10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 21: 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 done over. I’m meeting her in the saloon set.” He paused, waiting for an answer. “It’s my fault,” he went on, finally, “for stepping out of the direction to handle a character part. Still, my as- sistant’s directions were clear. But if Miss Croy says there was something wrong, we'll have to check on it. May not be important, though.” He scut- tled toward the door, spinning back toward us. “Coming?” he squeaked. Hedgewick nodded slowly. “I guess so,” he agreed, and I felt my hand re- lax. “Mr. Craig here is thinking of doing some—some publicity work. And he’s interested in finding out about pictures.’”’ He moved toward the door, not looking at me. I followed them slowly, letting Voss fall in beside me. I heard him clear his throat several times before he spoke, but I didn’t pay much attention to him. I had too much on my mind now. “T feel I should warn you, Craig,” he said, finally. “That fellow you tan- “led with last night; he’s dangerous. tie may cause you trouble.” I looked around, letting my lips erin at him. “He’s got me scared stiff right now,” I admitted. “Scared stiff.” Voss frowned. “I’m not kidding Craig,” he said, and I stopped grin- ning. “To tell you the truth, Voss,” I said slowly, “I’m not exactly kidding, my- self.” _ We were halfway across the road- way, maybe twenty feet behind the others. Voss leaned over me, and then stopped, staring down the road. I fol- lowed his eyes and got a quick glimpse of Vera Reynault’s slim figure slip- ping into her cottage, and then I felt Voss’ hand tighten on my arm. “Well,” he finished, abruptly, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He started toward the saloon, his long legs stretching out over the ground, reach- ing the steps as the door swung to be- hind the others. We were at the door when we heard it. A thin, wailing scream. Like a wom- an’s. We dived inside, slamming 19 against the swinging panels, into the saloon. There was a girl there, all right, but she wasn’t screaming. Her Screaming days were over. She was lying stretched out on the sawdust, one arm flung over her head in a crazy triangle. Her thin blond hair spilled out onto the floor, tangling with the sawdust. There was sawdust all over her clothes, in her eyes, on her lips, as if she’d slid on her face in it, then rolled over. There was a fat red clot of the stuff plastered over her heart. That was the tipoff. Hedgewick bent over her, poking at the lump with his fingers. He probed at it for a second, then pushed himself slowly to his feet. His face was gray. “She was shot.” he said it carefully, as if he was trying to make himself believe it. “She was shot,” he repeated, dully. The little director screamed again. I said, “For cripes’ sake,” and Voss moved over to him. He slapped him across the cheek with his left hand, hard, and the little guy blinked at him. “Easy,” Voss told him. “Take it easy, Kane.” The director shook his head won- deringly, his eyes still glued on the girl’s body. “It’s Miss Croy,” he mum- bled. “Miss Croy,’ and Voss slapped him again, easier. “Okay, Kane,” “Okay. Relax.” The director’s head started bobbing up and down and I stood there, wait- ing for another scream, but it didn’t come. He moved away from Voss, toward the window. “All right,” he whispered. “All right. Ill be all right. Just leave me alone, Leave me alone.” I won- dered how good a character actor the guy really was. Hedgewick said: “This girl was murdered.” He still didn’t seem to be- lieve it. He was talking to himself again, trying to adjust himself to it. the actor said, HE voice from the doorway said: “Murdered?” She said it lightly, easily. The way you might say: COMmicoooks (C@