10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

‘ gunshine. 44——__—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_—_——_————10-STORY DETECTIVE put a twenty and two tens on the desk. “You come out to my house this evening, Hammond. Seventy-seven Beech Street, eight o’clock.” Mowat prepared to rise. He was bald with only a fringe of stringy, coarse gray hair, and even that was fading about the temples, revealing fine blue veins. From the beaky, humped nose up over the bald head, his face was bony. His eyes were too big, and age was creeping into them. Paper-thin, his pale skin was taut over his nose, cheekbones and forehead, loose about his mouth and chin, disproportionately small fea- tures for his face. He lifted his black hat off his lap and set it on his head. “Why not tell me everything now, Mr. Mowat?” “No, no, spoil everything.” Mowat shook his head and appeared again to be chewing tobacco and wanting to spit. “Think maybe ’twas enough t’come here, Hammond. My visit don’t settle everything—I’'ll tell you all there is this evening.” Hammond blocked his rise from the chair. “Mr. Mowat, you came here think- ing you'll scare some one. That’s dan- gerous. A frightened man can jump two ways—one of them lands him knee-deep in murder.” Mowat’s mouth shaped up: he was smiling. “Ain’t afraid.” He struggled to his feet. “You see me this evening, Ham- mond,” “But I feel responsible for you,” Hammond blurted. Mowat twisted a finger in his ear, murmured: “Much obliged, Ham- mond. Good day.” Hammond kicked the chair as the door closed. What could you do with an old guy like that? He grabbed his hat, got to the street floor as Mowat tottered out into the He hurried after him, bumped into a man and cleared him aside with a sweep of his arm, keep- ing his eyes on Mowat going toward the cab file. —uncle.” “T want to talk to you, Hammond.” The man he’d bumped caught his arm. Hammond jerked his arm, the movement jolting the younger man, tilting his hat back and revealing chestnut hair, lifting the shadow of the brim from a young, clean-cut and shaven face. “I’m busy, Sharon,” Hammond clipped, his broad dark face angry. NE night, in desperate straits, Hammond had joined in a big- time crap game. Before he got the dice, he lost his last ten spot. With- out a word Dave Sharon had surrep- titiously slipped him a twenty. He’d rolled it into four grand. He was plenty grateful for that; he’d had thirty dollars in the world, and there were hospitalization and recupera- tive bills to pay for a dick who had been shot up while working for him. He had returned the favor to Sharon, often. The kid had a slight physique, but he wouldn’t leave the bottle alone, though two drinks were all he needed to make him pick a fight with the biggest pug he could find. That Sha- ron still had a handsome face was en- tirely due to Hammond’s frequent, timely intervention. “Will you relax?’ Sharon got hold again. “Mowat came to see you, huh? Then take it easy. Nothing is going to happen to him while I’m with you.” “You’d better explain that.” “Man, you’re hot, calm down,” Sha- ron argued. “Look. Mowat is my There was a large man standing at Sharon’s elbow. Hammond swerved his eyes and had just time to note the number of Mowat’s cab before it was swallowed up in traffic. “You knew your uncle was coming to me?” “Oh, he’s always talking and read- ing about you,” Sharon answered im- patiently, “and asking me about you. And I told Agnew I thought we'd bet- ter keep an eye on him.” Sharon turned to the tall, strong-bodied man, Gomichbooks;com