10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

——— eee DETECTIVE dropped on Sylvanus Fritchy’s noggin and did the fatal trick. It rolied to the floor and of course did not have prints on it. “Mr. Deeds suddenly began to act noth- ing like ‘himself. He forgot what his name was, and se wouldn’t answer the hail of his mistress. He forgot where he hid his bones and wouldn’t bite public servants. He forgot he was mad with a certain feline, dn short, gentlemen, Mr. Deeds has a brain as well as some hu- mans, more -in fact than ones named Noonan.” “Oh, yeah?” Hambone says. “D.A., we ought to take Bee ree ee es ee gits violent, huh?” “Shut up, Noonan,” the D.A. says. “I am interested. Something tells me—go on Alvin.” “So anything with a brain could get amnesia, even Mir. Deeds,” I tell the skep- tics. “Well, what do you know?” the D.A. gulps. “It is possible, of course.” He gets up and examines the statue and the pedes- tal. “Go on, Alvin.” “Oh yeah?” Hambone scoffs. “Se Mr. Deeds went up and stole the butterfly, the zintheronium regillis, Alvin. Try dnd tell me the big bulldog chased butter- flies with a net, too. You are the one that is going to git the net, Alvin Hinkey.” “Yeah, what about that angle, Alvin? For a minute there you had me,” the D.A. says, “Come upstairs, gents,” I gieat. I go up to the late Sylvanus Fritchy’s den and over to the fishbowl. I reach in and take out a pin and hold it up to Mrs. “Is that ‘the type of miniature skewer, Sylvanus, rest his soul, used to transfix butterflies ; “Of course,” the widow says. “Okay. So that one, the prize specimen, and don’t ask me to name it, was not pinned securely. It dropped loose and fell into the fishbowl. The turtle there ate it in instaliments. “All we have to do to clinch the case against the real killer, Mr. Deeds, is to ask a naturalist if a turtle eats butter- flies. Why look at the turtle now! His neck is out of the water and he is mouth- ing at the other butterflies up there. What do you think?” The D.A, stands there with his mouth staat _— aes. Then he kneels down and the broadloom. It is a very tiny piece ef butterfly wing. ages is the clincher,” I says. very fragile. A piece broke off ‘it htt the edge of the goldfish bowl before plopping in. Maybe we could get autopsy on the turtle.” “T got enough,” the D.A. says. “If the vet swears he got that piece of stuff out of the dog’s skul! and it matches the other stuff in the pedestal, what else would anybody think? Alvin, you are a “Yes,” I says, “Mr. Deeds unwittingly slew his master. Oh, it was nothing.” “An English brlidog with amnesia,” Hambone yelps, net convinced. “I will not swatlow that one.” “The evidence is enouph for me,” the D:A. says. “If a dog forgets where it buries a bone and—” It is just then that Mr. Deeds comes in, a little bleary eyed from the bye-bye juice. He runs right inte the wall and gets knocked back on his haunches. A funny teok comes into Mr. Deeds’s eyes and he seems to ask himself, “Why, where have I been?” Then he sees Noonan’s leg hanging ever the side of a chair and leaps fer it. The second jolt freed him of amnesia, Louie. Well, Hambone was treated for lacera- tions and hydrophobia and made com- fortable in a mearby hospital. The vet testified. They had a consultation at head- quarters and agreed that under the strange circumstances, they better not plant Herman in the cremating Chippen- dale. They all accepted my findings, all except Hambone who still has distemper. “Why didn’t you have an_ alibi, though?” the D.A. yelps at Herman when they take him out of the ice-box. “Because | was there trying to get the butterfly,” Zelch says. “That must of all happened just after I left. And you know I was also tempted to crock him myself? A strange case, wasn’t it? That was sim- ply terrible, the loss of the Citheronia regalis, I mean.” He could say that again, hey Louie? _ Weil, keep punchin’ toward Brenner Pass. You was always a wow at makin’ passes, huh? That is how you met Eva. How are the Eyetalian dames, Louie? Write Noo- nan if you get an hour off as anybody would feel sorry for the dumb cluck. | Always your pal, comicbooks. com