10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

710—_——_——____—__—_——_-10-STORY DETECTIVE necessarily mean the man was lame! But then his line of reasoning back- fired on him. Separately, perhaps, these items meant nothing, but put them together and you had a chain too strong for coincidence. And when you added the fact that it was de- cidedly unnatural for a man to take out insurance on his wife before the ink was dry on the marriage cer- tificate— Ow mind conjured up a vision, stark and real and ghast- ly, of Irene’s horribly mutilated body. He tried to blot it out by closing his eyes, but that only made it more vivid. And then another crushing thought. The murderer was certain he’d killed Saunders. But when he read the news- papers and found the little man had lived long enough to identify him, Irene’s life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel! He wouldn’t wait to collect insurance on her, couldn’t afford to, since her description would be an added hazard to him. The police themselves had doomed her when they sent out a general alarm for him! O’Hare groaned. He couldn’t put her description on the airlanes because that would only stack the cards against her more than they were stacked now. So he gathered up photo- graphs and snapshots of her and rushed down to headquarters, refusing to admit, even to himself, that she might already be dead. Two hours and two packages of cigarettes later he was back, gaunt- eyed, the worry lines deeply etched in his dark face. The skipper had as- signed a squad of men to him, trusted men who wouldn’t talk, They’d checked and double-checked. The elop- ing couple weren’t stopping at any of the hotels and they hadn’t taken a train or a bus. That meant they were traveling by automobile. O’Hare began to pace the floor, fumbling for another cigarette, heed- less of the fact that chain-smoking two packs of them had left his throat raw. He had to do something! He couldn’t just wait for a phone call from Irene that would probably never come! His mind was rusty with fear, but he forced it to churn out ideas which he discarded as fast as he thought them up. And then—inspiration ! Molly ! Molly was Irene’s best friend and if anyone knew where Irene had gone it would be Molly! The feeling became a certainty as he reached for the phone. He cursed his police-trained mind which had made him think of routine tracing first. Molly’s voice came over the wire in a low contralto. “Molly! Do you know where Irene is ; as “I’ve been waiting for you to call, darling.” Molly’s voice held a teasing note. “Of course I know where she is!” “Thank the Lord!” There was relief in his voice that that hurdle was past. Fear in it, too. Fear of what might happen before he could do anything about it. “Tell me! Hurry!” “Oh, no! Irene’s new husband is a shy sort of fellow and he didn’t want her to tell anyone where they were go- ing. He was very emphatic about it. But she’s only a girl after all so she couldn’t keep from telling me. But she made me promise—” “Molly! This is life and death!’ “Uh-huh. I’ve heard that one before, too. Now listen, Tom O’Hare! You needn’t think you can trick me into—” “Trick you?” O’Hare_ groaned. “You’re tricking her into her grave! She’s eloped with a madman, a killer! Can’t you understand that? A homi- cidal maniac! Surely you’ve heard the radio, seen the papers—” “Certainly I’ve seen them! So that doesn’t work, either. The papers say your killer has black hair. Irene’s hus- band is a blond!” O’Hare, muttering something about hair bleaches in a strangled voice, got the sudden full import of something she said. Irene’s new husband was emphatic about not wanting her to tell anyone where they were going! COMIC OO® S (©