10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

FRAMED FOR A FUNERAL laid a big retainer on the line. Ile must have known you were dynamite.” The breath left her in a sharp ex- halation and she relaxed, not much, but enough to talk. She said swiftly: “Listen, I didn’t kill him. I found him, like this, dead.” “You know who he is?” She nodded. _ “Give,” I said. “His name is Diehl. father’s bookkeeper.” “When did you find him?” “A few minutes ago, just before you opened my door.” I looked up at the electric light, changed my position, crouched a lit- tle and examined the corpse from a different angle. “Don’t lie to me,” I told her, “or you'll end up in the gas chamber.” She bit her wrist. “I—I don’t un- derstand.”’ He’s my TRACED a line from the dead man’s heels toward a connecting door. ‘Look. See the way the nap of the rug is scuffed. He’s been dragged through that door from the other room. Who’s in there?” “Nobody.” She bit it out too quick- ly. “You must be mistaken.” I walked over to the door, but be- fore I could reach it, she had rushed in front of me, her eyes frantic, blocking my path. She plucked at my coat and said desperately : “Please, believe me. He was killed in here. Don’t go into that room. You’ve got to—” I thrust her to one side gently and grabbed the doorknob. I didn’t get a chance to pull the door open because it opened in my face. I stood planted solidly on both feet and let out a whistle. “Tom!” I exclaimed. His eyes were like two pools of flame. He glared at me, his jaw mus- cles bunched whitely. ‘“‘What are you doing here?” he de- manded. “I just walked in,” I told him, “to check up on Miss Parkhurst. Seeing —29 it’s you, Tom, I’m not acting wise about my answers. I’m working for her father.”’ “Spying,” he growled. “Doing a job.” “All right, you’ve seen enough. Get out.” I said quietly ; ““You’re scared, Tom, or you wouldn’t talk like that. You’re in trouble and people in trouble are my racket. I’m going to help you for two reasons, You’re an old friend, and I’ve already been paid by old man Parkhurst.” Slowly, the fire in Tom’s eyes sim- mered, then died. He loosened, relaxed, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his mouth. “Sorry, Bill. This is such a hell of a mess I don’t know what I’m saying.” “Good. Now let’s get to business. What’s this room next door?” “That’s my room. I had the one next to Carla’s reserved.” “Why 9? “Because—” He glanced at her and she nodded. “‘You see,” he continued, “I’ve known Carla about four months. I work for her dad. We’ve been seeing a lot of each other, secretly. We were married a couple of days ago, but we were afraid to break the news. This was to be sort of a business trip and honeymoon combined.” I didn’t bother offering congratula- tions. I jerked my thumb at the corpse. “This fellow, Diehl, he was killed in your room then?” Vag”? “What was he doing in there?” “T don’t know, Bill.” “Didn’t you let him in?” “No” “Where were you?” “IT was in here with Carla. The connecting door was closed.” “Did you hear the shot?” I asked. Tom shook his head. “That’s what’s so puzzling. We didn’t hear a thing. I just walked into my room and there he was on the floor.” I chewed on that for a minute. “The gun may have had a silencer. That’s COMIC OO® S ©