10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

THE MORGUE IS FULL OF HEROES——-————_———15 “You worry too much, Craig,” she said softly. ‘‘Ricconi”—she shrugged her shoulders carefully—‘“‘he was sort of fun. But I haven’t seen him since last night. And I don’t believe the others have, either.” I said, deliberately: “Maybe some- body else saw him. Maybe they could teil me where the guy is, or what it’s all about. Did you drive back with any of them?” ER dark curls waved slightly as she shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “I’d come with Dart, in my car, I drove home alone. The others all had their cars with them. We'd had sort of a race earlier, trying out the cars, with everyone driving their own. So it’s pretty hard to tell whether or not anybody saw him after he left. “And I think you’re going to find out you’re just wasting your time. Dart and me, and the others—that’s none of your business.” Her voice rose at the last part, and some of the liquid tone went out of it. I said: “I hope you’re right.” I turned to the door, ready to leave, but stopped as she spoke. The velvet was back in her voice again. This lady was really good. “Craig,” she said slowly, “T’ll show you something.” Her slim body stretched out to me, the white Persian curled in her hands. “Will you hold her for me?” IT reached forward, wondering what her move was. I felt the cat’s soft fur and the warm touch of the girl’s hand, then there was a quick flash of white fur, and sharp teeth stung into my wrist. I stepped back, slashing down with my left to send the animal sprawling on the floor, then turned to the girl. Her dark eyes were suddenly bright. “She doesn’t like being meddled with,” she said, softly. “Not at all.” She hesitated, watching me. “There are people like that, too. They don’t like being meddled with.” ~ | stared at the sharp red holes in my right wrist, then back at the slim form of the girl. I reached out with my left hand and slid my hat off the table, placed it carefully on my head and walked out, closing the door slow- ly behind me. When I reached the dirt road, I took a deep breath, “Cripes,” I whispered softly to my- self, “Holy cripes.” I walked down the road a way, my head swimming, There was an empty watering trough about a hundred yards down and I parked on the edge of it, trying to think. I was jammed up, royally. By now it was a good bet that somebody had stumbled on Ricconi’s body and tipped the cops. And the boys in blue were probably putting the pressure on Mad- den, heavy. The guy couldn’t stand much pressure. That meant that they’d be on my tail before long. This was working out nice; not at all like I’d figured. I’d figured I could maybe get some line from the girl, something to work on, something that would let me blow this thing wide open. If I could blow it fast, I’d maybe be in the clear. If I couldn’t—I didn’t like to think about that. I was sitting there, trying to fit the puzzle together, when I felt a hand on my arm. The camera man again. He said: “T’m pretty sure Mr. Hedgewick....” I got up, pushing away from the horse trough. “That’s right, sonny,” I told him. “That’s who I want to see. Hedgewick. Which way?” He raised his arm without thinking, pointing to a spot somewhere behind the saloon. “The ’dobe cabin,” he told me, then stopped. “He doesn’t like be- ing disturbed when we’re making pic- tures.” I grinned at him, “Mister,” I said gently, ‘one thing I wouldn’t think cf doing is upsetting Mr. Hedgewick.” I moved away from him, headed for Hedgewick’s cabin. I’d taken two steps when I heard the shots—three of them, in rapid succession. I had my gun out before I hit the dirt behind the horse trough. I lay there, my gun ready, trying to see through a crack in the side. I heard COmiCclooks (C@