10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

PASS-KEY TO THE MORGUE Lawler said: “Hurry into your clothes. I got hot news. Means a lot of coin to both of us.” He stopped in the locker-room where it was dry, paced nervously up and down. ANE dallied under the shower, . generously soaped his lithe body. He purposely let Lawler fume in sup- pressed excitement. Finally he came out, got into his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a con- temptuous glint of expert scrutiny in Lawler’s eyes. Lawler purred softly: “Don’t you ever wear a vest? Your hair’s stick- ing up in back; your belt’s out of its loop. And in thirty-seven years you haven’t learned to tie a tie. Damn good tie, too—but the design’s lousy.” Kane muffed the slur. He started for the stairs to the lobby, said: “Come on, punk, we'll play some billiards.” Lawler’s round face grew red, apo- plectic. “Billiards! Don’t be a fool!” he shouted. “I come here to teil you about something hot—and you want to play billiards. I should have got Slats and Fred instead.” Kane’s’' black brows “Heels!” “Yeah!” snapped Lawler. “Heels to you. You think a hell of a lot of yourself, don’t you? Fred’s damn bad —gso’s Slat’s. I may need them both yet.” For a moment Kane said nothing. Then: ‘We'll play billiards. I can think better when I’m doing some- thing.” They walked upstairs and across the black and white terrazzo floor of the lobby, took the elevator to the fourth floor. They found the billiard room deserted. Kane selected a cue, weighed it expertly in his fingers. Lawler picked up a stick mechani- cally. ~ Lawler began, “I—” “Save it,” snapped Kane. Carefully, he spotted a ball on the table, stroked it gently with his cue. Lawler watched him disinterestedly; shot up. —25 then, as if in a daze, followed suit. They played for several minutes in silence, except for the soft clicking of the ivories. Suddenly Lawler threw down his cue, and swore. “Kane, won’t you lis- ten?” Kane continued quietly stroking the ball. He said: “Spill it, then.” An animated light shone in Law- ler’s eyes. “It’s about Sanford. He’s got a swell joint—an English farm- house—up in the mountains. At Lake Trantine. Spends his summers there. Didn’t close it last fall. He’s been going there off and on all winter—for the skating and skiing. Three weeks ago, Mrs. Sanford went on a visit to Honolulu. She intended to be gone | three-four weeks. She died there un- expectedly.” He paused, wet his lips. Kane brought out a pack of cigarettes, lighted one, blew smoke through his nosirils. Lawler said: “Sanford was here in town when he got the message from Honolulu. He left last night for Frisco to take the boat. He didn’t have time to do anything about the house up at the lake. Now, I got it straight that Mrs. Sanford left some ice up there when she went away—sixty thousand dollars’ worth—a diamond necklace with an emerald clasp worth about forty-five thousand, a bracelet, and some other stuff, too. And say, big boy,” Lawler waxed enthusiastic, “‘it’ll be a cinch for us to go up and lift it.” “Where'd you get the info?” Kane asked levelly. ‘“What’s the dif, Kane? It’s on the level.” Kane said: ““What’s the lay?” Eagerly Lawler explained: “It’s like this. The place is in charge of a guy named Quinn—an old geezer who kind of putters about, looking after things. Sanford don’t keep no regular staff there. The day before he goes to the lake, he usually sends a half-dozen servants from the staff of his own town house. There won’t be anybody around but old Quinn. He'll be soft CORMICLOOOKS (E@