15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

i ‘ { Murder | told her, “you've just put Ken Gavin in| the death cell and thrown away the key.” WATCHED what shock did to her. She stood-on trembling legs, her eyes opened wide, her mouth fumbling with words that wouldn't form, Then she slid” back down im the chair and found her voice again. “No, Johnny!” she breathed, “he—he can't be!” I let my nodding head do the work for me and my eyes watched her closely. “Ken's a fool,”’ she muttered and she spoke coldly as if she didn’t care any longer. “You're easy to. convince, Honey,” I bit off and when she didn’t answer I went on, “why are you so sure that Ken is the murderer?” “Why—I—I” Her tense Gamers. were. again tracing aervous patterns on my knee and her voice got soft and throaty. “I didn’t mean it that way, Johnny,” she whispered, “really L didn’t—it’ s just that Ken is such a crazy fool—he— She got up and pulled her coat even tighter around her well-proportioned body. “I’m sorry { bothered you,”’ she muttered from way back. As she went through the door, she half turned and I thought I saw a tight, flecting smile pass across her white, drawn face. Then it was gone... and so was she. “ae Se Willy Forbes kept insisting that I call the Homicide Bureau. “They'll know about it soon enough, Keed,” he reasoned. “Whea the disc jockey doesn’t show up tonight, they'll go looking.” His finger pointed at me. “You'll have some answer- ing to do, and believe me, those boys downtown can ask a lot of questions.”’ He thumped himself on his broad chest. “T know !” : “You want I should tell ‘them about the - Conky Jacobs record, too?” I Memonded — irritably, . ae the Di of his hand. pered gently, I wagged my head with furious excite- “That's up to you, Johnny,” he fired back, “but ne matter what you think of the cops dewatowau—they’re not dumb; they'll get around to it.” His smile had an edge. Willy made sense, but [ kept hearing Bud’s voice saying : “We turn that record in, Johnny, and we're dead ducks.” T paced up and down Willy’s small room until IT made up my mind. “Uh uh,” T croaked, “I'm going by what Bud said and—” “.. and he’s dead,” Willy cut in. “But you said yourself you didn’t think Madden did it,’”’ I tossed at him. He shrugged, “Who knows?” ‘ “Oh,” I grimaced, “it’s like that— you're not sure now. What do you want?” | yelped angrily. “Me on a slab next to Bude” His features got all tight and red and then he got hold of himself and he let his body relax in the chair. He spoke in even tones. “Look, keed, the more [ talk this, the less I like it. Only one thing,” and he looked at me sharply, “I don’t care what you do about the record, only make sure that either you or the police have it, because,”’ he said pointedly, “Madden would pay a. barrel full of greenbacks to get it.” I whirled on him suddenly. “Willy, would they make a deal?” | “Who?” “Homicide?” I mouthed excitedly. “Would they play ball with me?” His keen eyes probed deep into my ex- pression and his lips formed the words: “All depends. What's up?” “T was just thinking,” I murmured softly. “What if Bud White went on the air as usual tonight?” Willy’s forehead instantly became a washboard of puzzlement which he straightened out with a slapping motion “The guy’s nuts,” he whis- Gomicboo (C <S (E@)