10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

HOT SEAT DOUBLE-CROSSER “Make it brief,” Devon grunted. “The doorbell rang, three long and a short,” Prost continued, “soon after we'd started working. Bracker had a secret system of signals identifying visitors. He had me wait in the library across the hall while he went to the door. Curious, I left the door open an inch, heard him say, ‘Oh, helto. I in- tended seeing you in the morning.’ The visitor laughed, said, ‘I’ve a knack of calling at the right moment.’ I elosed the door then, heard them go into the study seconds later. “T worked on some notes I’d taken with me until I thought I heard some one leave the study ten minutes later. I looked in the hallway soon after, saw the study door open and went inside. Bracker was slumped in a chair, the paperknife thrust through his heart. The safe door was open. I remembered then that Bracker had placed fifty thousand dollars in there that morn- ing. “Dan Smiley was running for State’s District Attorney and Bracker was secretly backing him. The money was for campaign funds. I never learned for sure, but had a hunch Bracker held something over Smiley. He wanted one of his puppets In of- fice.” “Get back to the murder,” Devon prompted. “I went over to check the safe, found the money gone. The butler came in then with Bracker’s usual ten o’clock tea. He looked at me queerly and muttered, ‘So you’ve killed him!’ I remembered the row earlier then, and something else. While talking with Bracker, I’d toyed carelessly with the paperknife. “Realizing I was in a tight spot, I knocked the butler down when he rushed to grab me and ran out. I man- aged to get out of town safely and after several weeks drifting and hid- ing, my appearance changed a little, I came here. I'd a knowledge of print- ing and bought a small business cheap. Until I saw Sansen waiting outside to- night, I thought I was safe.” 87 “Bracker’s visitor—you didn’t rec- ognize his voice?’ Devon inquired sharply. Prost—or Austin—shook his head. “No.” A quick gleam lit his faded eyes, “I’ve waited four years to hear it again. When and if I ever do, I shall recognize it.” 66 OU thought Bracker had some- thing on Smiley,” the Blood- hound Reporter said thoughtfully. “Smiley could have rubbed him out on account of that, taken the fifty grand, seeing how Bracker intended him to have it.” “It wasn’t Smiley’s voice,” Prost said wearily. “And Dan dropped out of the running for D.A. a week later, leaving the field open for the new- comer, Martin Wyndell. No, Dan seemed to go to pieces after Bracker’s death. Neglected his practice, sold his house, and finally moved into the poorer district altogether. Sure, I sus- pected him at first, kept close tab on him through the papers.” “Smiley’s chances in the election, were they good?” Devon asked abruptly. Prost smiled weakly. “He’d have walked in. Wyndell, his opponent, was practically unknown. I’d never seen the man myself. In fact, I haven’t seen him yet.” The Bloodhound Reporter drove in thoughtful silence, the germ of an idea crawling through his brain. Fantastic, but—he grinned sardonically. His work thrived on fantastic ideas. Six minutes later, he braked im front of the small dingy apartment block where Prost roomed. “Hurry. Get what you need before the police arrive,” he told the printer. “Leave by the rear. Joey and I will be in the back lane with the car.” “What are you planning to do with me?” Prost demanded unsteadily. “If you attempt to turn me over to—” “They'll be here to take you them- selves if you don’t move fast,’’ Devon said impatiently. “I want you and COMICOO® S C©