10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

MR. CORPSE CALLING —————————8 wondered if his term of office was go- ing to end before it began. His head ached badly and was filled with thoughts of a corpse on a slab. A corpse that would not remain dead, but phoned him—gave him informa- tion from the grave. Abbott shud- dered and the short crook laughed gleefully, mistaking it for terror. INALLY the tall man got the safe door open. He threw the beam of a flashlight inside and then cursed again. The safe was empty. Both men slowly backed toward the door. The short one spoke in a harsh voice. “Okay, wise guy. You stalled us here while somebody else got away with the stuff we were after. So you can do one of two things—either take a dry dive out the window or inhale a couple of slugs. You got ten seconds to make up your mind.” Abbott’s brain cleared instantly. He arose, looked over his shoulder and then suddenly scooped up the thermos jug and hurled it. Both men ducked. Abbott was around the desk in a flash, heading for a door leading into anoth- er office. If it was locked, he was done. The door was even slightly ajar and he bolted head first through it. He’d accomplished this in a split second, before the pair of killers could orient themselves. Now Abbott looked for another weapon, but gave up when he heard the outer office door slam shut. He tried to phone the lobby, but no one answered. He shrugged. A pair of mugs like those two would have en- tered by some other means. He thought of Florence Walker and started looking for her. He opened sup- ply closet doors, called her name. She was nowhere about and neither were those papers which she’d removed from the safe. Abbott went back to Hamilton’s of- fice and used the phone. He called po- lice headquarters and got the low- down on Arnt and McBain. They were rivals all right and ready to kill eaeh other on sight. Hamilton, who lay dead on an undertaker’s slab, wanted Ab- bott to bring both these men to this office. Why? Abbott could no more figure out that angle than he could the method by which a dead man could phone him. Yet dead or alive, Hamilton should know who had murdered him and he indicated it was one of this pair. That it had been murder was no longer doubtful in Abbott’s mind. Those crooks had entered with the express purpose of getting evidence of some kind. Then Abbott stewed about the girl. Why had she left so opportunely— and with the papers? Was she part and parcel of the mob, working here undercover? Perhaps she worked for McBain and the pair of killers were from Arnt’s gang. Perhaps one of the crooks was trying to get enough on the other to put him away legally and rule the city alone. ‘Rule the city,” Abbott expressed his thoughts aloud. ‘The only rule here is going to be a legal one.” He jammed on his hat, winced as his swollen forehead protested by streaks of pain, and then set his jaws grimly. He walked out of the office, taking care to leave the main door un- locked. An elevator took him to the lobby and he reached his car without being stopped. Abbott drove downtown, toward the regions where the underworld held sway. He wanted no assistance from anyone. In the first place, to get such aid, he’d have to tell about Hamilton’s voice and they’d think he was crazy. It wasn’t midnight yet when he walked into a café jammed with peo- ple. This was known to be Arnt’s head- quarters and the place was just really getting started for the night. Abbott brushed aside a headwaiter, paid no attention to the coaxings of a check- room girl and walked to the rear of the place. He saw two men lounging near a door and grabbed one by the lapels of his tuxedo. “My name is Jim Abbott, the new D. A. I want to see Arnt and right now. Or would you rather have cComiclboool C@ S|