15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Two’s Company—Three’s a Shroud | WENT back and sat down, trying to ignore the curious glances. In a few moments, my hard-faced chum returned. Something about the cut of his coat made me wonder. I shelved the thought, and said, “Suppose we get our wheels up. The name is Clint Morgan. Private in- vestigator, it says on the license.” _ “T heard,” he said dryly. “Tm Jake Left,”’ “Left?” : “Right.” He didn’t smile. “Now, that’s a snappy routine. I'll bet we would wow ’em in Chautauqua.” It bounced off him like buckshot off steel. He said, “You know show busi- ness?” ae “T used to buy midnight lunches for an Earl Carroll girl. And, now and then, write a review when the drama editor drafted me into it.” s “Lou said you had been a police re- porter.” I nodded. That had been my assign- ment for a few years, until I decided the private investigators in our weird town were doing less work and getting paid more. I had managed to pass the ex- aminations, and had seen a lot of movies, and had belabored my way through a few easy cases. But let’s face it. What I didn’t know about the business would have filled a five-foot shelf, but there was no point in cutting myself off at the wallet. If I took his case he’d get his money’s worth in effort. “It doesn’t matter much,” he was say- ing, ‘‘only this is sort of a show business job I had in mind.” “T’m a little stiff for chorus work. And I couldn’t carry a tune in a barrel. I could possibly be top man in a pyramid act.’ He said dryly, “You're a clown.” “Not for laughs,” I retorted. “I’m just trying to get you to the point. Where’s the body you want guarded—cash in advance ?” ) 13 He studied his cigaret. I noted the pause. He still wasn’t sure how he should treat the subject. It must be a touchy job. “Tl take care of you,” he said. “Just pay me,” I told him. care of myself.” From the loudspeaker above the bar came a metallic, disinterested voice, ‘The horses are on the track...” “I know a girl named Dawn Layne,” Jake Left was twisting a match in his thick fingers. “A singer. Very good. Maybe you know her.” — 7 I had found a place card for the girl who had come looking for him, “Someday there'll be a singer who'll admit her name is Sophie Glockenspiel—The Prince Club. I’ve seen the ads. That place is off my beat.” ae “T want you to keep your eye on her for a few nights. Keep anybody from bothering her.”’ “Who'd want to?” “The horses are nearing the. starting gate,”’ remarked the loudspeaker. I cocked one ear at it, thinking about Easy Go and my last ten dollars. “I know another girl,” Left said slowly. “She’s mentioned carbolic acid.” I drained my glass, and started to get up. “Thanks for the drink, Jake. It’s been swell,” “Now, wait a minute—” — “Take it to the cops. I don’t want a jealous female burning off my one good suit with carbolic.” 3 “It’s only for a couple of days,” he protested. “Then Dawn’s going back to Detroit. Why bother the cops with a little thing like a couple of days?” “Tl take |B petaeers was getting to be a very popular town. I settled back. “Or a little thing like mayhem?” I made wet. rings with the glass, and thought about the full cut of his coat. “Jake, why’d you quit packing the gun you had that suit built for?” Gomichbooks (EO)