15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

15 Stor shedding flour, and the sweat was out on his low forehead like dew after a cold night. The Countess Von Berolberg, a handy gal with her elbows, shoved her way to the front of the group. With her eyes flashing, she said, ‘She is dead. She is dead, no?” “Ves,” T said. ! There seemed to be an evil triumph glowing beneath the thin, wrinkled parch- ment the countess wore for a face. She was powdered and brightly reuged for work under a soft light, but in the merci- less glare of the nearby hall bulb she looked like she should have been riding a broom. “You're all broken up,” I observed. “You're feeling terrible, aren’t you?” Like you just cashed a lottery ticket.” Her pointed chin came up like’a spear aimed at me. “And I should feel so bad? She was no good. No good, the way she was. Death improves her!” So Dawn was dead, and here was some- one who obviously had hated her. But no murderer, I thought, would be so blat- ant about such a hate. Unless—I won- dered how clever the countess actually was. “The police are on the way,” I said. “You'd better get into your dressing rooms—and stay there.” The babble erupted again as they moved slowly away. I leaned against. the wall, infinitely tired, waiting—and suddenly Jake Left came through the curtain at a fast walk. I didn’t like the look on his face, and it was a cinch he wouldn’t like the looks of mine. I managed to loosen the gun, and held it there, under my coat. He said hoarsely, “Dawn .. .” “Jake—settle down. It’s ‘ea late, now.” He stared at the splintered door. “T don’t know how.” Futility was like a rock in my chest. “No one went.in or out of the place as long as I was there. Two guys—” Detective “> : ; Pes A big cat, he whirled swiftly. His broad hands clutched my throat, and began shaking me as though he wanted to see my teeth pop out. He looked as though he still couldn’t believe she was dead. Any moment, I thought, the idea will sink in, and he'll go completely ber- serk. Meanwhile, I was losing a lot of air. I jerked out the gun and clubbed him across the forehead. That broke the grip. He stumbled back, clutching his arm, and stared as though seeing me for the first time, “Two guys tried to get in,” I wheezed, holding the gun on him. “We wrestled, and they left. Then Joey Moore knocked on her door. No one answered. We broke it down, and found her.. Jake, nobody went in or out of there!” He shook his head, as though trying to. . clear it. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled. ‘No sense. No sense at all...” “Murder never does,” said a slow, dry voice. I turned to see Mike Sheil of homi- cide. He’s a big man who looks like a sleepy fullback, and I had covered enough stories with him to know he doesn’t miss much, Mike has seen a lot of life, and a lot of death, and that leaves scars. He hides them as well as anyone. Like most good homicide men, he isn’t too fast, but he’s thorough. He sauntered down the hall. “What's this?” he asked me. “Take Left,” I told him. “A client.” Mike shook his head, glancing at the gun. “Things must be tough. That’s a helluva way to get customers, Morgan.” I put it away. I said, “Jake hired me as a bodyguard for the girl.” . “Now he’s sore,” said Mike dryly, "Maybe you should refund his money, Where is she?” I took him into the ie room. Mike stood and looked as I filled him in on what had happened. He pursed his lips, hearing me in silence as his kee eyes catalogued the room. Then he im spected the neat little hole between Dawn Gomichbooks (E@)