10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

40 10-STORY DETECTIVE one thing, he had scarcely had time to dicker with a fence. I went to one of the beer joints on South Main street. Passing behind the cigar counter in the front, I went to the bar in the rear. “Hullo, Slam,” said the bartender. “How’s the detective business ?” “So—so,” I said. “Let’s have a shot, Ray.” He set a small whiskey glass on the counter, poured out the drink. I downed it. “Seen Shorty Nagler around late- ly?” I asked, lighting a cigarette. “Oh, he’s here an’ there. Dropped in last night.” “Well, if you get in touch with him, tell him I want to see him bad. Have him ring me up this afternoon.” T WAS five minutes of nine that evening when I dropped into the Jackson Pharmacy. There were only a couple of girls at the soda fountain and Jackson was getting ready to close up. “Oh, it’s you,” he said not very en- thusiastically when he saw me. “Yeah.” I lowered my voice so that the clerks couldn’t hear me. “I want to talk to you. Mebbe I'll take your case after all. But Tl wait until you've closed up.” It was fifteen minutes before the clerks and the girls were all out. Jackson came over to me where I stood leaning against the tobacco counter. “Vil take your case,” I said. “So?” he answered. He seemed even less enthusiastic. “You’ve de- cided not to take Neihart’s case?” “Well, not exactly. But I don’t seem to be getting anywhere on it. I may give it up.” I made a mistake here. I saw him brighten up perceptibly when I said that I wasn’t getting anywheres on the Neihart case. Maybe also, in thinking it over, he had decided that ‘I was little likely to find that he had robbed the Neihart place, and so he need not hire me away to keep me from learning his secret. At any rate he said: “But I’m not sure I want a detec- tive. I don’t know whether you could do me any good. My money’s gone. You couldn’t get that back.” “T’d like to take the case for you,” I urged him. “I’m sure that I can get your money back. I have ways of get- ting. at such things that the police don’t have, and I’m pretty sure that I can find the man that cracked your safe.” But he was even less sure now that he wanted a detective. I talked with him, urged him, coaxed him, until he finally asked me what my fee would be. I told him that the retaining fee was fifty dollars, and that it would cost him two hundred more if I found the thief. He finally took out his pocketbook and stripped off five ten dollar bills. “But it’s money thrown away,” he complained dolefully. “There won’t no good come of it. I warn you I won’t give you another cent unless you find the robber.” “T don’t think IT’ll have much trouble,” I promised him. “Let’s see the safe.” He took me back through the pre- scription room to his office at the very back of the building. The safe proved to be an antiquated box that any self- respecting peterman could open by touch in a few minutes. I gave the safe and Jackson’s voluminous expla- nations little attention, but wandered about the room inspecting the locks. I opened a door in the back and looked out into a dark alley. “That's the door the robber came in,” said Jackson. “He forced the lock open. But I’ve had a burglar alarm put on it now. I’m not taking any more chances. When the night catch is on that lock it connects up the burglar alarm.” I shut the door, snapped the lock shut and turned to Jackson. “I know who robbed you,” I said. “What! Already?” He stared at me COMMICMOOOKS (C@