10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

16—$—— —1OSTORY. DETECTIVE Ashes sat down again as Jakie came in with the drinks. “Your mail, sir,” said the Jap, handing Slainte a pile of letters and a package. Slainte grimaced. “Bills,” he said. “Snap it up,” Ashes pressed. 66 KAY, get out your nutshell,” Slainte said. “Tuesday night, two weeks ago, we all went to a shin- dig at the Sport Club—KEsterly, Marin Moerly, Katie Boyle, Tony Ross and a bunch of newspaper guys and gals. I saw Katie Boyle slip an envelope to Tony Ross. Then Ross made a phone call. He called M.M. Macollum. Then Ross went over to M.M.’s office and gave M.M. the envelope Katie had giv- en him.” “You’re guessing,” Ashes said. “No,” Slainte said. “I admit I did- n’t know what was happening then, but I found out later when I saw M.M. It was like this. Tony Ross came back to the Sport Club and told me M.M. wanted to see me. I’ll tell you what we talked about later. The point now is that I was followed when I went to M.M.’s office, and the person who fol- lowed me listened to what M.M. told me. And when I left this person went in and killed M.M.” “Who was it?” Ashes said. “And how can you be sure?” “Because I heard a noise in the outer office when I was with M.M.,” Slainte said. “I knew somebody was out there. So when I’d finished with M.M. and went out, I sneaked back and turned the tables. This time I listened. And I heard the murder take place. And I even opened the door and saw the killer hauling M.M.’s body out the back.” “Who?” Ashes asked tightly. “T’ll tell you if you give me a break,” Slainte said. “The reason I didn’t call the cops right away was because I wanted to see if Macollum Publica- tions would change their propaganda policy now that M.M. was dead. Be- sides, I wanted a scoop. I held off till I heard Marin Moerly was returning, then I gave the yarn to my paper. I figured the body would be cached in the bedroom somewhere and— You know, Bly, the motive for this kill will slay you.” “Yeh? said Ashes, Slainte grinned. “Yeh. I’m the mo- tive, Bly. Me, Mrs. Slainte’s little boy. See, I had something juicy on a cer- tain party. I admit I was bleeding this party. Finally, this party couldn’t pay any more. But it happened that this party knew something juicy about an- other party, get it?” “What a heel you are,” Ashes spat.. “Do you think—” Ashes broke off, looked at the package in Slainte’s nico- tine-stained fingers. “Hold it!” Ashes barked. “There are no stamps or postmark on that package.” Slainte’s little eyes went wide. He glanced at the package in his hand, hefted it. It wasn’t very big. It didn’t have to be. Rosie started to tremble. He started to hold the box away from him as if it would bite. Then, incredibly, he did the dumbest thing he could have done. Terror gripped him. He hauled back his arm and threw the box at the half open window. Ashes ducked. “Sap!” he rasped, rolling over sideways and pulling his chair down on top of him. The box missed the window, struck the sil]. ELL broke loose. There was a deafening detonation, a roaring concussion. Glass shattered. Plaster rained down from the walls. The room reverberated. A single scream—an animal scream —wrenched from Roser Slainte’s torn lips. Ashes’ head was driven hard against the floor. The explosion pushed the chair down on him hard, like a giant weight. He huddled there, arms over his grayish hair. He stayed that way until the rain of débris slackened. Then he looked up cautiously. There was a jagged hole where the window had been. The room was a shambles. Roser Slainte lay very still. His green jade cigaret, by a freak, stuck crazily from bleeding lips. Part of the GComicivook C@©