10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

= York tested the water. It must be at the usual temperature—neither too hot nor too cold. Satisfied, he lifted the white body and put it into the tub. This was to be the perfect crime. Gingerly York scrubbed his victim’s body, until the water was blue with dissolved soap. He was careful to re- move his own fingerprints from the tub, from the faucet levers, to sub- stitute those of his dead uncle. He even splashed water here and there around the tub. 3 Now for the final move. York lifted the body to its dangling feet, moved it backward, a slow-motion fall. He took one of the man’s wrists, dragged the hand over the rack where hung the clothes, slid them to the floor. That was all part of the plan. Then, before he let the body into the water, York rapped the back of the head against the edge of the tub —hard. After that, with the corpse’s head under water, Henry pressed on the sunken chest. By working the lungs like a bellows, he was able to draw water into them. York bent over the clothes, found the dead man’s watch. He twisted the hands of the timepiece until they pointed to the hour of nine-fifty, then pounded the floor with it until it stopped. He broke the crystal, wedged a piece of glass against the hands. Wiping off the fingerprints, he re- stored it to Uncle Walt’s watch pocket. The job was done. Carefully, York searched for flaws. He examined minutely every inch of the bathroom and the bedroom—where the actual crime had been committed. He even looked through the pages of the book ‘his uncle had been reading, finally restored it to the case near the hearth. There must be nothing to point to murder. It must seem that Walter York had slipped in his bathtub, had struck his head upon the edge and drowned while unconscious. 10-STORY DETECTIVE RESSED for evening, Henry York left the house, after turn- ing out all lights except those in his uncle’s death chambers. Then he got in his car, backed noisily down the driveway and slipped into traffic. The evening was spent with friends —men whose testimony, if it were required, would be unquestionable. It was after midnight when Henry finally turned into his uncle’s drive- way and put the car into the garage. Whistling a strained tune, he entered the house, looked around, Everything seemed as he had left it. He went upstairs, going against his will into his uncle’s room, into the bathroom. Nothing had _ been touched. Sickened, but telling himself that such a move was absolutely necessary, York put a hand into the bathtub, felt the stiffened form of Uncle Walt. He lifted it, refusing to look, and let it sink back into the tub. Leaving his hand wet, he went to the phone and called the dead man’s physician—Dr. Leeds. He wouldn’t call the cops until a few minutes later. While he waited the time for call- ing the police, he entered the kitchen and filled a glass at the faucet over the sink, drank to soothe his dry throat. : He took the glass down, caught at his throat with a gasp. What a taste. Confound it, the health department had put another shot of chlorine dis- infectant into the water. He rang for the police. They came almost half a minute after the family doctor rang the bell and was admitted by the pale-faced nephew of the dead man. | The doctor pronounced death as Henry knew he would—strangulation by drowning. Then the police entered and took charge. They seemed disinterested. There were three of them, two radio car patrolmen—harness dicks—and a de- tective who had come with them from headquarters. They circled through the house, looking things over with a casual eye. The detective, Davis by (OPMICL OOO KS (E@)