10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKJACKS dollar bill and tossed it to the wait- ress. The fat man said: “Then I’ll have to take you downtown.” “Tomorrow.” Falkner swung on his heel, He shouldn’t have done that. McCosky clipped him behind the ear. The whole ceiling of the restau- rant whirled around, riding on the blades of the swirling electric fan. Falkner found himself sitting on the floor. He put up one hand and found that a lump had grown behind his left ear. ; McCosky’s expression had not al- tered, but a leather sap was swinging from his right wrist by its thong. “Get up. We’re going downtown.” Falkner turned his body around and pulled himself up to his knees. When he reached his feet his hand was in his pocket, and his voice chipped: “Listen, my fat friend. There’s a gun in this pocket. Swing that leather sap again and I’ll shoot it out of your fist.” McCosky looked at Falkner’s eyes. They were blazing. He stood undecid- ed for an instant, then dropped the sap into his pocket. Falkner glanced at the clock on the wall.. It was already nine. He’d be late for his appointment. There was no time to do anything more to MeCos- ky. He walked him out front and watched him go down the street, then he got a cab. The old elevator operator put down his love story magazine and started the squeaky car upward. “Fhere’s a man waiting to see you. I let him into your office.” Falkner said, “Thanks,” left the ear at the third floor and started down the dark hall. His office doer showed a lighted reetangle through the glass. When he was halfway to it a shot hammered out into the hot stillness, stopping him for an mstant. Then he swore in an undertone and pounded forward on hard heels, his gun seem- ime to leap from his pocket. He pushed the door inward, count- ing on the darkness of the hall for a. 11 shield. It wouldn’t open more than halfway, and he peered around the edge to find out why. LD Pete Durey lay against it, his body huddled as if he’d been trying to get out the door when he fell. Falkner threw a glance around the office. It was empty. The door to his own room was open and so was the window behind his desk. He raced over and peered out. A big electric sign halfway down the block lighted the fire escape and the roof two stories below. As he looked out, he saw a dim figure Jump from the fire escape and zigzag across the roof. He raised his gun and squeezed the trigger, but in his eager- ness he overshot and the figure ducked behind the shelter of a chimney. Falkner waited for him to reap- pear. He didn’t, and Falkner took a chance and went down the fire escape. There was a trapdoor behind the chimney. His man was gone. Falk- ner climbed back to his office, paus- ing as he reached the connecting door. Ellen Burton was bending over Pete Durey’s body. She straightened and one hand came up, then she re- laxed when she realized who it was. “Guy.” His voice was roughened by excite- ment and emotion. “Ellen, what the devil are you doing here?” She said: “I came up to stop my father—” The words died in her throat. He was relentless. “To stop your father from doing what?” She said: “Nothing. I meant to say I came up here to warn you that my father is going to have you arrested on that old charge.” He didn’t believe her. He was cer- tain that wasn’t what she had start- ed to say, but after a second he turned his attention to Durey’s body. The old man’s gun was still in his pocket. He’d never had a chance to use it. That meant that the kiler had COMIC OO® S CO