10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

46-—__—_—_—_—_—_—_—_———_———10-STORY DETECTIVE— “I still don’t see any trouble in it for you,” Phil said. Beach waved his hands. “Well, I don’t know. It just smells bad. Me, I want my dough, so I’m sticking around. But it was my idea to get my- self in the clear with you, that’s all.”’ This little guy Beach, Phil thought, is smart, in his way. On the other hand, it might be a clumsy stall, something he’d had to think up fast. If he was telling the truth, the obvi- ous thing to do was to keep close to the captain of the visiting team, Car- sen. Phil got up. He said: “Okay. If you get anything more, I’]] be around.” He walked out of the clubhouse. -Coming up the clubhouse steps was Mr. Lowther. “Ah,” said Mr. Lowther, “I was just looking for you.” Mr. Lowther did not look shocked, perhaps because nothing could make him loo«x that way. But something had happened. Phil said: “I’m listening.” “I want you to look, not listen,” said Mr. Lowther. “Kindly come with me.” He silently led the way past the rear of the ladies’ clubhouse to the small building beyond. Its one door was at the back. “This,” explained Mr. Lowther, “‘is the tool and supply house.” He looked around, as if to see that there was no one else present. ‘‘Please step in quickly, Mr. Massen.” Phil stepped in and Mr. Lowther followed and closed the door. Inside was a sizable room, pretty well filled with lawn rollers, mowers, garden tools, grass fertilizers and miscel- laneous supplies. A iarge front window overlooked the playing field, although a few trees somewhat obscured the view. HIL had seen a good many dead men. Sometimes it bothered him, sometimes not; it depended on who it was. This time it depressed him un- til he could feel a slight thumping in his stomach. He recognized the man on the floor, below the front win- dow. It was the short plump pleasant- faced man in working clothes, the one who had first directed him to Mr. Lowther. = Mr. Lowther said: “This is Hen- derson. He was our groundsman. A good man and a hard worker. A few minutes ago I wanted to ask him something, didn’t see him anywhere, and finally came here looking for him.” “I suppose,” said Phil, “this would be a natural place to look for him.” “Not usually,” Mr. Lowther said. “That is, not on a day when there’s a game on. He rarely came in here during a game, unless he had to get a tool for cleaning up.” Phil, down on his knees, was look- ing at Henderson. There wasn’t much of a mess: A sharp hard blow against the left temple had done it. A heavy iron-headed mallet was lying near him. Phil got up, poked around, looked about, moodily. The large front window was a few feet from the corner to the left, not in the center of the wall. There was another window, a small one, in the left wall, catercorner from the: front one. The large front window was closed. The small left one was open. Phil examined each window. The same make. Sash windows. Heavier than average. Phil pushed up the bottom section of the front window. It came hard, took some working. He did not hold it, and it crashed down. The on alongside had been cut. Mr. Lowther had been following Phil closely. He said: “Queer thing about that rope, too.” Phil nodded. He had seen the rope. Not the window cord, but a somewhat larger rope which had been fastened to a nail driven into the top of the window’s lower section. The rope was about ten feet long, and it trailed along the floor, apparently without Conn (Cc NOOK (©