10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

42 once. I really think that I could have opened it myself, for I am no slouch at such things, but I thought that it was wise to have an expert on hand. He had it open within two minutes. I snapped on a flashlight and played the beam over the contents. There were the usual books and ledgers. I ran rapidly through the compart- ments, but found nothing. Then I pulled out the ledgers and found a small box hidden behind them. I took it out and opened it. It was filled al- most to the brim with rings and a few unset precious stones. The loot from the Neihart Jewelry Store! Shorty and I closed the safe, locked the door and left. We went to a tav- ern for a few drinks. After half an hour I went to the police station. The desk sergeant grinned at me when I entered. “You sure have cre- ated one hell of a rumpus,” he said. “They’re in the captain’s office now. One of ’em’s been hollering at the top of his voice that you’re a crook.” I opened the door of the office and walked in without rapping. Hamilton was seated at his desk writing some- thing. Neihart and Jackson were standing before the desk, and two policemen stood beside Neihart. Neihart saw me first and his face turned several shades darker with anger. He seemed to have the same opinion of me that Jackson had ex- pressed, for he yelled: “Oh, you erook! What do you think I hired you for? Do you think I hired you to get me put in jail?” “That’s a fine way to treat a cli- ent,” said Hamilton, looking up at me. ‘Work your head off to get him arrested.” “You should worry,” I told him. “You’ve got the man you were belly- aching about last night.” “Give me back my money!” cried _Neihart. “Give me back the fifty dol- lars that I gave you to find my jew- elry. You’re no good. You get me put in jail. Give me back my money.” “Nope,” I said. “That money’s 10-STORY DETECTIVE mine. I worked hard finding out who robbed your jewelry store.” “Wh—what?” stuttered Neihart. I looked at Jackson. His fat face had grown a pasty white when I said this, but I don’t believe anybody else noticed it. Hamilton’s mouth dropped open and he rose slowly to his feet. “Look here!” he exploded. “D’you mean to tell us, Slam, that you know who robbed Mr. Neihart’s jewelry store also?” “Yup. An’ I can lay my hands on the jewelry any time I want to.” For a moment Neihart forgot that I had been the cause of his arrest. “Who did it?” he demanded. “Tell me who did it.” “My fees for bringing a case to a successful conclusion are two hun- dred dollars,” I reminded him. “And I guarantee to produce your jewelry.” Neihart glared at me and choked on some words that he did not Say. Hamilton was staring at me like a fish and making little noises in his throat. Jackson was almost glassy- eyed with fear. Neihart finally took a deep breath, then said: “All right. Vl give you the money. But it’s the last cent Ill ever give you, you dirty crook.” He took out his pocketbook and be- gan to count out the bills. “I’ve only got one hundred and sixty-four dol- lars,” he said. “That'll do for cash,” I said “Write out a check for the balance. Ill trust you.” He wrote the check and I put it in my pocketbook, which was now crammed to bursting with bills. Then I took the small box from my pocket, opened it and poured out a cascade of diamond rings and precious stones upon Hamilton’s desk. “Here’s your junk. And the robber is—Jackson! Madigan recognized him when I jogged his memory, and I found this stuff in his safe.” The two cousins turned slowly from me and stared at each other. The humiliating irony of the situation suddenly burst upon them. They real- COMmICMOoOoks (C@