10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

DAGGERS OF DOOM——_———————————_6T was I? I must have been at_a movie. Or maybe I was having my nails manicured.”’ He turned to go. ‘‘Take Sloan home when he’s fixed up, Joe. And don’t feel too bad about it. I should have put" an army in here instead of just two guys.” Glenn’s thick arm came up to bar his way. “Hold everything! Where the hell do you think you’re going with that jade? And where the hell do you think you’re going—anyway ?” Gil stopped short and glared at him. “I’m gonna earn my five grand, you dope, by getting Wayne out of one hell of a pickle. You should be the last one to stop me. I’m doing cop’s work for the department, and all I get is abuse!’’ “All right, all right,” Glenn soothed. “Don’t get huffed up. That jade figure is evidence, an’ we’ll need it. You can’t take it away like that.” “This jade figure,” Gil said slowly, ‘is what is going to save the police department a hell of a lot of razzing. Because it’s going to bring Wayne back with a whole skin. Do I get it, or don’t I?” Glenn stared at him stonily for a long while, then shrugged. ‘“‘You’re a hard guy to get along with, Fenton, but I got to play this your way. You’re in the saddle. You wouldn’t want to take me in on the know with you eh?” “I wouldn’t,” Gil told him. Glenn sighed. ‘‘Go ahead, then.” His brows came together, and he poked a finger under Gil’s nose. ‘‘But if you muff this, and let Wayne get bumped, I’ll ride you out of town— and don’t you forget it!”’ Gil pocketed the jade, grinned across the room at Stacy who was sitting up on the couch looking like a Turk with the bandage on his head and a scowl on his face. “So long, Stacy,” he called, and went out with a mock salute to Glenn. UTSIDE, he saw the same cab driver who had brought him to the house. The driver grinned, and said: “I figured there’d be some sort of a ride back, so I hung around.” “All right,” Gil grunted. “You get a good ride. Take me through the Holland Tunnel to Hoboken—and squeeze the minutes!” At the corner of Ninth and Peasley, in Hoboken, Gil got out of the cab and said: “If you’re looking for more business, you can wait around. I might be coming back.” The driver grinned, showing a hole where two teeth were missing. “T'll wait. You seem to be the kind of a guy that always comes back.” Gil left him and walked up past two or three buildings till he came to the dirty plate glass window on which was lettered: SAM MEE HAND LAUNDRY There was a light in the store, and three undersized yellow men were working away industriously, with the sweat pouring down their necks and soaking their undershirts. They were all south of China boys, meager of build, but wiry, and dangerous in a fight. One of them came behind the coun- ter when Gil entered, looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to produce a ‘“‘tickee.” But when he got a good look at Gil, his face became blank, devoid of expression. His body seemed to go taut. Gil said, in Cantonese: “It is many months since I have seen you, Sam Mee. Your health is good, I trust?’ The other two Chinamen looked up from their work when they heard the fluent flow of singsong syllables coming from the white man’s mouth. Sam Mee did not show by a single flicker of expression that he under- stood what the detective had said. His hand stole along underneath the counter, while his eyes remained locked with the visitor’s. Gil saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and shook his head reprovingly. “The wise man knows when he has met his superior,” he comicbook CO