10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

———_—_—______—___—_——_-SLEUTH BY PROXY————__—__——41 Jig didn’t get it. He just stood at the door, puzzled. MacCrowe raged: “He better get out and he better take you to hell out of here with him, if he knows what’s good for the two of you! I’m telling you, get out of here, Vinson!” “Twenty-two years on the force!” Vinson said thickly. “The last year a detective lieutenant. Now it’s all go- ing to be kicked down the stairs in a matter of minutes. You think I won’t fight that? You think I won’t hurt someone? I got a wife and two kids. You think I’m not going to lift a hand? This is me, not some punk.” Without turning, Vinson repeated: “You better get out, Jig.” Jig didn’t feel as if he could move for anything. MacCrowe weakened, but gathered himself and sneered. “Get out your- self, Vinson, or I’ll call a cop that’s siéill a cop, and show you you haven’t got all the trouble you’re going to have. You’re not even a boy scout now.” “And who’ve I got to thank for that ?” Vinson smashed him full in the face and sent him skating across the room into the couch. Shoulders hunched, Vinson stalked after him. The man had changed. He was no longer the ordinary Vinson—he scared even Jig. He looked as if he didn’t want to hear from MacCrowe now any more, as if nothing would dispel the killer-heat that had come on him. “Don’t kill me!’ MacCrowe begged. “T’ll tell, Vinson. Only you have to be- lieve me!”’ He shouted as if trying to pierce the fog on Vinson’s mind and calm him. “Here’s the whole story. I framed Reuwer with a dame, caught him with her—the old badger game. Reuwer started paying off, Wednesday mornings regular. He told his wife he was paying for protection, to account for the money. _ “TI gwear that I didn’t kill him! Never had any trouble with him. His wife wants a divorce anyway, and with what I eould have told her, she could have got it and stripped him clean too. I wasn’t near him last night. I was right here.” INSON studied him for a long time. MacCrowe didn’t dare even to raise a hand to wipe away the blood trickling down his chin. “Don’t go anywhere, MacCrowe,” Vinson warned. “I’m going to see the man that murdered Reuwer last night. And if that means seeing you again— the farther I have to go to get you, the worse I’]] make # when I get you.” Vinson turned on his heel and strode out. Jig followed him. Out in the street, they stood blink- ing in the sunshine. Jig let out a big sigh. “They told me you used to be an awful tough cop. I see what they meant.” Vinson moved his shoulders as if they were itching under his clothing. “They were kidding you.” “Yeah! Well, what now?” “They’re having me up on charges this afternoon,” Vinson muttered. “That leaves me time to get to Reu- wer’s and see whai I ean. At least it’s narrowed down. I don’t know about MacCrowe. But if he didn’t do it, then Zieman or Adkins did.” Jig leaned back against his car. “There’s been nothing done that a ‘ good strong weman like Mrs, Reuwer couldn’t have done. That’s why I said maybe it wasn’t a holdup for sure, It’s far-fetched, sure. But suppose she wanted to get rid of Reuwer. She dis- guises as a man, meets him in the street. There was no love between them. According to MacCrowe she wanted a divorce and couldn’t get it. Maybe she has a heart interest. Dis- guised as a man, she could have been the one last night.”’ Vinson studied him with cloudy eyes, said nothing. “Well,” Jig said, getting into his car, “make time to see me again after you’ve been to the restaurant. I ought to be working Pennsylvania Avenue an hour or so from now. By the way, do you know Paul Adkins, the cook at, Reuwer’s ?” CORNICLOOOLK< (C@