10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

72 line. Only you won’t find nobody there.” ) “Why ? “Cause it burned down tonight, that’s why!” she said triumphantly. “Burned—down!” It hit O’Hare with a sickening jolt. He died a little inside himself then, as he would never die again. “Did they— Were there any bodies?” “Naw, I don’t think so,” the hippy brunette said. Then, hopefully, as though the idea appealed to her mor- bid mind: “Say, there might have been, though! Them ashes was too hot to kick around through. I wonder— Hey !”? This last as O’Hare shouldered past her to the telephone on the wall. The phone, he knew from his own visit, was connected with a switch- board in the main lodge. “That couple in number twelve!” he yelled into the transmitter. “Where are they?” | “I’m not deaf!’ the operator said indignantly. “Mr. and Mrs. Redford were moved into cabin number thir- teen.” “Thirteen?” O’Hare groaned. “Thir- teen!” He didn’t even bother to hang up the phone. Whipping out of the cabin, he yelled, “C’mon!” to Molly and streaked down the path. Of shuddered as he passed the glowing embers of cabin twelve, but he took heart from the fact Irene had been alive when they were moved to the new cabin. Then, realizing the fire had taken place hours before, he sped on, carrying an ever increasing load of terror. Coming out of the woods suddenly, he stared at the forbidding darkness ‘of cabin thirteen. Somewhere behind him he could hear Molly running. Off to the right, the waves of the lake made a low, booming sound. A bull- frog’s plaintive croak came out of the -distance. The cabin was_ utterly, frighteningly silent. Moving swiftly across the clearing, O’Hare knocked at the door. He 10-STORY DETECTIVE whirled at a sound behind him, saw it was only Molly, panting for breath. From the cabin—nothing. O’Hare rapped again, frantically this time. He backed off a little. preparatory to ramming the door with his shoulder. Then he saw the couple come out of the woods on the opposite path. For a moment he couldn’t believe it was Irene standing there, the moon- light glinting softly through her golden hair. “Tom!” Irene cried. “And Molly! How did you get here?” There was surprise in her voice, but no particu- lar welcome. She ran across the clear- ing. She had the key in her hand and she unlocked the door, switched on the light. She asked them in, but she was plainly resentful of their pres- ence. Redford, who lagged behind, came in then. “This is my husband, Frank Red- ford,” Irene introduced. She said it with a lot of pride. Then: “Frank, this is my brother Tom, and his girl friend, Molly Donovan.” Redford stuck out a hand, but he, too, was frankly displeased. He mum- bled a “pleastameecha” which prob- ably meant just the opposite. O’Hare could see no trace of the magnetic per- sonality Saunders had talked about. And, as Molly had said, the guy’s hair was blond. It was one of those colors man has never been able to duplicate with bleaches and bottled dyes, and there was no mistaking its genuineness. O’Hare stood there a long moment, taking Redford apart with his eyes, weighing possibilities. Something tickled the back of his mind, then burst into thought with an emphatic force, Redford walked without the slightest trace of a limp! Molly had been right. This wasn’t the murderer. O’Hare let out a long sigh. He was too happy for the mo- ment to be resentful of the fact he’d come all the way up here on a wild goose chase. Redford moved across the room and CON (Cc NOOK (©