10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

16————10-STORY DETECTIVE Pearson shook a fist in his face. “T’ll elieck on everyone in that hotel, and around it, before I’m finished with you! You could have sent someone out to buy those knives for you this morn- ing. Dammit, why didn’t I think of that?” A detective climbed in the low bed- recom window. He disappeared from view as he rounded the foot of a maple bed, then *stepped into the kitchen, holding something in his fingers. Pearson grunted for Betty to look at it, MeKenna craned forward. Betty exclaimed: “My tweezers, captain! They were on the dresser there. Steve couldn’t have— He was in the living room. He could not have got past me into—” The tweezers were blackened, the surface pitted, as if the metal had bubbled and the bubbles burst, leav- ing eraters. Pulling the detectives with him, McKenna squatted just in- side the bedroom and regarded an out- let that showed black on the brass plate about it. He told Pearson, “Someone jammed those tweezers into the outlet here and short-circuited the entire apartment.” “Yeah, you! You got past her and in here, and then used the tweezers and threw them out the window.” Pearson glowered at the detectives. “Take him down and book him! Get him out of here!’ The two detectives carted McKenna to police headquarters again. They rushed him through some formalities, then hustled him into an office. They questioned him, but they weren’t pleased with his answers. They be- came angry and rough, so he shut up altogether. They hadn’t got anything out of him when Captain Pearson himself strode in. Pearson talked to his two men in harsh whispers. Another man came . Into the office. He was well set-up, ex- pensively dressed, and had a stifily stubborn face. While he seemed to know there was plenty in the world to worry about, it looked as if he didn’t see why he should worry himself when he had so many others to do it for him. His hair was silver, the electric light shining through it on his pink smooth scalp. Deferentially, Pearson approached this man. The two detectives saluted and stood back. Pearson talked to him sotto voce, hands and face working. The important man glanced at Mc- Kenna only once, then said: “Well, if you want to try it—” He put his hands together. “Don’t come looking for sympathy afterward, Pearson.” Then he walked out. HARSON shoved his face into Mc- Kenna’s. “By hell, I’m tempted to throw you in a cell! I don’t want any more of you. Get to your hotel, and don’t you come out of your room again tonight! We’ll take care of you in the morning. Get out!” The detectives disgustedly hauled McKenna to his hotel room. They as- sured themselves there was no escape except by the door, flung him into the bed, and went out, locking the door from the outside. eKenna got up. He was shaking, and for one of the few times in his life, he was close to being sick to his stomach. He turned cold and shook violently. It dawned fully upon him how near Betty had been to death. Only the darkness, which the attacker had had to have, to mask him, had saved her. He could not resign himself to a night of inactivity. He tried to rest, but his body itched with tension. He paced the floor, smoking his pipe. It was ten o’clock by his watch. It must have been an hour since the detectives had locked him. in. McKenna got his small tool kit from his bag. He’d take his watch apart again and reassemble it. That always quieted his nerves. Someone touched the door. McKen- na dropped the kit into his pocket and listened. Either the man didn’t have a key or he was being very clumsy with it. The door swung open, and the slight bodied, blond Harvey Logan COPMICLOOOKS (E©)