10-Story Detective, June 1945 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

§—_—_—_—__—_—_—_—_————_- 10-STORY DETECTIVE no sound in the back room. And the street had not been roused by the shot, A .22 re- volver is not very loud. ER*- AUGUST FINCH had the swank- iest suite of offices in the swanky Medical Arts building. A statuesque blonde nurse received Eben Hunt in the reception room. Her beautiful face did not approve of him. He did not impress her as having a great deal of money to spend on nervous disorders. Dr, Finch, she said, wags not in. “I’m a friend of his,” Eben told her. . “An old college friend. Pll be in town only a few hours and I know he’s anxious to see me.” The nurse looked doubtful, “I believe Dr. Finch is having lunch at the home of George Priddy, the attorney. I’m preb- ably sticking my neck out telling you this”—her abrupt smile was phony— “but I guess it’s all right if you’re really his friend,”’ “Thanks.” Eben turned to go, then said, “There’s something else, I know a young woman from Chicago by the name of Dorothy Gibson. In fact, I recommend- ed her to Dr. Finch for her nerves. How are the treatments progressing?” From her superior height, the nurse’s eyes sharpened. “I’m sorry. I am not permitted to give out information con- cerning patients.” “Sure,” he said pleasantly. “Augie will tell me himself.” - Fifteen minutes later Eben Hunt stood jn front of a high hedge which barred George Priddy’s grounds and home from the vulgar gaze of the masses. He went through the driveway break in the hedge and cut across the spacious lawn broken up by elusters of shrubs. He was half- way to the house when he saw the arm in the grass. It was a bare, hairy man’s arm, For ‘@ fleeting moment Eben had an impres- sion that it was dismembered, like the woman’s arm he had seen last night. But there was more to it. Stooping, he saw the sleeve of a bright polo shirt starting above the elbow. The rest of the body lay under a flowering hydran shrub. Cautiously he looked around. He was shut off from the street and house by and nearby shrubs. From the house drifted soft radio music, No move- ment anywhere. Eben sank to his knees and touched the extended arm. The flesh was cold. He turned the arm over. The stalk-eyes of a lobster looked at him from the under- - gide, Almost, it seemed, the antennae waved in menace, The tattoo artist who had done the job on the four Boiled Lob- | _ sters that drunken night eighteen years — a — : ago had been very realistic in his craft. Eben pushed aside drooping flowers and saw the face under the shrub. George Priddy had put on weight since his col- lege days. His once sharp features had broadened, but it was George beyond doubt. He had been the most brilliant of the four classmates, Now, at the height of his law eareer, he was dead with a bul- let in his head. _ S$tifly Eben straightened up. One thing was certain. George Priddy had not fall- en under this shrub. He had been shot, then dragged under it to get him out of ight. Behind Eben there was a whisper of movement. Without taking time to turn, he dropped to the ground like a soldier who hears the approach of a shell, There was a sound like a sneeze. Something rattled in the shrub above him. Eben’s revolver dropped into his hand as he slid around on his stomach, Within an area of twenty feet, there were three other hydrangea shrubs. Behind one of them, he knew, a man with a gun in his hand was watching him. The gun was silenced. That was why nobody in the house had heard the shot which had killed George Priddy. Silence hung over the lawn. With gun- arm outthrust, Eben waited, his eyes flicking from shrub to shrub. The killer would have to part the shrub in order to — get in another shot, Flowers and branches of the center shrub stirred. A breeze could have caused that, but Eben took no chance. He shot twice. : es. A scream overlapped the echo of the shots. A heavy weight crashed through the bush ane a man pitched toward Eben. Goldly, deliberately, Eben shot again. Abruptly the scream ended. The man lay still, -He was a big man. As Eben went for- ward he told himself that he. had killed Augie Finch, But when he lifted the head, he saw that the face was brutal, the small eyes piggish. It belonged to Art Yard, a gunsel who was reputed to be tops with any weapon, But he hadn’t been good enough. Suddenly Eben realized that somebody was shouting in the house, He scurried behind the shrub just as Dr. August Finch rounded a corner of the house. Eben hadn’t seen Augie since their college days, but there was no mistaking that beefy body and that narrow peer. behind thick-lensed glasses. He had re- moved his jacket and rolled up his sleeves for comfort. The dark splotch on his left forearm was visible, That was the fourth tattooed lobster. — €omicbooks