15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

18 15 Sto heard Al yell, “Get out! Get out!” They sprinted down the half and through the vestibule door as the help I had needed so desperately began to arrive. The Norris Twins, a pair of handsome young men, were trying to prop me on my wobbly legs as the girls came back from their number, One twin said, “What happened ?”’ “That’s supposed to be my line,” I said. Several of the girls had stopped in curiosity. The little brunette had a wor- tied frown. The other twin righted my chair. I fell onto it, and wondered how soon the gremlins would stop using my head for a bass drum. At that moment the Countess Von Berolberg swept im- periously out of her dressing room with- out so much as a glance in my direction. She went out, through the curtain. The show had to go on, I remembered—but why? “Just a couple of drunks, wolfing around,” I mumbled, touching my scalp gingerly, The twin said, “Who are you?” I got to my feet, and felt the boat rock. “Inspector Morgan, fire department. Dont think it hasn’t been charming,” I told the knot of girls, “but you kids had better get back to work.” The twins and I went out to see what had happened to Pop. E WAS sitting on the floor, blinking and rubbing the top of his head. He didn’t have to tell me what had happened, but he did. The door had opened, he had glanced up to see the guy in brown—and the next thing he knew, the color scheme had changed. Everything went black. “Fever see that guy before, Pop?” “Not that I~ recollect,” he replied shakily. “Maybe you'd better go home and lie down.” “Maybe,” he admitted. The twin who could talk said, “We’re Detective on in a little while, Everything seems under control, now. Okay?” “Go ahead,’ I said. “But if that hall gets noisy again, shake the cement out of your shoes. I’m not in shape for this sort of thing.” : They left, and I started back to my guard post. A wiry, dark-haired guy in a tuxedo was coming through the curtain. He said, “What was all the riot about?” “No riot,” I said. “Just a couple of stray wolves on the prowl. Why?” He shrugged, and his dark eyes went restlessly over my face. “I work here. Just wondered, that’s all.” “You're Joey Moore?” “Veoh. a” “I thought you had a dressing room back here.” “T have.” “Don’t like it? You haven’t been in it.” “T don’t use it much,” he said shortly. “T’ve been on with one of my numbers. Before that, I was out front with some friends, having a drink. What’s the dif- ference?” “No difference,” I said, studying him. He sounded truthful, but he seemed nervous. “You're a comedian. [ haven't heard you say anything funny, yet.” “You aren’t paying me, either,” he retorted, as he went past me. At Dawn Layne’s door he halted, and knocked. “Dawn, baby—three minutes.” He waited, and knocked again. He turned, and said, “She’s in there, isn’t she? I nodded, walking toward him, He frowned, and knocked once more. The hair on the back of my neck began to rise slowly, and I felt the sweat pop out in my palms. I rattled the knob. The door was locked. I rocked back, the way they do in the movies, and prepared to crash it with my good shoulder. Moore said worriedly, “You think something’s wrong?” I went at the door as though I had CORMIE OO) cS (EO)