10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

—_—_____—_—_CORPSE BEHIND THE 8 BALL—_—_——————-4] Investigator Massen’s girl friend had a job with a glamour wy. girl escort outfit. But Massen’s suspicions were aroused when b her date took her to a club where they played cricket—with corpses. Phil Magsen. His own assignment. Strictly personal. Nothing to do with the D.A. This was a day off for him. Phil was down on the books at the D.A.’s office as a special investigator, but Lucile always said that that was hokum, that he was just a plain lug of a detective. The man and the girl across the street stood and talked for a few mo- ments. Then the man lifted his hat, got in a taxi and was gone. Phil crossed the street. The girl smiled and said: “Good morrow, my darling.” Phil grunted, took her arm and marched her down to the nearest cof- fee shop. The girl said cheerily: “It’s a bright morning, darling. Why look so glum?” Phil scowled. The scowl! didn’t hurt his looks much. He was young enough himself—not yet thirty—and his lean boyish face went well with his tall spare figure. “It’s ten o’cloek,” he said. “Fen in the morning. Isn’t it a little unusual for you to be on the job in the morn- ing?” “Tt’s an unusual job,” the girl said. Phil knew that. It was an unusual girl, too. Lucile worked for the Glamour Girl Escort Supply Service. Well, she was glamorous enough. Five feet seven of lineal delight. Dark eyes and scarlet lips that rocked a man’s senses. A voice that soothed and dis- turbed at the same time. She had no business working for an escort service. Phil had said so a thousand times, But it was queer what a stalwart will a girl could have —a girl like Lucile, UCILE had her own argument. “It’s like this, darling,’”’ she had said. “There’s Beatrice. My little sis- ter. She and I were brought up wrong —too much money. Now we've got no dad, no mom, and no cash. I’ve got to take care of Beatrice. She’s differ- ent from me, I can rough it—I enjoy roughing it. Like my dad. But Beatrice is like mom was. She’s got to land in a soft spot. “She’s seventeen now, and I’ve got to keep her in that private school, got to keep her in the right crowd. In a couple of years she’ll be off my hands. She’s pretty, charming. She’ll get a rich husband.” “Rich husband!” Phil had exploded, “Blah!” “Now, you know rich husbands don’t interest me. Wouldn’t have one on a bet. But Beatrice is different. And there’s no other job I could make enough money at. You and I together couldn’t make enough at anything else, even if I’d take your money for Beatrice’s support—which I wouldn’t.” So that’s how it stood. And Phil stared glumly at Lucile. He said: “Well, something must be doing. You usually work at night. There are no night clubs open at this time of day.” Lucile sipped her coffee. ‘“T’ll tell you about it,” she said, “if you keep your hands off. Don’t go trailing me.” Phil threatened idly: “T’ll trail you if you don’t tell me. Ill interfere. I'll embarrass you. I’ll start a fight. Who’s the guy and what does he want?” Lucile smiled again. “‘Nice-looking, isn’t he? He has pleasant manners. And it’s a pleasant job. No night spots. It’s a day assignment. The man’s name is Roger Bellowe—” “How do you know?” “He said so. And he wants me to go with him to a cricket match.” “A what?” comicaoolk ©