10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

-CORPSE BEHIND THE 8 BALL———————————_—-45 thing I can’t stand for. You know that. I won’t be seeing you again. I’m sorry.” Phil said: “Okay.” He was feeling very bitter. “Maybe you can get your- self a rich one, too.” He was sorry about that as soon as he had said it, especially when he saw the look on her face. He watched her join Bellowe, then strolled back to the gents’ clubhouse. It was time, he thought, for a drink. For a time, how- ever, he stood at the foot of the club- house steps and watched the game. This was cricket, not baseball; still, it was a game, and they used a bat and a ball. Any kind of a game—with a bat and a ball—was fascinating to Phil Massen. Presently he went in to the bar. The game was going on, down there on the field, but several men were lined up at the bar. Nice comfortable way of taking your sport, Phil thought. These fellows were inter- ested in the game, but, as it was played, they could take time out for a drink without losing track. So Phil had a drink. He had two drinks. The way he was feeling, he was good for several, but he heard a voice beside him. The voice was strange, and pitched low: “Have one on me, huh?” It was a little man, and Phil glanced down at him. Quite a little man, There were broad green stripes in his blue suit. His big-mouthed grinning face was impudently cheer- ful, and thoroughly crooked. “Don’t mind if I do,” Phil said. The little man squinted up at Phil, lowered his voice again. “Let’s get over to a table, huh? Got something to tell you.” They took their drinks to a corner table. The man leaned across the table. His eyebrows came down low, secre- tively, like his voice. ““You’re the law, ain’t you?” Phil stared. He said: “I like to know who I’m talking to.” “Why, sure,” said the man. “Sure. I’m Ed Beach. I’m from Chi. I ean al- ways tell a lawman. Well, I’ve got something for you! There’s stuff go- ing on!” “Okay, Beach. Let’s have it.” | BEACH of Chicago grinned. “Sure. I'll give you what I know, but that ain’t much. A guy named nae hired me to come here from hi.” “‘Who’s Carsen?” “He’s captain of the visiting team, a Chicago man,” ‘“‘What’s your job?” “I’m to watch a guy named Bel- lowe.” “Bellowe, huh? Why watch him?” Beach shrugged. “The way I get it, Carsen is up to some kind of a crooked job. This Bellowe knows him and is in the way. I’m to watch to see who Bellowe talks to.” Phil twirled his glass. “You mean that’s all you’re to do—just watch Bellowe?”’ “Vas,” “So you watch Bellowe. Then you contact Carsen?”’ “Sure. Every once in a while, when no one is looking, I see Carsen and tell him about Bellowe.” “And you don’t know why Carsen wants you to do this?” “I ain’t got an idea,” Beach said solemnly. Phil studied the little man. He said: “Carsen brings you here from Chi- cago to do a job for him. It looks like you can’t get into trouble just for watching a guy, so why tell me?” Beach ran the back of his hand over his mouth. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t like trouble. I’m a plumber, see?” He brought a union card out of his pocket, showed it to Phil. The card showed that Ed Beach was a member of the union in good standing. He put the card away again. “TI did some work for Carsen a few times, so he knows me. He offers me expense money and a hundred bucks to come on this job. Easy dough. Now I’m sorry. ' don’t like trouble.” Ccomicooolk ©