10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

50—_—_—___———_-_———-10-STORY DETECTIVE Seymour wanted to get him away from here. And Phil thought it might be better if Mrs. Seymour was away from there, so she couldn’t talk to anyone else. They got up and walked away. Phil wondered if Lucile was around and could see him. Anyhow, it probably wouldn’t make any differ- ence to her—not now. They reached Phil’s car. Phil knew this country between here and town pretty well. He drove toward town, but took a side road. Mrs. Seymour dida% seem to mind. He ran out of gas et a spot well out in the country. That was pretty old, but he couldn’t think of a new one at the moment. “Why, Mr. Massen!” murmured Mrs. Seymour. “Sorry,” Phil said, taking his keys. “I think there’s a filling station a mile or two across country. Ill walk it. You just stay here.” Mrs. Seymour pouted, but said nothing. Phil walked across country. There was a filling station. He knew the lad who operated it. He said: “Harry, let me use your car.” “Sure,” said the young man. Phil drove back to the cricket grounds. The Tunbridge Green eleven were out now. The members of both teams were loafing during the intermission. Phil stood in the small open field near the entrance which was used as a parking lot and surveyed the build- ings. He observed again that the only building which was at all secluded was the toolhouse, with that group of willows surrounding it. There were no other trees on the grounds, except for a line of willows which ran thinly from the back of the toolhouse past the backs of the clubhouses. Then he saw Ed Beach. The little plumber was squatting on the ground, off by himself, near the scoreboard. Phil recalled that Beach was supposed to be watching Roger Bellowe. He was watching, all right, but not Bellowe. Beach’s vest- button eyes were on Ted Latta, and Latta was just entering the gents’ clubhouse with the cricket captain from Chicago, Carsen. Phil could see Bellowe, too. He was with Lucile, near the ladies’ cltib- house. It would be nice, Phil thought, to ask Bellowe a few questions, but he knew they wouldn’t be answered. It would also be nice to do certain other things to Bellowe, like taking him apart, inch by inch. Phil approached Beach from behind and said: ‘‘What’s doing ?”’ “Huh?” Beach looked up, startled. “Aw, it’s you. Why, nothing.” HIL MASSEN squatted beside the little plumber. “You haven't found out why Carsen wants you to watch Bellowe?” he asked curiously. “Naw.” Phil said confidentially : “Well, I’ve got an idea about that!” Beach’s knees jerked. “Huh!” “Yes, sir. I’ve been nosing around, Beach. You were right. Carsen’s up to something! There’s a lot of dough involved in this game!” “Dough!” “About fifty thousand bucks!” Phil told the little man about the wager between the two clubs. ‘See how it is? Say, one of them makes three hun- dred runs and the other only two hun- dred, that means the losing team has to dig up ten thousand bucks more than the winning team!” Ed Beach was excited. He stuck his knuckles into his mouth. But he was puzzled, too, and in a few mo- ments he removed his hand and said: “Well, I heard something about that bet, but nobody figures— Say, you mean maybe Carsen is trying to get someone on the home team to throw the game?” ‘Could be.” “Fifty thousand bucks!” muttered Beach. “There are things going on,” Phil said. “Wish I could follow it, but I’ve got to blow. Call from the office.” comicaoolk (©