10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

78 warmed to her subject like a steam calliope. She was filled up with it like bad whiskey and gave me the details with gestures and exclamations. “Mrs. Jugvale admitted to the cops that she knew the guy. She said she’d been out all night, ever since her hus- band had left at seven. While she was standing there talking with the cops her husband came home and saw them carrying out the body. He just looked at it and looked at his wife and said in a dazed kind of way, ‘I never sus- pected another man was the trouble.’ “Mrs. Jugvale sat down, covered her face with her hands and started to cry. In spite of the way things looked I couldn’t believe she’d really been double-crossing her husband.” “So I have to collect from Jugvale, huh?” I interceded. “Either from him or from her.” She stood up and opened the hall door. “I guess he’s up there now. But likely he’s asleep. He works nights.” LFET the talkative landlady, went up to Number Six and hammered on the dcor. There was still a smell in the narrow hall. I guess it was just mustiness but you could sure imagine it was gas. I was cheered a bit at the prospect of talking to a man for a change. But when he opened the door my cheerfulness fell away. Jugvale was about thirty, not such a bad-looking guy. But he had a frame and size and bulging muscles that would have enabled him to take me on even in the days when I was good. Nevertheless I stuck out the bill. “Owe this?” I demanded. He was in his pajamas, had been asleep. He blinked once or twice, took the bill in his hand and managed to read it. Then you should have heard him. He reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled me imside like a long lost brother. I thought he had suddenly gone nuts. He showed me the handwriting still on the wall: T can’t stand to think of being without you. Wary 10-STORY DETECTIVE Then he showed me the gas stove, turned on all the jets and turned them off again. He showed me how the cracks around the windows had been stuffed with rags and he kept laugh- ing hke he was out of his head. “‘Col- lect that damn bill from my wife,” he cackled, “and if you make it tough enough to get me rid of her I’ll give you a ten dollar bonus.” But this guy wasn’t fooling me any. I could tell he was busted up over what had hap- pened and was trying to hide it. There wasn’t any chance of scaring him. I didn’t like the thought of riding side-door Pullman to L. A. and I could still hear the Oregon Mist hammering on the Washington Cedar shingles of that rooming house roof. That’s the only reason I didn’t give up. ‘““‘When’ll the lady be home?” I asked Jugvale. “Hell, she’s no lady,” he cackled and I grinned to encourage him in think- ing it was an appropriate joke. The guy was suffering, suffering and bluff- ing himself. “When’ll she be home?” I repeated. He shrugged. “Most anytime after I go to work. Try about eight.” So I went out and at eight I came back. I tapped on Number Six again and a low quivery woman’s voice said, “Who’s there?” I pulled my voice down low. “Friend of yours.” “Who?” She sounded puzzled, some- what angry and quite despondent. “Guess,” I suggested. She wasn’t the kind that scares easy and finally curiosity overcame her. She unlatched the door to peek out. I shoved it open quickly and went in. She was really quite small, and not bad looking. I stuck the bill under her tilted nose. “I’m here to collect,” I announced. “I guess you know what I mean.” She gulped, and hardly glanced at the bill. She just kept staring at me, a wild hysterical look in her eyes. “I can’t pay anything tonight,” she said. Her face had turned ghastly, She was scared now. Gomuicsvook C© 5}