10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

THE CASE OF CHIPS GALWAY — TSD “A dummy!” he exclaimed. Kirker, recovering naturally bouy- ant spirits, had to grin. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I knew a killer was coming—one who shoots on sight. He was bound to suspect a trap. So I had to make it good.” He watched the lean commissioner bend forward, roll the wax figure aside. “What in hell is this?” Norbert dragged forth the deflated beach-ball. “A convincer. I let out half the air and stuck it behind my dummy. Two shots and it sighed and eased the body down so slick | had to pineh myself!” “Well,” admitted Norbert. “it sure convinced that bird. Who is he?” The big man, groaning, had begun to stir. One of the dicks, hooking fin- gers under the man’s armpits, hauled him into a chair, then ripped off the soggy mask. “Jumpin’ Jupiter! Cass!” Cass’s eyelids lifted. He stared around dazedly and shook his head. ‘“‘Where—what—” he muttered. “So!” said Norbert. “So!” And the way he said it meant plenty. But swift anxiety clouded his blue eyes. ‘The film—is it safe?” Cass had eraftily produced some- thing from a pocket. Before the near- er dick could stop him he ripped its seal, unrolled a strip of celluloid. “This?” he asked _ sardonically. “Why it’s nothing but some unex- posed film, and—” he stared straight at Kirker— “and I think it’s ruined.” “Right,” Kirker agreed. ‘On both counts.” Norbert looked baffled. Cass shifted uneasily, dark eyes growing appre- hensive. “Norbert!’’ he stormed, “if this fool has faked photogra—”’ “Cass!” interrupted Kirker. “It was all faked—” “Wait a minute,” Norbert inter- rupted. “Not that at my office?” Kirker laughed heartily. “Mr. Com- missioner, have you ever forgotten to wind your film—made a double ex- posure? I see you have. Well, I 49 snapped my noiseless shutter as soon as I set up my camera. That shot the bust. Then Cass photographed the blotter. Of course both objects ap- peared on the print.” “I suppose that green stuff—” “Regular developer—colored with aniline dye.” Cass seemed relieved, but Kirker turned on him. “First, you tried in your column to rib me off the Galway case. Then, this afternoon, you overlooked an amaz- ingly simple point. I admitted to every- one that I was faking.” “You mean that?” cried Norbert. “Yes,” Kirker explained. ‘“Didn’t I say that the picture-taking rays would even penetrate steel? It’s true. But the exposure takes months. If the penetration of solids were instan- taneous, then what could be used for a film container—or for a shutter?” “By golly!’ Norbert chuckled, “I never thought of that.” His face grew sober as perhaps he did think that now, lacking photographic proof, a case against the newsman seemed doubtful. Evidently Cass also was consider- ing the point. He said acidly, “‘Norbert —ask Kirker if it’s a crime to plug a dummy ?” “Another slip!” rapped Kirker. “That’s your automatic and—” Cass catapulted out of the chair and toward the window. Kirker neatly tripped him. Cass’s head, as he plunged forward, slammed against a radiator with sickening impact. Kirker stooped, rolled him over. “Cass knew what was coming. His automatic will match the slugs from Sneeters’ body. And today ballistics told me that the same gun killed Gal- way. So after three years, sir, we've cracked the case.” Relief surged across Norbert’s face. “Nice work, lieutenant,” he began. Kirker looked around, eyes puzzled. Norbert smiled. “I’m talking to you —ex-Sergeant Kirker.”’ cComiclbool C©