10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

93 velope and extended it to Starkey. Blunt fingers riffled crisply through a thick sheaf of hundred dollar bills. He had asked for small denominations. Hynes watched him count it and at Starkey’s final nod of approval, rubbed his hands and said: “Let’s have a drink on a job well done.” The hammered silver flask he produced was a work of art. He patted it fondly. “Scotch. Twenty years old. My own private stock.” Rabbit-ears Hallock snatched at the flask and tilted it to his mouth. His Adam’s apple made several rapid round trips and he came up flushed and breathing hard. Starkey took it then, poured a long drink down his throat. He was thinking that he would keep the silver flask as a sort of bonus on this job. Hallock was starting to edge slowly around behind the banker, so Starkey began to talk. “You got guts, Hynes, real guts. Lots of guys don’t like their wives, yet they stick it out and suffer all their lives, I gotta hand it to you.” Hynes complacently shrugged off the compliment. “It’s nothing. I sim- ply figure all the angles. A plan care- fully thought out in advance and well executed never carries repercussions. It’s like lending money to—” He stopped short and shrugged. “Oh, well, let’s not go into that.” Rabbit-ears Hallock was almost be- hind him now. Starkey pressed on. “Yeah, but sup- pose we showed up later and wanted more money.” 10-STORY DETECTIVE Hynes lifted his brows. “You mean blackmail ?” Yeah,” “You wouldn’t do that,” Hynes smiled. “Why not?” Hallock was reaching into his shoul- der rigged holster for his gun. “Well,” said Hynes, “you just wouldn’t, that’s all. For one thing you’re in this thing as deeply as I am. It’s too dangerous. And then black- mail is not your racket. The man who recommended you to me said you were —er—strictly killers.””’ He touched a finger wisely to the side of his nose. “You won’t blackmail me. I know.” “It was just an idea,” Starkey said. “And not a bad one, only you—” Hallock’s shot blasted through the shack, making the rotted boards vi- brate. Lennox Hynes’ smile froze on his lips, and he arched his back an instant, swaying and staring glassily. Then he rolled slowly forward to the floor. ... The following day the Evening Bulletin carried the story under a banner headline: BANKER MURDERED—LENNOX HYNES SHOT THROUGH BACK Lennox Hynes, noted banker, whose wife was killed early Tuesday, was himself the victim of gunmen’s bullets in an obscure shack four miles outside the city limits. The police are unable to explain the mystery shrouding his death. Two men, identified as professional killers, were found beside him, both dead from arsenic poisoning. Traces of the deadly poison were discovered in a flask of Scotch whisky lying on the floor between them. ... Conn NOOK (©