10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

SLEUTH BY PROXY out and he’d hand it over. But he let you out instead. Damn him! He killed Reuwer, not me.” “Well, you certainly acted as if you were the killer,” Jig snorted. ‘‘Look at the trouble you made! Because he let you know I’d gone to see MacCrowe, you hid in MacCrowe’s hallway and tried to get me. And because Mrs. Reuwer is soft on you, and didn’t want any trouble that might compli- cate collection of Reuwer’s insurance, she alibied you.” ‘You socked me in the mouth this morning, didn’t you?” Adkins de- manded. “And you ain’t a pal of that louse Vinson’s, I don’t suppose?” “You’re a psychopathic case. The fall on your head when Vinson ar- rested you, did it, I guess. If you get sore at a man, you think you have to kill him.” ° “Well, what else?” IG stooped over Zieman and re- alized it would not be necessary to keep an eye on him. Zieman was un- conscious, bleeding badly. Jig called an ambulance. Then he phoned the police. It took every effort he was ca- pable of, but he got in touch with the commissioner. And it took an argu- ment after that, but the commissioner said Vinson was still there, being tried. Vinson came to the phone. Jig told him to get over to the restaurant even if he had to break out of the commissioner’s office. Vinson came, sort of in custody of another detective, and got there as soon as the ambulance did. The doctor said Zieman would live, but he’d prob- ably have a stiff neck. No one bothered to say that the stiff neck wouldn’t annoy Zieman very long. Jig was warm with elation, but he kept it under control, and told Vinson the whole story. Vinson’s face lit up, the cold stiffness went out of it and the deadness faded from his eyes. He put a hand on Jig’s shoulder. It trem- bled a little. “But how did you know Adkins 45 wasn’t the one? It must have looked that way.” “Reuwer was looking all over for his gun last night,” Jig explained. “Finally, he said he must have left it home the last time he took it there. He seemed to believe he had. So, the moment Zieman said he’d gotten the gun from the cigar counter, I knew he was lying. He took that gun last night, and put it back this morning. He would have shot Reuwer with it, only that he got the chance to use your gun instead.” They had Zieman on his feet now. He listened, and protested wildly: “No, no! I would not kill him! I meant only to get money from him. All my savings I have put into property. Now things are not so good. I told Reuwer I must pay taxes or lose everything. I beg him to lend me money. He says he cannot do it. “So last night I knew he has a lot of money. I take the gun and I hold him up. I have a handkerchief over my face and the hHght in Florence Street is not good.” Zieman slapped his forehead. “And what do you think? Anyway he knows me! I think maybe I can plead with him. But Vin- son passes, and Reuwer is going to tell. Then, only, I kill him.” Vinson took his arm. ‘“‘But you did kill him. And we got you. That’s what counts.”’ Vinson gave him to the other detective, came over and tried to thank Jig. Jig cut him short. “Don’t! There must be some way you can have this handled so that you get the credit, Vinson. And I don’t feel smart. I feel like a dope. I should have realized that only Zieman would be methodical and thorough enough to kill a man then rob him of everything, even his small change. Who else would have taken even a nickel out of Reuwer’s pocket, except Zieman ?” “And used it to play a record in a phono!” Vinson grunted. ‘‘Well, Zie- man had his music—now he'll dance, at the end of a rope!” COmiclbool CO