10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

“———__——__—_—___—16.8TORY DETECTIVE for Chicago Saturday on business con- nected with th Municipal Art Exhibition opening there next month. I’m to be represented by a few canvases,” he inter- polated parenthetically. “1 left Jocelyn in good health, working, as a matter of fact, on some oils. Mrs. Sterns was away at the time visiting her niece in Buffalo. Steve, in Washington, wasn’t expected back until yesterday, “1 returned last night by plane. The house was locked, the windows shut. Everything seemed norma] otherwise— until I discovered Jocelyn dead in her studio upstairs. Naturally 1 informed Constable Widner at once. He arrived a few hours later, just before Steve and Mrs. Sterns, who had apparently returned late. “I say ‘apparently,’ because the late discovery of one of Mrs. Sterns’ gloves on the floor beside Jocelyn led to Widner’s finding out that both she and Steve had actually returned a day earlier than origi- nally expected. They had found the body and left, frightened. They remained at the Timkensville Hotel until yesterday morning when they decided to meet me here at the house, knowing I was due back -_ then.” = LASHFORTH resumed his chair. “These facts were admitted, after pardonable hesitation by both Steve and Mrs. Sterns. However, each has cate- gorically denied murdering my wife.” He paused, looking up at Wayne blankly, his eyes suddenly dull and lustreless. “For it was murder, John, The county coroner established that last evening. Steve and Mrs, Sterns’ alibi—” “Sounded a bit thick, of course.” Wayne paced up and down. “No police officer worth his salt would believe it, especially if he had established a motive for the crime.” He glanced pointedly at Widner, The cud of tebacco came slowly to a halt. The broad cheeks puffed out in a smug grin. Widner spat carefully at the fireplace, before replying. “We got two, one good one for each of ’em. Standish, here, admitted he owed his sister more than twelve thousand smackers—overdue and can’t be paid.” The huge eyes rolled. _ “Mrs, Sterns didn’t give us no trouble either. The neighbors talked. Told us > a, about fights and argyments between Mrs. Blashforth and the housekeeper. Why | they said that sometimes you could hear "em yellin’ clear across the valley. “*Course, 1 don’t put much stoek in that kind of talk. Wimmen’ll be wimmen. But twelve G’s is easier to stummick. I’m bookin’ Standish and keepin’ Mrs. Sterns around fer good measure. It'll come out in the wash. Bound ter. Why either of 7em could have slugged Mrs. Blash- forth—” “We can skip that,” remarked Wayne dryly. “As for the evidence, I’m not here officially in a sleuthing capacity. The trial —if any—will take care of it.” He glanced down at his watch, shifted his eyes back to Widner. “However, there’s no point in taking any of the suspects into town unti] morning. I suggest that everyone catch a little sleep. In the meantime, I’d like to have a look around.” The constable puffed up dangerously, like a badly swollen balloon, teetered on his heels for an instant, then evidently thought better of what he had been about to say. “All right,” he conceded grudging- ly, “‘but there’s no use tryin’ to mix things up. Everythin’ tagged and catalogued,” he finished smugly. Wayne looked right through him. “I take it the body is still upstairs. You needn’t object, constable. I won’t steal it,” he snapped sarcastically. < The lawyer wheeled, walked out of the’ study to the entrance hall. Familiarity with the house gave him direction. The stairs leading to the second floor were only a few feet away. He took them two at a time. Light streamed from the open door of Jocelyn Blashforth’s studio, just off the top part of the staircase. The glare was stark, eerie, cast in a great flood by slender blue fluorescent lamps the paint- er’s wife had used to simulate daylight when working at night. As Wayne stepped within and softly closed the door behind him, he heard the others ascending the stairs, filing past, going down the corridor to their rooms. A click of heels outside the studio door told him that Widner’s sole deputy had taken up guard. Shrugging his shoulders, he steeled himself, and walked slowly to the pitiful heap on the floor. Jocelyn Blashforth had died probably _ without knowing what hither. If she had,