back into the can and under my coat again. Then I doused my hair with water and combed it, taking care to leave it pretty wet and dripping so that it would look as though I’d just finished a shower. I unlocked the door and walked back into the front room. The window shades were pulled down all through the apartment, and by this time the place was an awful mess. It was littered with cigar stubs, ashes, empty bottles and dirty coffee cups. A few of the boys had started a poker game. Nobody paid any atten- tion to me. I sank into a chair beside the windows and pretended to read. About two o’clock in the afternoon the second shift of sleepers came straggling out of the bedrooms, rub- bing their tousled heads and staring at the card players with bleary eyes. One or two joined the game. The place began to smell strongly of body odor. I pulled one of the curtains aside a little and peeked through the window into the street below. We were on a main drag. It was still raining. I was —* wishing it would stop because I was beginning to get an idea. By eight o’clock that night, the smoke in the apartment and the stink of perspiration had become so strong that it was almost impossible to bear. I got onto Jake’s ear and persuaded him to let me open the windows in the front room about an inch from the top and bottom to let some air in. He insisted that I keep the blinds down though. I looked out again and was glad to see that it had stopped raining. I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and took out my reel of film. I shoved the tin container under the bathtub out of sight, and began look- ing at the film through the light. The negative was perfect. Excitedly, I pulled the film through my fingers. I could see the entrance to the bank. Myself standing there— the boys entering—the clerk coming out—the shooting—the whole busi- ness. I told myself that the film was worth a fortune as a news reel! I rolled up the film again, stuck it in my pocket and returned to the front room. But before I sat down this time, I turned my chair sideways and shoved it up against the. window. Then I sat down and with my left hand I surreptitiously began to feed the film in my left hand coat pocket out the window. HEN I came to the end of the reel, I just hung onto it and began to wait for a bite like a patient fisherman. The poker game was still going strong. Every once in a while somebody would make a wise crack at me, and once Hammy asked me to go out in the kitchen for a bottle of soda. That seared me. I didn’t want to let go of that film for even a see- ond. I finally ducked it, and Hammy went himself. I don’t know how much time elapsed before I finally got my bite. — But let me tell you, no angler—Izaak Walton, himself—ever got the thrill comicbook