10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

____.__ ROGUES’ GALLERY HANGING ——___________—5 suaded these folks to invest in art treas- ures on the theory that their money then would be safe. After the inflationary period passed, they could get their dough baek by resales.” From back in the crowd a guy cut in heatedly, “But many well-to-do people are buying diamonds and works of art.” “Sure, through reputable dealers, Stop . me if I’m wrong. Bakosh and DelaDame elaimed that, because they’re artists, they eould pick the right things for you to buy. They demanded cash from you. Now, what have you gotten for your dough?” “Nothing—~yet.” “And you won’t. They intended to lam. They threw these jamborees just to feed you their sales talk. This was to be the last party, so DelaDame polished up his medals and really poured on the sales pressure. Hell, they even tried to sell me a earyatid by Gubinsniak.” “By whom?” “That's what I say,” I said. Chesney scratched his head. “Finance Ym not up on. But if these folks got re- eeipts for their dough, now you going to prove fraud?” “Are you interested in fraud or mur- dex?” I asked him. “Johnni Anger found out what was going on down here at twelve-fifty Wingott Street. He had a drag-out argument with Bakosh about it today. Miss Quinn phoned it in as family trouble. But about the time we were get- ting over to 1600 Cathedral Lane, Bakosh elosed the argument by sticking Anger with the dirk. He wasn’t going to let An- ger queer this deal.” “Say, rookie,” Chesney said, “Miss Quinn told me how you got rapped on the noggin. I guess I acted hastily.” “DelaDame heard me wander into the building while Bakosh was _ upstairs knoeking off Anger. He got hold of Par- do’s mop while Pardo was puttering around. He smacked me with it to give ‘Bakesh time to get downstairs. Then Bakeeh put on a long apron to cover up the stains on his suit until he had time to change, and he lugged me into Lizzie’s studio. DelaDame sneaked back into his own place, and started telephoning the suckers to remind them of the party.” “How,” asked Chesney, “‘did you figure out so fast that Johnni Anger was trying to write down Wingott Street, but never lived long enough to add the t’s?” I felt a slim hand creeping into mine and heard Lizzie Quinn’s clear voice speaking up. “Arbutus L. Nosegay,” she said, “is a whiz.” “Nosegay,” the sarge grunted. name ig Bob Brown.” “As American as Blm Street,” Lizzie I remembered that I owed her my watch, among other things. I said to Pardo, “Did Bakosh and Dela- Dame hide their kitbag in the chimney? it still has soot on it.” “Tt was the coal pile. Bakosh brung it down to the furnace room and asked me to stash it for him until the cops blew.” “What were you supposed to get out of the deal?” “Well, they promised me a caryatid by Gubinsniak. But, hell, I’m as American as Elm Street, too. I’d rather have U.S. A. dollars. So I offed with the satch- el tonight, and the law grabbed me.” Chesney’s squad began writing down the names and addresses of the jamboree guests, and the amounts they had kicked im to Bakosh and DelaDame. A couple eops had to carry DelaDame out to the cars, but they finally got him, Bakosh, and Pardo and started downtown. Chesney himself was the last_man out of twelve-fifty Wingott Street. When he eame out, Lizzie Quinn and I were sitting on the running board of her coupé, trying to settle who got custody of my watch. you can’t do business by moonlight. “Well, buster,” the sarge said heartily, “there’s our good old squad car. Hop in and I’H run you home.” “Tomorrow,” I said. “Tonight I’m go- ing-heme with the gal what-brung me.” “His. co im comichook