10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

60———_—_—_—_————————-10-STORY DETECTIVE His trousers were pulled up at the knees, and the cuffs were an inch or so above the tops of his purple socks, which he wore without gar- ters. He glanced away from Wayne. His self-satisfied look changed to a sulky frown when the man-servant preceded Gil Fenton across the room, taking care to give the bodies a wide berth. The servant announced to the jade collector: “Mr. Fenton, sir.” Wayne pulled himself together. He arose with a word of apology to the homicide man and offered his hand to Gil. Gil shook hands with him, then said to the police detective: ‘Hello, Stacy. How’s tricks?” Stacy scowled. “Pretty good till you showed up. Anybody send for you, or did you just smell trouble?’ Wayne smiled apologetically at Stacy. “Sorry, I’ve been so upset I forget to mention it before. I thought it best to hire a private detective as a bodyguard. These Orientals, you know—” “Sure, sure,” Stacy growled. “It’s your privilege, Mr. Wayne.” Gil said: “I didn’t understand that you only wanted a bodyguard. I could have assigned one of my men for twenty-five a day. I don’t usually—” Wayne interrupted. “I know, Mr. Fenton. But I don’t want an ordinary operative. I know you’re worth more than that yourself—but I’m ready to pay it. You can write your own ticket.” Gil shrugged. “All right, if that’s the way you feel about it.” He glanced across at the bodies. ‘‘Who did all the shooting ?” Wayne said nervously: “I did.” He pointed to an open wall safe. “I got back earlier than usual tonight, and found the Chinaman at the safe. He had stabbed Krell.” Wayne closed his eyes hard as a surge of emotion swept over him. He indicated the body under the sheet, next to the Chinaman. “That’s Krell. He was my secretary. Been with me for five years. Just got mar- ried—and he has to be stabbed to death protecting my jade collection from a common thief!’ The collector turned back to Gil, his chin quivering. “That Chinaman must have had the combination, be- cause the safe was opened the way it is now. When I surprised him, he came at me with a knife—the same knife he killed Krell with. Luckily, I was armed, and I shot him.” Stacy got out of his chair. “‘Every- thing checks,” he told Gil. ‘‘There’s the knife on the table. The Chink’s prints are on the safe. I called down- town, and Inspector Glenn said it wouldn’t be necessary to bring Mr. Wayne down now. It’s a plain case of robbery and murder.” Gil said: “So what am I supposed to do around here? What’re you afraid of, Mr. Wayne?” The tall jade collector was looking at the body of the yellow man with somber eyes. “I’m afraid there may be reprisals. These Chinese—” IL walked over to the body. The medical examiner was through, and was making out a report. On the dead man’s middle finger was a wide gold band. Gil bent and saw that there was an inscription in Chinese characters etched in the gold. He could read the hieroglyphics almost as well as he could read English. He had spent many eventful years in the East. That particular in- scription he had seen often before. Translated, it meant roughly: ‘Re- spect the gods, but have as little as possible to do with them.” Gil arose from the body, and faced Wayne. “Did the Chink get anything out of the safe.” Wayne nodded. He produced two pieces of jade from his pocket. Each piece was five and a half inches long. There were jagged edges on one side of each. Gil took them from Wayne, and fitted them together. The jagged edges fell into place, the two pieces became as one, forming a little icon, comiicboook CO