10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

58———___—_—__—_——_-_——_10-STORY DETECTIVE “Tilly, boss, and don’t let the name fool you. I ain’t feminine.” He pushed out his barrel chest and his teeth flashed. Jim’s blue eyes crinkled in 8i- lent laughter as he walked up the drive. Jim could see Mr. Bradley Shenckl pacing up and down before the bright- ly lighted rectangle of the mansion’s wide doors. At the crunching sound of Jim’s footsteps on the gravel drive, the man turned and hurried down the steps. He was tall, with a loose-jointed gauntness that reminded Jim of Abe Lincoln. His face was as severe as a dyspeptic Puritan’s and his dark eyes sat deep under ridges of bone. His nose was a jutting challenge, relieved by the soft smiling lips and the cul- tured voice. He extended a large hand at the end of a gangling arm. “I’ve been wait- ing for you, Mr. Lillard. I can’t un- derstand why the insurance company should send an investigator.” “Routine,” Jim answered shortly. “T’d like to use your phone. I was at- tacked on the way out.” Shenckl drew back and genuine shock sounded in his voice. “Attacked ! But who—” “T intend to find out,” Jim said flat- ly. “Now if I could use the phone, Mr. Shenckl.”’ The big man turned abruptly and led the way into the house. He turned off the hall into a rich paneled library, lined to the high ceiling with books. He awkwardly motioned to a giant desk, covered with a mound of papers that half buried the squat, black hand- phone. He remained within earshot as Jim placed the call. Jim was brief and ex- plicit in his description of the attack and asked that the police contact him at the Shenckl estate. He replaced the phone and faced Bradley Shenck! be-. hind the desk. Under the lights the man’s face looked more gaunt than ever. The deep-set eyes stared disbelievingly. “This was a peaceful place, Mr. Lil- lard. Then my niece was kidnaped— and now an attempt was made on your life. I can’t understand it.” Jim sank into one of the deep leath- er chairs with’a sigh of relief. Reac- tion rode him hard and all of his mus- cles ached. He passed his slim hand over his eyes to brush the fog away. “You have placed a claim with the Commerce Casualty Company, Mr. Shenckl, in the amount of $100,000.” Shenckl sat deeper in his chair. “That's right. It’s the cash I had to pay the desperadoes who kidnaped my niece.” “That’s a large sum, Mr. Shenckl. Naturally, the company would like to recover if possible. I have been sent to investigate independently of local authorities and the FBI. You marked the ransom bills?” Shenckl’s chin set stubbornly. “No, Mr. Lillard. The ransom note warned against such an action. I wanted Ruth back alive.” OR a brief second Jim was angry, but his smooth face resumed its blandness. “You were too frightened, Mr. Shenckl. Has there been any clue as to the identity of the kidnapers?”’ Shencki picked up the phone. “T’ll have my niece down. She’ll be able to tell you all you want to know.” He spoke briefly into the phone and then leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his crooked fingers along his square chin. His soft voice was hesitant. “There is something I feel I should tell you, though my niece is quite certain I’m wrong about this man. It’s her friend, Paul Walker.” Jim looked up, his blue eyes round. “What about him?” Shenckl kept his eyes on the far wall. “Walker is a handsome fellow, too handsome. He doesn’t have any money and when Ruth comes of age, she will inherit my brother’s fortune. I don’t like to hint—”’ His voice died away. Jim was helpful. “Fortune hunter ?”’ he asked softly. comicbook (©