10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

—$ $$ ———KNIFE-MAN’S NEMESIS leaned against the mantel of the huge fireplace, looking uncomfortable. Irene retreated defensively to his side and he put his arm around her. Her blue eyes glared defiance at O’Hare. “Well, why don’t you say some- thing?” she screamed _ suddenly, “Haven't I got a right to live my own life? Haven’t I—” “Sure, sure,” O’Hare said soothing- ly. “We just wanted to make sure you were all right. Come on, Molly, we'll be going.” Turning toward the door, he caught the glint of light from the groom’s polished nails as Redford combed his fingers through his blond hair. Then O’Hare saw something else and whirled. “Let me see your knife, Redford,” he said softly. A blur of motion put Redford be- hind Irene, one arm clasping her in a tight embrace. O’Hare had never be- fore seen a man move so incredibly fast. His own hand streaked to his hip, froze there as he saw the point of the long, gleaming knife at Irene’s neck. The guy must have had it in his sleeve all the time, waiting for some- thing like this. Irene’s eyes were wide and blank, as though her mind was unable to comprehend the monstrous thing that was happening to her. Her jaw dropped a little, but otherwise she was rigidly erect. _ Molly screamed behind O’Hare and then he heard a dull thud, indicating she had fainted dead away. Redford’s face was twisted, terrible. The mania to murder was there in his eyes and O’Hare expected at any mo- ment to see the killer start frothing at the mouth. “Teave the gun alone, copper! Do I have to tell you what happens to her if you get any ideas?” He certainly didn’t have to tell O’Hare. The horrible picture was al- ready there in O’Hare’s mind, and the killer was crouched behind Irene. He stood in such a manner as to pre- sent the smallest possible target, even 73 if O’Hare could get the automatic out and snap off the safety and get a slug away before the knife was driven home in Irene’s neck. Sick with fear, O’Hare let his hand fall away from the gun. Irene snapped out of it suddenly. “Frank!” she screamed. “Oh, Frank! What are you doing?” “Shut up!’ he snarled, drawing the point of the knife along her neck. O’Hare saw the blood bead up out of the shallow cut, saw Irene stiffen again as terror drew the white skin tight over her face. 66 ET over there!” Redford indi- cated the wall telephone with a slight inclination of his head. ‘Call the main lodge and have them send a car down here. I’m trading you her life for mine!” “How do I know you'll keep your word ?”’ O’Hare asked hoarsely. The killer snickered. “That’s the chance you'll have to take!” O’Hare knew it wasn’t any chance at all. He’d kill her sure, now, to pay them back for trapping him like this. She was as good as dead already. They were bargaining over a corpse. But however infinitesimal her chance might be, she had to have it. O’Hare ordered the car. His mind be- gan to work at a furious pace, weigh- ing every possibility. The knife at Irene’s throat said the odds were a million to one against her if he tried to jump Redford. Then Redford was backing slowly toward the door, Irene’s terrorized feet automatically matching his steps. The point of the knife was pressed even deeper into her neck. O’Hare let his eyes flick to Molly, lying so white and still on the floor. He was thankful she had fainted. She, at least, was being spared the horror of this mad scene, She lay with one leg curled back under her, her purse gripped tightly in one hand. Redford had spotted her position, was backing carefully around her to- ward the door. comicadoolk CO