10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

DAGGERS OF DOOM————————————+1 or image, representing a man squat- ted upon a low pedestal. Across the front of the pedestal was engraved the same inscription as. on the dead man’s ring! Wayne was saying: “‘That’s a fig- ure of Confucius, carved in nephritic jade. The workmanship is consum- mate; the piece is perhaps two thou- sand years old. It is absolutely im- possible to estimate its value in dol- lars. I wouldn’t sell it for a million.” Stacy took the cigar out of his mouth to say: “The Chink had both pieces in his pocket. That’s all he was after.” There was a thoughtful expression | in Gil’s eyes as he handed the image back to Wayne. “Looks to me,” he said, “like you’ll need more than pro- tection—you’ll need life insurance. This image comes from a shrine of Kung Fu-tsu, which is the Chinese equivalent of Confucius. The shrines of Kung Fu-tsu are under the special protection of the Kung Tong, and the dead Chinaman there is a member of it.” He shook his head. “No thanks, Mr. Wayne. I can’t take the assign- ment. When those boys have it in for you, it’s just too bad.” Stacy said sneeringly: “Just yella, huh ?” Gil glared, was apout to say some- thing nasty, when Wayne interrupted hastily. “Look here, Fenton. From what I’ve heard of you, you’re not the man to turn down a job because it’s dangerous. That’s why I called you in. I want to keep this jade, and J also want to stay alive. I’ll pay you five thousand dollars to fix it so I don’t have to worry about this Kung Tong any more—and I don’t care how you do it!” Gil considered for a moment. Then he said: “They may want indemnity —for him.” He nodded toward the body. “(ll pay it—whatever they ask. And the fee to you for arranging it.” “All right,” Gil agreed. “You keep to the house—don’t go out till I see what’s what. I’ll send a couple of my men over to take care of you in case these boys start something pre- maturely.”’ Wayne said: “You want a check?” Gil nodded. “In advance. I don’t guarantee results, and I’d hate to have to sue your estate for it.” Wayne made a wry face, but he sat down and wrote the check. Gil took it, grinned at Stacy, and went out. In the street he hailed a cab, and said: “Corner of Race and Marley.” HEN Gil got out of the cab he walked down a half block. He stood for a moment, looking up at the bleak brownstone facade of the house on Marley Street. He made sure that his .82 Special slid easy in the holster beneath his armpit. Then he walked up the five steps of the stoop, and rang the bell. Almost before he had his finger off the button, the door was opened by a short, skinny Chinaman. When the man saw Gil, he bobbed his head and said squeakily: “Hello, Misteh Fen- ton. Come lite in. Charley Mee waits for you.” Gil said nothing, but his eye went to the gold band on the middle finger of the Chinaman’s right hand. It was the same kind of ring that the dead Chinaman in Wayne’s living room had worn. Gil stepped into the dark hallway, and the servant closed the door. Then he turned and led the way toward the rear, saying: “Please to follow me, Misteh Fenton.” Gil thought he detected a subtle gleam in the skinny Chinaman’s eye. But he had long ago learned the futility of trying to read any sort of meaning into the expression of a Chinaman’s face. He went along be- hind the servant till they reached a massive oak door at the end of the corridor. The servant rapped in a peculiar way—twice, then once, then three times very swiftly. Almost at once EOPMICOOOL< (C@)