10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

Ape —~ a _* 5 eae — S department, or to you personally ?” SATAN SEARCH WARRANT———_—_—_——_——_08 tact with Elkins, that you know of?” “Murro,” said Durban. “Rafael Murro, down en the third floor. Mur- ro was Billy’s lawyer when they put him away last year. Did a good job of getting him off with that sentence.” “You figure maybe he’d have rung Murro’s bell when nobody answered yours?” Durban shrugged. “Well, I’ll ask Murro anyway,” said Ben. “Anybody else?’ “Frank Hoberg. Used to do a little business with Billy, or so I’ve heard. Don’t quote me on it.” Big Ben didn’t ask what kind of business. Hoberg was a fence; he knew that. Instead he asked, “What about Mit- zie, Billy’s wife? Know what she’s doing (ately or where she stays?” “T don’t,” said Durban. “She came to see me just after Billy got sent up. She wanted a job as a cigarette girl at the club, and i gave it to her. She was a good kid and I didn’t figure I should take it out on her just because Billy was a rat. She held*the job for— let’s see—maybe eight months, and then quit. I haven’t seen her since.” “Say why she was quitting?” “fT wasn’t there the night it hap- ~ pened, but she had a ~blow-up with Tony about something or other. She said she had a better job offered her anyway and walked out.” “Job or proposition? Or could you guess odd : | “Tf don’t know. Far as I know—up to four months ago anyway—she was still carrying a torch for Billy.” “Who'd know where she is now?” Ben asked. “Murro might. As Billy’s lawyer, ‘he ought to know.” “Thanks,” said Ben. “I'll go see him, By the way, is blackmail still a sideline with Murro, or has it crowd- ed his law practice into the back- ground by now?” “J wouldn’t know,” said Durban. “He never had anything on me. Shall I send the bill for a new rug to the Oe “Send it to Cap Rogers,” said Ben. “He sent me out in this tonight. And split with me if he pays; it hurts me more than it does your rug. Well, so long.” OING back dewn to the lobby, Ben studied the rows of mail- boxes, confirming what Durban had told him—6-A, above Durban, was vacant—7-A, above that, was labeled Frank Hoberg. But that couldn’t mean anything in particular. You couldn’t get into 7-A from the empty apart- ment below it with knotted sheets; not unless you could do the Hindu rope trick. He went back in—he’d left the deor ajar with a pencil stuck in to keep it from closing—and took the elevator up to the sixth, iverything in 6-A seemed to be on the up-and-up. Three sheets had been yanked off the bed. Knotted together, they were tied to the heavy faucet fix- ture of the bathtub, which was right under the airshaft window. Someone had pulled them back inside, but hadn’t untied them. They were still wet. He opened the window and leaned out to iook down. Couldn’t see any- thing down there, but then there’d be nothing to see anyway. The body was taken away and the rain that was now running down the back of his neck had washed away any stains. He closed the window, and went down to 3-B. Rafael Murro let him in without any evidence of pleasure at seeing him. “About Billy Elkins,” said Big Ben. ‘‘When’d you see him last?” -“Rew weeks ago,” Murro told him. “At the jail. [ kept in touch with him, of course.” “When’d you see his wife last?” “Last week, I believe.” “‘Where’s she living and what’s she doing?” : Murro said, “She’s staying at the Indiana Hotel—or was then. I don’t know what she’s doing. That’s none of my business.” —