10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

PLAYGIRL OF DESTINY Then his numbed brain realized that he had turned out the light before he had gone to sleep. His faculties snapped alert. He lay with eyes closed, his ears strained. There was no sound, but he sensed that some one was in the room. He chanced a look. The voice was sardonic and edged. “Don’t play doggo, snooper. Snap out of it!” Jim looked up. He stared into the muzzle of a menacing pistol barrel, and noted that the finger was white in pressure against the trigger. Jim’s eyes traveled up a cheap, gray suit, to a young and desperate face. The long jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles worked in a steady rolling motion beneath the skin. The lips were thin and tight and the nostrils of the straight nose flared in sup- pressed anger. The eyes were black and deep, with a dangerous glint, A good looking guy, Jim thought, if he wasn’t so mad. He slowly sat up, carefully keep- ing his hands above the covers. “You’re Paul Walker,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone and yawned. The man looked startled. “Yes, Il am. And you're the heel that Bradley Shenckl’s using to put me away on a kidnaping charge.” Jim scratched his tousled head. “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe I’m just try- ing to find out what really happened.” He looked around and grinned at the angry young man. “Mind if I get my cigarettes?” He didn’t wait for consent. Slowly and carefully he pushed back the cov- ers and swung his feet to the floor. He fished in his vest for the pack and matches and coolly lit a smoke while Paul Walker watched, the deadly flick- er playing constantly in his eyes. Jim exhaled deeply. “So I’m the big bad wolf, eh?” Walker’s voice was flat with cer- tainty. “You’re Bradley Shenckl’s wolf. That mealy-mouthed bandit would do anything to keep me away from Ruth.” Jim leaned forward to empty his ashes in a tray on the plain bureau. “You were with Ruth the night of the kidnaping.” “That proves nothing!’ Walker said vehemently. For a brief instant the gun barrel wavered. Jim flung the full ash tray directly at Walker’s head. Gray particles flew cloudlike into the man’s face. He threw himself back- ward, stumbled, and clawed vainly at his eyes. Jim stepped in, catlike, and the edge of his hand cracked down on Walker’s wrist. The gun flew from his fingers and bounced on the rug. Jim had it. He sat down on the bed until Walker’s wild motions stopped and he stood rubbing his eyes, his face smeared with tears and ashes. “Better sit down,” Jim suggested. “‘I have you covered.” He guided Walker to a chair. “If you quit rubbing, your eyes will stop hurting in a little while.” Walker cursed bitterly. “Well, you’ve got me. Turn me over to the police.” “Why?” Jim asked. The blinded, dirty face turned up in amazement. “You were anxious enough that you wouldn’t let Ruth call to warn me.” ; “Oh, that. I thought the police should have an even break. I see she told you my room number.” Jim’s voice hardened. “‘You’d better answer some questions, Walker, and make the answers good. You were with Miss Miller when she was kidnaped?” | The man groaned. “That again! So what? We have dates, when she can slip away from that uncle of hers. I’m the fall guy because I happen to be with her.” | Jim carefully placed the gun close beside him on the bed. “‘Not neces- sarily. Maybe you were unlucky. But how come I get shot at tonight from a car bearing your license plates? Two plus two, Mr. Walker, can sometimes equal a number of things.” ALKER tentatively blinked open his watery eyes. His voice was sullen. “It was my car! And the COMIC OO® S CO