10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

—FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKJACKS TSD — fair with a light showing from two small windows. Falkner went around to the door and knocked. Nothing happened. The door had a hasp and a padlock, but the hasp wasn’t closed and Falkner pushed gently on the door. It swung inward, and he could see a man seated at a bench on the far side of the little laboratory. His back was to the door and his head forward on his hands. Falkner called, got no answer and stepped in. He called louder this time, thinking the man had gone to sleep at his work. Then something in the man’s position aroused Guy’s sus- picion. He went forward quickly, swearing beneath his breath. The ballistics man’s head was pil- lowed on the crossed arms and the coat sleeves of both were soaked with blood. Falkner stooped and made a quick examination without touching the body. There was a gun fastened in a vise, as if Grover had been lining it up. Falkner got his nose down close to the gun, and the odor of burnt cordite was quite noticeable. A sound from behind made him swing around. The woman in the crimson wrapper was standing in the open doorway staring with widen- ing eyes. Her mouth opened, and Falkner had the flashing thought that she had forgotten her false teeth. Then she closed her mouth very slowly and the normality of her tone shocked Falkner. “Is he dead?” Guy nodded soberly. “Yes.” She didn’t cry; she didn’t do any- thing which Falkner expected her to do under the circumstances. She just walked into the room and looked down at the dead Grover. HEN she said in the same tone- less voice: “I’ve been expecting it. I told him he was a fool to go play- ing with guns. Guns ain’t made to play with.” Falkner said: “I don’t think this was an accident, Mrs. Grover.” Her eyes jerked up to meet his, and 17 she showed her first emotion. It was surprise. ‘‘Not an accident?” He said, still speaking soberly: “I don’t think so. Someone tried to make it look like one, but they didn’t do a very good job. Would you know any- one who would have reason to kill your husband?” She said: “No one but me.” He caught his breath. “You—” She said: “I didn’t kill him, but sometimes I was mad enough to. No, I don’t know anyone who would want to kill him, unless it would be the man he talked to on the phone.” Falkner’s voice tightened. “Who was that?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I heard Alf come in about an hour ago. I pretended to be asleep. He walked around the front room for a while muttering to himself then he went over to the phone and called a num- ber.” “What number?” Falkner didn’t try to hide his eagerness. She said, disappointingly: ‘He dialed it. Anyhow he got someone. I heard him say, ‘I feel like a heel. I. ean’t go through with it.’ Then he was silent for a while, and afterward he said, ‘No, not fora thousand dol- lars. I’m going to give them the real bullet in the morning and tell the whole business.’ ”’ “And that’s all he said.” Falkner couldn’t disguise his disappoint- ment. The woman nodded. “That was all.” Falkner looked around quickly. “Where did he usually keep the bul- lets he was working on?” She pointed to a small drawerlike arrangement in-the corner. Inside there were three bullets; two of them were tagged. Falkner examined the tags and they bore no relation to this business. The third one had no tag at all, and he picked it up. “Funny you didn’t hear the shot.” “But I did.’ The woman still showed no sign of grief. “I heard it, but I didn’t think anything about it. ‘Alf was always firing into his sand- COMIC OO® S CO