10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

14 wheels of the roadster shooting thick dust out, like a speedbeat cutting through the water. I heard the guy at the gas station yell something at me, but I kept going until I reached the crest of the hill. From there, I could see the movie lo- cation, a dim blur down in the val- ley. Drawing near, I could pick out the buildings. Rough frame houses, one large one in the center, probably meant for a saloon. It was something like the old ghost towns of the west, but this one had been built specially for Grandeur’s epic of the great open spaces, and from where I was you eould tell it was phony. Nothing con- crete, nothing you eould put your fin- ger on, but something about the way the buildings were laid out, spotted around carefully, so you’d get a pret- ty picture from the crest of the hill. I cut the motor and drifted down toward the edge of town, pulled off the road and walked the rest of the way. A young kid lugging a camera came out of the buildings and I cut in front of him, putting on a grin. “What's the matter,’ I asked, “no work today ?” He looked at me curiously and I said, “Press,” trying to act like a guy who wrote for the papers. “Sure,” he said shortly, “we just fmished a seene. We'll be getting back to work after we've had some food. But I don’t think Mr. Hedge- wick wants any reporters out here.” I said: “I’ve got an appointment with Miss Reynault. If you could tell me where to find her. .. .” “Third cottage down on your right,” the kid said. “But I don’t think Mr. Hedgewick wants any—” I said: “Don’t lose any sleep over it, sonny.” I walked away from him, toward the cottage, but before I reached it, the door opened. A little spidery guy . came out, scuttling across the yard. He was dressed in an old frock coat, pulled in tight around the waist. I couldn’t place him, but I was sure I’d 10-STORY DETECTIVE seen him before. He stopped and looked at me for a minute, then turned and cut down the road, his legs still moving like feelers. I watehed him until he’d gone around behind one of the buildings, trying to place that scurrying walk, but I couldn’t make it fit. I gave it up and rapped on Vera Reynault’s door. I heard her voice say something that sounded like “Come in,” so I pushed the door open and went inside. She was leaning back on the couch, playing with a white Persian. When she saw me, she let her slim legs slide to the floor and moved forward, crad- ling the cat in her soft arms. It made a nice picture, that; the silk white fur of the Persian against her rich black hair. It made a nice picture, and she knew it. She said, “You again,” and her lips curved in a smile. A cocky, the-fish- is-landed sort of smile. The lady was sure of her man. “Yeah,” I said, “me again. Only this is business.” “Business?” She said it doubtfully, questioninely. “Yeah,” I repeated, “business. I’m looking for a guy. A guy named Dart Riecconi.” I watched her eyes as I said it. They were blank, completely cold. But that didn’t mean niuch—the dame was an actress. I said: “T figure maybe there was some reason for Ricconi’s gunning for me, And the more I can find out about him, the more chance I’ll have of fig- uring it out. And J’ve been wonder- ing why none of the guys at your table gave him a hand when he was in a jam.” Her dark eyes narrowed suddenly, but she didn’t answer. I went on, keep- ing my eyes turned away from her: “T’ve been wondering what you are to Riecconi, and how much the guy meant to you. And whether your friends sat back because they didn’t want to mix in a brawl, or because they don’t like Rieconi. I can’t figure i She moved toward me. smiling. COMmicloookKks (C@