15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

HOT HO ‘OU DETECTIVE-Story readers y will want to follow the thrill-shot adventures of a likeable private-op who is trying to track down the human- touch murderer of a fabulous racket king, who was mysteriously and. hideously burned to death. . . . And there, for your suspense, is an exciting scéne from this action-packed novel: With Junie under my wing 1 hustled along the dark downtown street. ' Pausing at a brownstone house, we found Kay Glenn’s name on the bell- button of the street-level door. “Are you sure,” I asked Junie, it’s Kay’s habit to rest'in her “os room between shows?” “She used to do it regdaxts as clock- work, but she’s been sort of upset since what happened to her Vic.” ' Junie added anxiously, ‘Lee, are you sure it was all right for me to slip imto ‘Miss Glenn’s dressing room like that, when she wasn’t there, and sort of ‘sneak ‘her key?” “‘Tt’s ‘all in a good cause; sweet,” I assured her. While Junie trustfully kept her pretty ears cocked I gave a quick look around the living room. If Sam ‘Whitman had ever presented Kay with a photo of him- self, it wasn’t on display now. I turned to the captivating ice Glenn’s bedroom. Turning I found a waivleek of folded newspaper clippings beginning with the front page that had blared: out the fiery death of Vic Jerome. Instead of snooping further for a scan- dal-loaded diary, I found myself indig- nantly re-reading the pieced-together story of Vie’s last living minutes. The ghastly fascination of it held me. Why me, more than others? Because it was the end written to a career I’d been watching. It was a fact known to only a few that I had known Vic Jerome.as a kid. We had run through the same alley.s with- out ever having much truck. with each other. But having yielded te an. in- clination to stay honest, I had watched with deep interest, and maybe a shade of perverse envy, Vic coming. up the hard, crooked way. Vic had been born to be murdered, and regardless ef the coroner’s findings I knew in my heart his: death was just that. If they had only made it a good, clean shooting murder I would have shrugged it off as something that had been in the cards all along. But to burn a guy to death like a scrap of rubbish, in some sneaking way that never gave him a fighting chance— “Lee!” The door! Somebody's com- ing in!” Junie cried. She whirled out-of sight again-in a squeaking panic. I stuffed the clippings back into a jewel case with one fast poke and headed out. My plan was to get through a rear window under-a full head of steam, and duck out—but not without Junie, of course. I stumbled over the fact that Junie had somehow vanished, She wasn’t in the kitchen and when I swung back desperately to look in the op- posite direction I saw that. she wasn’t in the living room either. Junie wasn’t but another woman was. “Hold still,” the woman said. Seen at close range, in her trim suit and spike-heeled sling-backs, Miss-Glenn was an eyeful. And one of the breath- taking details about her right now was the gun in her lovely fist... . The complete story will be told in the next issue in Frederick C. Davis’ novel— “Murder’s Madcap Mermaid’’—published April 26th. —THe Enitor. 101 Gomichbooks (E©)