10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

24— Kane started to swim across to the locker-room side of the pool and, as he turned and lifted his head for air, he glimpsed a pair of shiny brown shoes on the pool-rim. He rolled over on his back and his eyes traveled up the length of an immaculately trousered figure standing on the cement floor above him. Kane said, through sneering lips: “Hello, Lawler.” Lawler was plump, pink-faced and manicured. Carefully dressed, an overcoat hanging in the crook of his left arm, he looked as if he had just come in from the street. His face was flushed and his lips were trembling as he leaned over the water toward Kane and whispered: “Do you know what the mourning’s for outside?’ Kane ran his hand over his wet, straight black hair, eyed Lawler nar- rowly. “The mourning! The black drapes on the front of the club!” Lawler snapped impatiently. Kane, annoyed, was silent for a moment. That soft, purry voice of Lawler’s now pitched with excite- ment, rankled him. There were other things about Lawler he did not like, either—his softness, his cowardice. “What’s on your mind?” said Kane. “You never answered my question, Kane. What are the rags for?” “That’s easy, Lawler. For Mrs. San- ford. She died unexpectedly in Hono- lulu two days ago. She was an honor- ary member of this joint. Her hus- band, Paul Sanford, is a grandson of one of the founders. He’s a banker— plenty of dough—always has had it. Jewels, too. Fortune in ’em.” “You seem to know a lot about Cal- ifornia’s wealthy families.” Kane, the sneer still on his thin lips, said: “That’s my business—knowing about rich people.” Then with a seemingly effortless motion Kane slid face foremost under water. Lawler’s face suddenly grew sullen. He twitched about impatiently as he watched the swimmer make 10-STORY DETECTIVE three swift turns up and down the pool under water and come up, body glistening, his broad chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly. Kane swam over to Lawler, who faded back from the edge of the poo! to keep the splashing water from his shiny shoes. He liked water like a Maltese. Pretending not to notice the other’s finicky movement, Kane deftly scooped a handful of water onto the floor. Lawler jumped back—too late. He scowled silently as he shook the drops off his shoes. Kane said: “Sanford took the boat for Honolulu yesterday. He— But what’s the quiz for?” Lawler asked, his tone filled with veiled meaning: “Do you know what that means to us?” “No. But if you wait till I get my clothes on I[’ll listen while we play a game of billiards.” “Billiards!” Lawler almost shouted, scornfully. “Billiards! Swimming! Sports! Man, don’t you ever think of anything else! You know my special- ty’s skirts. All other games bore me.” “Dames’ll be the death of you yet, Lawler.” Lawler spluttered: “And you’ll die fightin’ bulls, ridin’ race horses, or— or playin’ parchesi.” : Locking his hands about an iron column, Kane swung his glistening body effortlessly out of the pool. Save for little purplish, dissolute pouches under his eyes, and a slight bulge under the belt of his swimming trunks, he looked every inch an athlete. He walked across the wet floor to the locker-room. Lawler minced along ‘behind him, his face screwed up im- patiently. Kane knew Lawler was keyed up, tense, excited about some- thing. That was the way of these inside men, safe crackers. They didn’t have the cold, steady nerve, the guts, of the gunman—like Kane. He flexed the fingers of his right hand inyolun- tarily. Still, Lawler was an expert— could crack a can quicker than anyone * else he knew. And he knew plenty. But Lawler! Yellow! COPMICOOOKS (E@)