10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

MR. CORPSE CALLING night. Then someone did tell you— and you misunderstood.” “Misunderstood, my eye,” Abbott said. “Hamilton himself phoned me not more than fifteen minutes ago and asked me to meet him here.” The undertaker lifted a corner of the sheet. ‘“‘Did you think he phoned you fifteen minutes ago, Mr. Abbott?” Abbott gulped and turned away. No question about it—Ralph Hamilton was dead. He was a man of outstand- ing features and there could be no mis- take. “How long has he been here?” Ab- bott asked. “We brought him here an hour ago. He jumped at eight o’clock or shortly after that. So you see he certainly eould not have phoned you.” “Yes,” Abbott said slowly, “he cer- tainly could not have—and yet, he did. I recognized his voice. Listen—forget about my coming here. I’ve an idea this may be a horrible trick of some kind. I—I’ll go now and thanks.” BBOTT’S face was grim, and somewhat pale as he drove his ear to Ralph Hamilton’s offices in the County Building. Abbott’s offices now because he’d be expected to take over at once with Hamilton dead. He kept hearing the dead man’s voice drum- ming in his ears. That phone call couldn’t have been faked. He’d listened to Hamilton’s voice many, many times during the campaign, followed his speeches over the radio, in meeting halls. He’d often met the man face to face in court. Abbott took an elevator to the twen- ty-first floor, stepped out and advanced toward a door marked DISTRICT ATTORNEY. Light shone through the opaque panel. He opened the door and walked in. The outer office was empty, but a pretty girl, with eyes red from weeping, came from an inner office. “My name is Jim Abbott. I came for some information.” “Yes, Mr. Abbott,” the girl said. *“Won’t you come in? After all, this —85 will be your office tomorrow. I’m Flor- ence Walker. I—used to be Mr. Ham- ilton’s secretary.” “Good,” Abbott said. “You may prove very useful to me. Now I want to know about Hamilton’s death. What happened?” She shuddered and sat down in front of the dead man’s desk. Abbott occu- pied the big leather chair of his prede- cessor. “T’m not sure,” the girl said. ““Natu- rally, Mr. Hamilton was cleaning up the office in preparation to vacating it. He was in an office down the hall. The next thing I knew, the police eame in and told me he was dead.” Abbott arose and walked to a large window with a rather low base. It was wide open. “This one?” he asked pointedly. She nodded. “Yes, that one. They insinuate he jumped, but I refuse to believe it. He fell.” Abbott sat down again and point- ed to a large pile of legal papers. The girl picked them up carefully. “Just routine business,’ she ex- plained. “I took them out of the safe. I would like to go to my own office. These things must be sorted and it’s getting very late.” “Go ahead,” Abbott said, “T’ll just relax here a few minutes and get the feel of the place.” Two seconds after she was gone, Abbott did get the feel of the office. It seemed to be closing in on him. It seemed as though a dead man lingered here, trying to make himself seen and heard. Abbott shivered and decided he’d like it better by daylight. The door opened and the girl looked in. “There’s a phone call for you, Mr. Abbott. It came through the switch- board. Will you take it?” Abbott picked up the phone and held his breath. Not a soul knew he was here. There was a click, as if the sec- retary had switched him on. Then Ab- bott felt the short hairs at the nape of his neck rise. The same voice spoke. The voice of Ralph Hamilton, who was dead. Gomicivook (C@ S|