10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

$8—_—_—___—_—___—_——_—_—-10-STORY DETECTIVE————_ me come back with a wrecking crew ?” The thug made a derisive sound, but opened the door and led the way to- ward a narrow, steep staircase. He pushed a button on the wall and point- ed upwards. “The door at the head of the steps, pal. Arnt ain’t afraid to see nobody— not even a young squirt of a D. A. Go on up.” HE door opened when Abbott was halfway up the steps. He kept on going. Two more hoodlums greeted him and Abbott knew that in some way word had been flashed of his com- ing and his identity. One of the thugs bowed low with a mocking grin. Ab- bott stepped into a lavishly furnished office and saw one of the two crime ezars who ran the city. Arnt was a wizen-faced, shrewd- eyed little bandit. He appraised Ab- bott swiftly and then arose with out- stretched hand. Abbott paid no atten- tion to the gesture. He walked to the desk and looked squarely at the crook. “Well, well—”’ Arnt rubbed his hands— “Don’t tell me the new D. A. is ready to do business? I thought we’d have to give you a period of breaking in.” “At the present moment,” Abbott said icily, “I’m not interested in your rule over this part of the city. I’m much more interested in the possibil- ity that you may be a murderer.” — “A-——what?” Arnt gasped, all the cockiness gone and the hand-rubbing changed to a tight clenching of the fingers. “You heard me. Ralph Hamilton was killed tonight, only he isn’t alto- gether dead. He told me, only a short time ago, to look you up, Arnt. Of course, you will have an alibi. But it’s my business to break it, so go ahead and tell me why it was impossible to have killed Hamilton and been some- where else at the same time.” “Hamilton—croaked?” Arnt gulped and sat down slowly. “He told you I did it? Honest, Abbott, I didn’t. I haven’t even got an alibi because I don’t know when the murder was com- mitted. Say, maybe this is a rib. How can Hamilton tell you anything when he’s dead?” “I wish I knew the answer to that one,” Abbott grunted. ‘Somebody called me on the phone and mentioned your name.” - Arnt’s eyes went hard. “McBain— sure, that’s the answer. McBain is be- hind this. He killed Hamilton and he’s trying to pin it on me. That’s his way of muscling in. Well, it ain’t going to work.” Abbott shrugged. “Your war with McBain means little to me until you boys begin shooting one another up. Then we’ll keep the chair warm at the state prison. Arnt, I haven’t enough on you to make an arrest, but so help me, you will go downtown on a sus- picion-of-murder charge unless you show up at my office in exactly an hour and a half. That’s one o’clock. “We'll have a little talk there about McBain and yourself, too. One o’clock, Arnt. This gaudy place of yours isn’t going to look very pretty if I have to send a squad down here to smoke you out.” Abbott turned and walked away. He descended the steps, brushed past the two gorillas at the bottom and strode through the dining room. No one made an effort to stop him. He had Arnt buffaloed. McBain might be different. He was- n’t as smart as Arnt and more given to having things out on the spot. Ab- bott wondered why the voice of a dead man had asked him to bring these two crooks together in the office. It did- n’t make much sense to him—unless. Hamilton knew these two men inti- mately enough to realize just what they’d do if confronted with each other. That was it! Abbott turned a corner sharply, straightened out and saw headlights flash in his rear view mir- ror. He took another turn and the same car followed. Abbott began to feel quite uneasy. If Arnt’s men were trailing him, they might have orders cConmmiclbooks C©