10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

MR. CORPSE CALLING—— to finish the case with bullets. Abbott decided he had to know who was in that car. BBOTT speeded up a bit, took an- other corner on two wheels and came to an abrupt stop. He leaped out of his car and got set. The pursuer shot around the corner, too, and had to slow up to make the sharp turn. Ab- bott raced toward the car, grabbed the door handle and swung onto the run- ning board. He had a glimpse of a pretty face that looked thoroughly frightened. It was Florence Walker, Hamilton’s sec- retary. Abbott gave the door latch a yank. The door opened faster than he figured on, and at the same instant the car hit a slight depression in the road. Abbott went flying up and out. He fell and lay quiet for a moment or two, the wind knocked out of him. He saw the car come to a quick stop and begin to back up. He saw Florence’s head stick out of a window. Then Abbott managed to sit up. The car started off again and disappeared. Abbott stood erect, carefully test- ing his limbs. There were no broken bones, but he had bruised himself in half a dozen places. He limped back to his own car, got aboard and turned around. At least no one would be fol- lowing him from now on. His mind went back to the pair of hoodlums who had opened the safe, to the papers they were after. The same ones which Florence had lifted and carried away most conveniently. Ab- bott hated to think of such a pretty girl involved with a bunch of lugs like Arnt and McBain, but it certainly looked as though she had an interest somewhere. McBain had no such lavish head- quarters as a café. He occupied an of- fice on the same floor with a poolroom. Abbott was given curious glances as he walked between the tables, but no- body tried to stop him. He opened the door of McBain’s office. McBain looked up and then jumped to his feet. He was a burly man, crude =—39 in appearance and manner. His little eyes grew narrow, but he gestured to a couple of hoodlums apparently as- signed to guard him. They made no move to intercede. “You’re Abbott, the new D. A.,”’ Mc- Bain said. “I don’t want any trouble with you, Mister.” “You’re already in it up to your neck,” Abbott said flatly. “This time it’s a murder case, McBain. Hamilton was killed tonight and things appear to indicate that you’re it.” “Hamilton — bumped? Listen, I ain’t been outa this office all night. You got nothing on me.’. “We'll see,” Abbott said. ‘I’m will- ing to give you one break. Be at my of- fice shortly after one o’clock. That’s little more than an hour from now. Don’t show up—and alone, McBain— and I’ll consider you ducked out be- cause you are guilty.” “Arnt!’ McBain yelled. “He put you up to this. Maybe he knocked off Ham- ilton.” ‘““Maybe,” Abbott conceded. “Be at my office and we'll iron it out. One- fifteen or so, McBain.” UST before one o’clock, Abbott en- tered Hamilton’s office. He left the door ajar, sat down at the murdered man’s desk and waited. He kept his eyes glued to the telephone, half ex- pecting it to ring. At one sharp, Arnt arrived and sat down. Now he had an alibi all planned and proceeded to give it. Abbott knew how difficult it would be to break that alibi down. “Sounds okay,” he told Arnt, “but 1 heard something different. The man who accuses you is coming soon.” McBain swaggered into the office shortly. He stopped quickly and glared at Arnt. Then he looked over at Ab- bott. “So I was right—this little rat did sing. You can’t believe him, Abbott. He’s been trying to frame me for years. Wants to take over the whole town. J—”’ The phone buzzed. Abbott forgot CO 1IOOOLK C@ S|