10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

PASS-KEY TO THE MORGUE————-—————31 gun. Slugs leaped out into the dark- ness. He eased the pressure of his fin- gers, slipped another clip of car- tridges into the magazine. The rug in the other room—where Fred and Slats and Alicia were—was quite thick and soft, Kane now re- membered. Anyone moving over it would make no sound. Then sudden- ly, without warning, slugs began tearing at him. They came like lead- en hail. Kane could hear the whine of them as they sped by. He could hear the wood splinter as the slugs bit into the rim of the door-jamb behind which he crouched. The _— shots stopped. Cautiously, soundlessly, Kane shift- ed his position. His thin lips twisted in a dangerous, murderous snarl. He thought now that he’d spotted some- one in the right-hand corner of the living room. He pumped three swift shots there and, without hesitating, flung four shots into the opposite cor- ner. There came a du!] thud, as of a heavy body falling. But there was no other sound. With automatic poised, Kane wait- ed calmly, coolly. A chill current swept through the place. But he did not seem to feel it. Nor the silence, the darkness, which would have ter- rorized a normally sensitive person. Then the lights flashed on again— all of them. Kane blinked several times. His eyes slid about. The big room seemed deserted, save for a hud- dled form in the right-hand corner—a form sprawled in an awkward sitting position on the floor, body twisted, right arm hooked over the uphol- stered arm of a chair. It was Fred, automatic still clutched in his hand, dead. ke ANE’S thin lips twisted in a smile. He slid his eyes to the left. The front door was open. Faint crimson drops led to it. Either Alicia or Slats had been struck. But both of them had filed. And so, apparently, had Lawlor. Kane sprang to the door, peered out, in time to see the twin tail-lights of an auto speeding down the hill. With a pantherish leap he landed in the driveway, his gun barrel trained at the fleeing car. The red tail-lights slid rapidly out of sight behind the snowy crag-shoulder. The sound of its racing motor faded, died away. For a moment Kane hesitated, peer- ing down the road, then he turned back to the house. His thin lips drew together in a straight, grim line. He passed through the door, closed it behind him. He glanced about the room at the faint blood-spots on the thick rug, the upholstered chair pulled slightly awry by the weight of Fred’s slumped body. Then he re- membered Bunny, waiting in the parked car. Drawing his overcoat about him, he once more started for the door, then stopped short. From the icy stillness outside soared the sound of voices raised in shouts and laughter. A man’s voice, booming above the others, said: “Good old Quinn. He’s waiting for us with the eats. And, boys and girls, am I hungry?” Kane heard a babel of agreement. Then he sensed the situation—it was a party of young men and women from the lake, They’d arranged with Quinn to have supper prepared for them. That’s why the fish.... Ina flash, Kane was be- side Fred’s sprawled body. The big man had been struck, vitally, by only one slug. The wound in his chest was clean, bloodless. He had bled inter- nally. Kane grasped the huge frame and dragged it into the kitchen, then came back into the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood in the center of the room, — cool and somber-faced. The front door opened and the group of boys and girls, loudly chattering, surged in, skis flung over their shoulders. They stopped suddenly, stared, ceased all talking, when they saw him. Kane spoke quietly. ‘““You’ll have to call off your party.” The group eyed him curiously, then COMICLOO arriving on _ sgkis.. SS CO