10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

I gave the same testi. mony at the trial. Crime Ain’t By Ralph Berard coach trom Seatile to Los Angeles. But to get that dough he | All this hobo wanted was enough dough to ride the luxury had to uncerk a murder and blackmail the police department. E, Bo Walker, I crawled from M a side-door Pullman this rainy October morning in the Seattle freight yards, wet, cold and stiff. I wouldn’t have been a bit in- terested in any gun moll’s story about her boy friend bumping himself off in a cheap rooming house on Harrin- ston Street even if I’d heard about it. Nor did I plan to blackmail any police department. Crime ain’t my business. In fact, I guess no other guy makes a living the way I do. 75 EIS aN Wn) eet Le eT Bn ensue ile en I was broke, and California is warmer in winter. Seattle to L. A., luxury coach was $26.80, and that’s how I hankered to ride for a change. So, like I always do in a new town, I brushed my duds, walked up to the passenger station, slid into a pay tele- phone booth and took a _ gander through the directory. I picked the ABC Collection Agency because it was the first in classified, and fifteen minutes later, at exactly nine-fifteen, I was inside 918 Third National Bank Building talking to a slim, middle- MICLOOO© S C@