10-Story Detective, March 1941 — 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———________---———_ what you were doing here. I know what you are for getting into trouble. Good thing | stuck my head in.” Jig nodded. Vinson struck a match, found the switch and turned on the light. The hall was only gloomy then, not dark, “Guy was waiting for you,” Vinson observed. ‘‘Who?” Jig shook his head. “I came here to see Carl MacCrowe. Let’s go up.” MacCrowe was a big man in every respect, but his light-skinned face seemed too big even for him. It was ordinarily an impassive face, but at sight of Jig and Vinson, MacCrowe scowled and his mouth twisted as if he were cursing. He didn’t invite them in. He looked more as if he were con- sidering keeping them out, but they entered. It was a small room with a sofa and a couple of chairs. “Came to tell you a little story,” Jig announced. “Vinson hasn’t heard this yet either, so I’ll only have to tell it once.”’ “Make it short!’ MacCrowe growled, and flicked his eyes at Vin- son. “Then both of you get out of here.” Vinson dug his fists deeper into his pockets. . Jig began: “I worked a late trick last night, and got to Reuwer’s restau- rant just as he was closing. All I had time for was to take the money out of the machine and set back the indicator that shows how many times each plat- ter has been played. Reuwer told me he’d put his lucky nickel into the ma- chine and asked me to give it to him. I did.” Jig paused. “Within the hour, on his way home, Reuwer was mur- dered.” - MacCrowe sneered and glanced Vin- son’s way. “Vinson could tell you all about that.” 66 HIS morning,” Jig continued, “I went to Reuwer’s, and found the phonograph had been played four times. Mrs. Reuwer played it, so did Zieman and Adkins. So did you, MacCrowe.” Jig took 2a coin from the corner of his handkerchief, showed it to be a cross-marked nickel. “There’s Reuwer’s lucky nickel. It was taken from him last night, and put in the machine to play a record this morn- ing.” MacCrowe’s face became white, an his eyes swelled. He had the look of a man who has just experienced the amazing suddenness with which an ordinary room can turn into a death trap. “Well, why blame me?” he croaked. “Listen, what the hell are you two try- ing to do? You don’t scare me! Get out of here! I read the papers. Vinson, you're no more of a cop right now than Iam. You got no right here!”’ “IT picked on you,” Jig admitted. “1 go to many places at all hours, Mac- Crowe. Wherever there’s girls, gam- bling, guzzling or gypping, I see you. You don’t work. I’ve often meant to ask Vinson about your means of sup-- port. I thought it queer for you to be in Reuwer’s for breakfast. It’s far away. You don’t work, and have no money. “Reuwer was paying protection money. What else were you in his restaurant for, but to collect it? Only this morning you probably went just to make it look as if you didn’t know anything had happened to Reuwer— because you ate there regularly once a week on Wednesday mornings.” “T’ll give both of you one minute to get out of here!’”? MacCrowe shouted. Vinson came away from the door, moving toward MacCrowe. “What’s the matter?” Vinson asked. ““Wouldn’t Reuwer pay ? Maybe you tried to throw a scare into him last night so he’d have the payoff ready this morning. When he saw me passing, he decided to take a chance and expose the whole thing. But you were too quick.” “Nuts !”’ MacCrowe sputtered. “You better get out, Jig.” Vinson turned his head back to MacCrowe. Vinson’s face was as cold and shiny as polished ice. COmmiCLOookX CO