10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

4 know he was here just now, because we caught him. Someone really should burn for poor old—” “Okay, okay,” whined Beach. “I know when I’m stuck. Sure, it’s the way you got it doped. But that way you got nothing on me. I ain’t done nothing you can take me for.” Mr. Lowther smiled sourly. “I think we ean fix up some sort of medicine for you—but not as bitter as you deserve. Defacing private property will do to start with. And your mere presence constitutes a pub- lic nuisance.” Phil said: “I'll have to notify the office.” He brought out steel brace- lets, used them on Beach, and used the rone to hitch him to a post. “It might be good for him to be left alone with Henderson for a while.” Mr. Lowther and Ted Latta agreed, and they left the toolhouse, walked toward the gents’ clubhouse. Mr. Lowther said: “There’s not much we can do, I’m afraid, to this private detective fellow, Jack Lowe.” “Maybe not,” Phil agreed. “And the girl who was working with him, passing herself off as his sister,’ Mr. Lowther went on. ‘‘She’s culpable, morally, but that’s all. I might be able to develop some minor charge—” “There they are!” cut in Latta. ACK LOWE, alias Roger Bellowe, was walking fast. He had Lucile by the arm. They were hurrying to- ward his car. Phil reached the car first, a second or two ahead of the others. Jack Lowe’s streamlined face was somewhat bruised, but it made a half smile. “So you’re the law!” he said to Phil. “Okay. But the lady and I . are leaving. You got nothing to stop us with.” “A dead man,” said Phil, enough to stop anyone.” Lowe’s smile faded into the bruises. “A dead man! I don’t, know anything about any stiff.” Phil was looking, for a moment. ‘sig 1IOSTORY DETECT LVL at Lucile. Her eyes were very bright, and her color deepened. “You’re being just mean,” she said with quiet anger. “Just making a per- sonal issue of it.” “Young lady, you’re in bad com- pany, and you’re probably just as evil as your company.” Mr. Lowther was courteous, even when he was being hard. “Mr. Massen is right. There is a dead man in the toolhouse. He was a workingman, poor, but he was a sportsman and a man of honor. He was killed as an incident in a vicious scheme to commit a cruel crime—a scheme in which you had a part.” Phil was still watching Lucile. Yes, she knew now. Mr. Lowther was very convincing. She was looking beautiful, but she was looking pretty sad, too. Phil laughed, He said: “Okay, Lu- cile. We can drop the curtain now. The show’s over!” For a moment the silence was pro- found, and Mr. Lowther said: “Just | what do you mean, sir?” “Lucile is an old sidekick of mine,” said Phil. “She tips me off when anything comes her way that looks shady.” “You mean,” said Mr. Lowther, “this young lady has been working with you?” “Of course. How else could I have run this thing down?” | Mr. Lowther said: “Splendid!’”? The old gentleman looked quite relieved. “I don’t see how I could have as- sociated such beauty with an ugly enterprise.”” He turned to Ted Latta, reprovingly. “You should have known better, too, Ted.” Ted Latta chuckled. “So far as I’m concerned,” he said, “the beauty car- ries its own pardon.” Phil tu-ned just as Jack Lowe made a dash for his car. Phil caught up with him. Lowe swung about and a gun was coming out of his pocket. Phil swung fast. The contact sounded like the crack of a hard-hit ball. “Dear Lord!” murmured Mr. Low- ther, admiringly. “What a sockdolo- ger!” Conn Ghook (©