10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

CORPSE BEHIND THE 8 BALL TSD ED LATTA smiled agreeably, and Phil said: “I was watching you, Mr. Latta. Saw you make a nice catch. Wonder it didn’t crack your hand open, not wearing any glove.” Mrs. Seymour made a little sound in her throat, like a gasp that got caught halfway. But then she smiled. “Ted is used to it,” she said. “Yes, you get used to it,” agreed Latta. “It stings a little, that’s all. Somethiny in the way you do it, too. You make the catch with an away- from-the-ball motion.” “Something like baseball,” said Phil. “But it was nice work. Say, I saw you talking to a guy I’ve seen somewhere.” Latta said: “Who?” “His name’s Bellowe. He has a gir! with him.” “Bellowe?” said Latta. “Oh, yes. Bellowe and his sister.” “From St. Louis, aren’t they?” “Ves.” “Know them pretty well?” Ted Latta said: “In a way. I’ve never been to St. Louis, and Bellowe has never been here before. His brother, Paul, went to Oxford when I did, years ago.” “You mean,” Phil said, “you knew about Paul’s brother and sister, but never saw them before?” “Not before today.” Latta was quite placid about it, but Mrs. Seymour moved a little. Latta said: ‘That re- minds me. I told Bellowe I’d meet him in the clubhouse for a drink.” Mrs. Seymour did not watch Ted Latta as he strode away, and Phil said: “Nice fellow, that Ted Latta.” “Ted?” she said indifferently. ‘Oh, yes. Good fielder. Very good batsman, too.” “How do things stand now?” in- quired Phil. Mrs. Seymour glanced across at the scoreboard alongside the scoring box. She said: ‘‘It shows that the Tun- bridge Green eleven have scored 173 runs for eight wickets. Eight men out, two more wickets to fall.” —49 “But I thought there were eleven to a side?” | “There are. But, as you may have noticed, there are two men at bat at the same time, one at each wicket. When the tenth man is out, the elev- enth is out automatically.” “Like a man left on base,” sug- gested Phil. “Much the same.” “It shouldn’t take very long,” Phil said, “to get two more men out, should it?” “Probably not. The bottom of the batting list is usually weak. The Tun- bridge eleven will no doubt be through with their inning fifteen or twenty minutes after lunch. Then, after half an hour’s intermission, Woodford Wells will go to bat.” Phil said: “I suppose Ted Latta will take his turn early?” “No,” said Mrs. Seymour, “Ted is our best batsman, but he’s put half- way down the list, so that he can start a rally if necessary.” “Like baseball?” “Quite.” ELL, that would mean that Ted Latta would not be going to bat for about two hours—perhaps, after lunch—and most of that time he would be idle, nothing to do. Mrs. Seymour had been helpful. But Phil felt that the woman was not as quiet, inside of her, as her manner. There was something stirring in her, all right. Mrs. Seymour leaned back, and Phil knew that she was taking a sus- tained look at him. Her voice came to him quietly: “Are you really so in- terested in this game? I mean, are you anxious to stay for the finish?” “Oh, not especially,” Phil said. “Good!”’ She leaned forward again. “T came out with Ted Latta, but I do want to get back to town. Would it be asking too much of you to drive me in—now?” “It might be a good idea,” said Phil. Yes, it might be a good idea. Mrs. COMIC OO® cS CO