10-Story Detective, June 1945 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

Now seram. You'll have an hour before punching that bell, Play it right, an’ - maybe, just maybe, I won’t kick a lung. outa you.” A™ EXACTLY four twenty-eight [I walked into the foyer of the Glen- shiel Arms and pushed the button under James Melton’s card on the brass panel. The inner door buzzed back, made me jump. I walked inte the empty lobby, took the automatic elevator and got off at the second floor. ‘ Apartment 224 was next to the eleva- tor. I checked the number twice before I touched the knob. My hand was so sweaty it slipped in my grasp. { shut the door behind me. The room was empty. A blaze of afternoon sunlight made highlights on walnut furniture, and brought out the soft glow of a green-and- gold Oriental rug. “Hello,” I said. My voice sounded like a stranger’s in my ears. ‘No answer. The smell of burnt feathers tainted the air. I swallowed hard, All of a ‘sudden the beating of my own heart sounded loud. The bedroom door was half open, “Hello,” I said again, this time louder. I walked toward the door with my stom- ach gone A.W.O.L, A man’s feet stuck out over the edge of the bed. Two steps more and I stood in the doorway. ‘The man on the bed was small, about my size, only younger, and with black, curly hair. His brown eyes were wide open, with a wondering look as if he were trying to figure out how the blue-rimmed hole in his forehead had gotten there, For a long second I stood still. 1 could- n’t remember how to breathe, but my brain photographed every detail. The back of his head lay in a red mush of blood and brains on the pillow. On the floor was another pillow, crumpled with a black spot in the middle of it, and a .388 Colt automatic, The explained the smell of burnt feathers. A green silk dressing gown hung over the foot of the bed. On a chair a dark suit had been laid out neatly, ready to wear. A calendar on a bedside table showed the wrong date. All this J took in before I could force myself to step over beside the bed and touch the dead guy’s hand, He was still warm. I had hold .of ten thousand volts and knew it. Out of here, chum! 1 told myself. I’d hardly covered ten feet of the ten fuvlongs-of Oriental rug between me:and the hall door when ‘somebody punched -the buzzer and knecked at the same ‘time, — A KILL FOR THE SHULL 19 Cops! I knew it.as well as if I could see right through the hardwood door, It was ho surprise to my brain, but the rest of me reacted like you do when you step into an icy shower.. There was no other way out of that apartment, either. You could feel that about the place, even while the knocking at the door came again, louder, coppier. Every guy to his weapon. The trapped rat uses his teeth. The gunsel reaches for his rod. With me it’s acting. -I whipped back into the bedroom, grabbed the green silk dressing gown off the foot of the bed, slid into it, and was out in the living room with the bedroom — shut behind me when the law burst “Yes, yes,” I remarked testily. “I’m coming!” ywo city dicks stood there, open- mouthed. One was short, fat, reddish a a aa He walked back on his The younger, taller dick wore grey gabardine and black-and-white shoes. I gave them a Jook of indignation, letting my eyes pop a little. “Well,” I snapped. “Whait’s the meaning of this?” What the hell, ’'d been working the same gag on the town clowns wherever a carnival pitch drew squawks from suckers, hadn’t I? The fat, red-faced dick spoke -up. “We're from the | detective bureau. We've got a tip that— “How do I ae you" re police officers?” I eut in, That was pure flattery. To my eye they might as well have been wearing blue uniforms -and blowing whistles. The red-faced dick flashed his buzzer. “You Mr, James Melton?” he asked un- eertainly. “Who did you think I was?” I asked with deliberate unpleasantness. Somebody spoke through the open door from out in % 2 hall. “I can vouch for Mr. Melton, although we've never met. He’s my broker.” I looked at the guy who had spoken. My mouth fell open. I shut it again, quickly, before flies could get in. Doug Drake, the rising young movie star! You couldn’t miss the unruly brown curls above the Adonis profile the camera and the dames simply ate up! _ A dittle blue-eyed woman in a brown, tailored job stood beside him. “Come in!” I managed to gasp. Drake and the womai stepped in, I gave the eops the slow burn, They took the hint, gidied toward the door. “Excuse it, Mr. <comicboo S, (©)