10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

96————__—————_——-10-STORY DETECTIVE when he visited civilization, never failed to wonder that the wealthy Weston should have chosen such a gloomy spot to erect his costly home. He now perceived a pair of bright headlights approaching along the road from the hill. They almost blinded him, then were dimmed, The car swung in alongside the platform, and stopped. Norvale picked up his small bag and got in. Rex Parker, Weston’s secre- tary, was the driver. He was thirty- odd, with a weak chin and shifty eyes. He turned the car and headed back up the hill, saying, “How do, Captain Norvale? Glad to see you again. Your skins arrived yesterday.” Norvale had always disliked Parker instinctively. But he was courteous to him because he felt that he was also, in a sense, an employee of Weston’s. He said: “Yes, I sent them ahead from the boat. I was anxious to get the panther skin here as quickly as pos- sible. We had run short of preserva- tive when we killed the panther, and I had to let the natives cure it with wood ashes. They didn’t do such a good job, and I was afraid it wouldn’t last till Doctor Loring could get to work on it. Do you know if he’s mounted it yet?” Parker seemed preoccupied with the task of guiding the car up the hill. “Why—yes. I think he mounted it to- day. I—we’ve—been having other troubles, captain. Though Mr, Weston doesn’t seem to be bothered much by them. He was all excited about the skins—says he doesn’t regret a single dollar he’s spent to finance your ex- Norvale glanced sideways at the secretary. Again the night, for some unaccountable reason, seemed to ex- ercise an uncanny spell of depression upon him. “You say—you’ve been having trouble?” Parker laughed nervously. “I guess you can call it that. We may all be out of jobs. Weston made all his money in a bear market, you know, and he’s never been cured of selling short. Well, he sold short once too often. He was caught flat when the market jumped. He’s cleaned out— five millions, gone over night!” “Tough luck,” said Norvale. To him the loss of money did not appear as a calamity. He had lived for months at a stretch in places where money was no good. Parker said gloomily: “This is a rotten time to be out of a job.” Norvale restrained an expression of contempt. Parker had been with Weston for several years. Now he had no thought of sympathy for his em- ployer—only worry about his job. Norvale said aloud: “I don’t sup- pose Weston’s down and out, His pri- vate collection up there is worth a million dollars if it’s worth a cent. Some of the specimens I’ve sent him are considered very valuable. And Doctor Loring has prepared them so skillfully that any museum would be glad to have them. In my opinion, Loring is the best taxidermist in America.” Parker was silent. He drove slowly, as if he were trying to kill time. Sud- denly he asked, “Did you bring a gun along, captain?” “Of course not,” Norvale said, sur- prised. “Why do you ask that?” “Well—there’s something else— more trouble. It looks bad. And Mr. Weston is so wrapped up in his speci- mens, he refuses to get excited about A “What is it, man?” Norvale de- manded impatiently. Parker hesitated, then said: “You remember Brenda Ewing?” “‘Weston’s ward? Sure I do. She’s been living here with him since her parents died. They were distant cous- ins of Weston’s, if I recall right. Sure I remember her. Last time I saw her she was a kid. Brown hair, big eyes—” “She’s not a kid any more. She was to celebrate her twenty-first birthday in a couple of weeks.” ce Was?” - €omicbooks (E(e)