15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 27: 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 27 my gun. “Mister, the police aren’t inter- ested in me, unless they need a fourth at bridge.” He held a pistol on me while I dug out identification. He read the cards in the glare of his headlights. “Private investi- gator.” “You sound so disappointed,” I said, “What did you expect?” “T must admit I didn’t take you for a detective.” “Occasionally,” I conceded, ‘‘a client makes the same complaint.” He said thoughtfully, “Why did Al and Harry want you?” “Listen, friend, how about letting me ask a few questions? Like—who are you, how come you know who Al and Harry are—but don’t know them personally— and just how did you pop up at such an opportune moment? Also,” I drew a breath, “how do you fit into this case?” “You can have some of it,” he said agreeably. “I was here because I had been following someone who went into the Prince Club. I saw you come out, a little while ago, and go across the street.” His voice was deliberate. “Al and Harry, although I didn’t know who they were at the time, came into this parking lot and waited. I presume they had seen you leave the club, too. They couldn't see me in the dark. I just sat.” “You're doing fine,” I said. “Now, who are they?” “You must know that, They’re a pair: of very undesirable characters. Long po- lice records.” “Brother,” I asked, “are you a Detroit cop?” He just shook his head. “{ know,” I said testily, “you’re an in- spector from the fire department. Okay —play your little game. Maybe I could figure you out, if I had the time and wasn’t so dead weary. Right now, I’m heading for home. If you want me, I’m in the phone book.” He nodded, half-smiling. “Is that alf you have to say?” “No,” I said, and shook hands. “Thanks for saving my dissolute life.” CHAPTER FIVE The Hidden Microphone glue across my eyelids. I forced them open, and blinked at the sunlight shafting into the room. It must have been close to noon. The sleep slipped reluctant- ly out of my brain, and the weird, rapidly- shifting picture of the night before came [ FELT as if someone had smeared — rushing back. It brought me out of bed - like an electric shock. The shower, hot, cold and hot again, helped. I dressed, and called Mike Sheil. “{ thought I told you to forget this case,”’ he said curtly. “It’s in the hands of the department now.” “Don’t be like that, Mike. Maybe I’ve got news for you. I told you this thing has become a personal matter. Haven't I been helpful, so far?” “Tn an accidental way,” he admitted grudgingly. “You provided the body...” “And now I know who did it,” I said. “But I don’t know how.” “Well, well, well,” said Sheil, in mild surprise. “And how did you find out—by reading palms, or consulting your files of Racing Forms?” “Remember Dawn’s mention of De- troit? I suppose you’ve checked on that?” “T suppose I have.” “And { know what you found out, A jewel robbery ... A hundred grand neck- lace. Two guys pulled the job, killed the chauffeur. The cops thought there was a third party involved—maybe a girl who fingered the deal.’’ There was a moment’s silence. Then Sheil said, ‘“Where’d you buy the crystal ball?” “Tn a dark and lonesome parking lot,” COPMICOOOKS (E@)