10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

FRAMED FOR A FUNERAL al Being bodyguard to a glamour girl bride brought Detective Bill q Hawke to a strange reunion in a Las Vegas hetel. For the girl’s groom was Bill’s best friend—and the groom was on P the spot because he neglected to register a corpse guest. divorcees like to mother. He said something to the girl and she didn’t like it. 3 Smiling sweetly, she picked up her drink, held the rim of the glass to her lips. Then suddenly she tossed the whole mess, ice, orange slice and cherry, right smack into his grinning face. That was the end of the grin. It vanished like a trick pigeon. You could see anger in his eyes, boiling up inside him, getting ready to explode. Some- body laughed and color fiushed his cheeks. That made him try the cave- man act which was a big mistake. He made a quick grab, got his arms around the girl and kissed her. He was a big lad and she couldn’t squirm away. I slid off my stool and sauntered over. I tapped him on the shoulder and when he loosened his grip, twisted him away. He let out a bellow and swung. I stepped inside and let him have it. Seeing as he made his living out of that pretty face I gave it to him in the stomach. He turned green and doubled over to the floor. I fixed my tie knot, pinned a smile to my face and turned to receive an accolade. All I got was startled sur- prise. The girl was gone, nowhere to be seen. Two waiters rushed over, each one grabbed an ankle, and the cowboy went sliding across the floor and out into the street. I climbed back on my stool and or- dered another drink. I felt fine. This. job might turn out to be very nice in- deed. I hadn’t wanted to leave Los Angeles. I hadn’t wanted to go to Las Vegas, but a fee is a fee, and a thou- sand dollars makes a very tempting retainer. When I finished my drink I reached for my wallet and got out a picture of a girl. It was only a snapshot, but it was a very revealing one and mighty pleasant on the eyes. The girl was in a bathing suit, by the side of a swim- ming pool. The picture didn’t show it, but her hair was burnished bronze, her eyes a deep cobalt and her figure something to catch your breath. It was a picture of the little pack- age I had just rescued, and as tasty a dish as you’re likely to see in a town that’s loaded with them. Her name was Carla Parkhurst. Her old man was in the lumber busi- ness, important stuff, and what he wanted to know was what his only daughter and heiress was doing in Las Vegas. Which is why I was there. And also to see that she didn’t get into any trouble. My original plan had simply been to tail her. Now that the cowboy had given me an opening I thought maybe I’d make a play for her and get into her confidence. It had been a piece of luck and luck often comes in chunks. The bartender came along then and laid something down in front of my glass. It was a frilly piece of lace with the initials C.P. embroidered in a cor- ner. I supposed it to be a handkerchief, though it wasn’t much good for what handkerchiefs are supposed to be used for. The bartender grinned. “The lady left it.” I slapped an extra half dollar on the bar for him and lifted the lace to my nose. It left me a little weak. Twenty dollars a gram, the kind of perfume they put in handblown bot- tles and handle with reverence like a first edition of the Bible. The cocktail lounge is part of the Palm Ptaza Hotel. The Palm Plaza is Las Vegas’s newest and most exclu- sive hostelry. A room and bath for a COMIC OO® S ©