10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

12—______—_———10-STORY DETECTIVE : Esterly had her here. What’d you do with her?” Ashes said soberly, “Kidnaped.” Hartzell spat. ‘‘Cripes, you guys are Gestapo. If I don’t see that girl by six tonight—” Ashes ducked out. He expected a tail and he wouldn’t have blamed Lieu- tenant Hartzell for doing what he could. But either Hartzell was re- signed or he figured no tail could hang onto Ashes Bly for long. Ashes went over to the Carlton Ho- tel and found the number of the room Cobina Jones had registered in. He went up and said softly outside the door: “It’s me, Tony. Open up.” A young, tweed-clad man opened the door, glared. “She calmed down?” Ashes asked. “Damned little,” said Tony Ross. “Don’t ride her.” “T won’t—not a redhead,” Ashes said, and went into the bedroom and said, ‘Hi, Cobina,” to Marin Moerly. She didn’t answer. She was a mess, eyes red-rimmed, make-up streaked. “You’ve got to talk sooner or later,” Ashes said. ““We may as well rehearse. You, Tony, start the ball. You’re an old friend of mine, but you’re also a reporter. If you hold out on me, I'll gently fry you in printer’s ink.” The quiet raillery of Ashes’ words made them more impressive than slashes of a rubber hose. He said quickly to Ma- rin, “You trust Tony ?” ‘“‘Why—’” Her green eyes got doubt- ful. “Tony, did you see Uncle Mike that Tuesday night—” “Marin! You don’t believe—” “Did you see him?” Askes cut tn. “Yes,” snapped Tony Ross. “I saw him in his private office about eleven- thirty. I—never mind!” ‘Tn your hat, Tony,” Ashes drawled. Tony Ross was a thin-faced rather handsome lad with a clean jaw and brown eyes and close-crepped yellow hair. Now, he hardened. “So this ig where we stop being friends, Ashes,” he said tightly. “Tony!” Marin sat up. Tony Ross said sullenly, “I guess I’m supposed to be the last one saw M.M. alive that Tuesday night. Did you see him next day, Marin?” “No,” said the girl. “I was flying West to see an old college chum. I left early Wednesday morning, so I didn’t go into Uncle Mike’s room.” She shud- dered. “M.M. was in some kind of lather,” Tony Ross said. ‘““He—well, he was in a lather. It wasn’t the first time he’d holed up somewhere and sent his copy in by messenger, but on account of—” Tony faltered. He was perspiring. He was trying to tell a connected story to explain his suspicions, but he was re- luctant to give the facts that would bolster up the connections. “Honest, Ashes,” he said finally, “I can’t tell you any more. I’ve helped you so far. Hell, didn’t I tell you Ma- rin was arriving at La Guardia and that the best way you could get to M.M. was by following her?” “I’m going to ramble,” Ashes said. “If I don’t get in touch with you by six o’clock, take Marin to Lieutenant Hartzell. I’m only giving her a breath- ing spell.” “Thanks, Ashes.” “Oh, no,” Ashes said. “That about frying you still goes. I’m just giving you a breathing spell, toa....” SHES BLY hit the street in front of the Carleton Hotel—and a vio- lent expletive hit him. It seemed scarcely possible that such a roaring sound could come from such a little man. But it did. The rabbity little man who had been at the airport was a half block down the street when he spied Ashes. He opened his mouth and beliowed. “You louse!” Ashes dived for the taxicab. Un- doubtedly, the newspaper story of the murder had sent the little man to Braxton Chambers. There he’d learned in which direction Ashes had started and had plodded doggedly in pursuit. Ashes chuckled as he gunned the cab. He cocked his fingers to his nose Conmmiclool C©