10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

DAGGERS demnity, Mister Fenton, that will satisfy the Kung Tong. Wayne’s life is forfeit. We will purchase the jade mmage from his estate.” IL took his hands off the table and stood up straight. His hands hung loosely at his sides, and he nudged the armpit holster a trifle forward with his left arm. “Then it must be a war between us, Charlie. You know I never back out of a job.” The fat man nodded. “I know that, Mister Fenton, and that is why I took precautions when I learned that Wayne had sent for you. I knew that you would come here first, for you are a straightforward man, a worthy opponent. But you are beaten, Wayne is beaten. It is regrettable that you, whom I truly admire, must go down © to destruction with your client.” Gil smiled crookedly. “All right, Charlie, we understand each other fine—you love me, and I love you— like brothers. In fact we love each other so much we're gonna have a little private war.” The fat Chinaman nodded. “Re- luctantly, I agree with you. It is war!” He leaned forward a little, his eyes staring opaquely along the table. “When,” Gil asked, “does this war start—when I leave your house?” Charlie Mee’s fat lips twisted into a smile, “I am so sorry, Mister Fen- ton. The war must begin—now! Even though you are a guest in this poor house of mine, I cannot afford to allow you to leave it alive. You are the only white man who knows of this house. Now that you are an enemy, you must die!” Gil scowled. His hand flashed to his armpit holster, but stopped when Charlie Mee rapped out an impera- tive, “Wait!” The fat man raised a forefinger on which the elongated fingernail tapered to a clawlike point. He in- dicated a section of the wall at Gil’s right. OF DOOM—————————63 “I told you,” he went on, “that I had taken precautions.” Gil, standing rigid, his hand within an inch of the gun butt, flicked his eyes to the right, and started. There was a panel in the wall which must have opened soundlessly. Framed in the opening, knelt a raw- boned, high-cheeked hatchet-man. He was dressed in black, with a black skull cap. Beady eyes were sighted along the barrel of a Browning rapid- firer which was trained unswervingly on Gil’s middle! A fingered the lever tautly. Gil swung his eyes back to the fat man. He still kept his right hand taut, and spoke through thin lips. . “It won’t do, Charlie. Your playmate will get me, all right, but I'll crease you, too, for sure. You know I can do it—right through the heart.” Charlie Mee smiled. “Indeed, you are renowned for your skill with a gun. But I have anticipated that, too. These buttons on the table are not the only ones. My feet—”’ Even as he spoke, his feet moved, and a sheet of steel shot up from what had looked like a groove in the table. The steel snapped up to a height of about four feet, effectively screening the fat man from Gil’s view. At the same time, from behind the barrier, Charlie Mee uttered a short string of commands in Cantonese. Gil rolled away from the table, his hand snaking out the gun. At the same moment the Browning in the hands of the hatehet-man began to spit flame and to chatter wickedly in the semi-gloom. Gil heard the wicked spat of the slugs tearing into the floor just be- yond the spot where he had been. If the rawboned Chinaman had been more adept at handling the quwick- firer, he could have raked the room and torn Gil to pieces. As iH was, though, he kept his finger on the trip, and exhausted the entire drum before he could shift. The hatchet-man didn’t realize his comiicnook yellow hand CO