10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

46—————_————_———10-STORY DETECTIVE will be clean. Why shouldn’t Uncle Mowat give it to me? He was always saying how sorry he was that he couldn’t leave me as well off as he wanted to. Lots of times he’s tried to figure out how he could make more money. Then I get the chance—and what does he do?” “Glad to have met you,” Agnew waved to Hammond. “Sure.” “Y’m glad you didn’t get the wrong idea about me,” Sharon sighed. “T’ll tell Uncle Mowat I talked to you. Bet he hangs his head when I tell him he thought I was going to kill him.” “Time the happy understanding for this evening,’ Hammond remarked. “T’ll be along to see it.” Sharon’s jaw dropped. “You keep- ing on with this case?’ “T promised your uncle I’d come see him this evening.” “All right.” Sharon followed Ag- new to the door. Agnew nodded good- bye, and they left, without any leave-taking on Sharon’s part. ; Hammond got a cigar from the desk drawer, elevated his feet and sat back. Mowat no doubt feared that if he surrendered his money, he would see no more of Sharon, and for an old man with one relative, that would be a blow. He sympathized with Sharon, but he could also see that an old man like Mowat would not want to lose his hold on the one person on whom he had a claim. He walked about the office, back and forth in his own cigar smoke. There was a warning in the fact that Dave Sharon would not accept de- feat. Agnew apparently didn’t care one way or the other. But Dave Sharon was sullenly resolute. HE private detective left the of- 4 fice, and went downstairs. There were three cabs at the curb. Holding a folded bill loosely in his fingers, he thrust it towards the cabbie who had driven Mowat away. The man glanced at the money, then at him, startled. “Remember picking up an _ old man?” “Say,” the cabbie brightened, “ain’t you Hammond?” “Uh, huh.” “Gee, it must be great to be a dick, even a private one,” the cabbie ex- claimed ingenuously. “Uh, huh.” He smiled, closed his eyes momentarily at the unintended insult. “But you’re always asking for information. And the people who have it hate to give. A dentist has it easier.” “T get it.” The cabbie took the bill. “I rode the old guy to Seventy-seven Beech Street. Say, Hammond, any- thing exciting?” “No,” he expelled it bluffly. “I was concerned about the old fellow get- ting home, that’s all. I thought he’d stop off on the way.” “Only at the post office.” “What'd he do, mail a letter? You did? For him? Did you see the ad- dress?” The cabbie shook his head. “It was kinda heavy, and he asked me to drop it in the slot for him. I went in, but I saw he had his eye on me all the time, so I just dropped it.” He wagged a finger. “But I know it went special delivery, because he made me go in and get the special stamp and a big envelope first.” “Thanks, hope we can get together some time.” He started away from the cab. It’s a poor detective that scorns his own advice. He’d warned Mowat only an hour ago that it was dangerous to go to a detective, simply to scare some one. Mowat had not exactly scared Sharon, but.... He spun on his heel and ran back to the cab. “Seventy-seven Beech Street.” “You make your mind up fast, don’t you?” the cabbie clucked with his tongue as he worked the cab out of line. Hammond ran up the steps to the house door and rang the bell furious- ly. The door opened, and Agnew stood Gomichbooksrecom