Pulp Fiction, 1950 · page 33 of 132
15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 33: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This page contains **story prose** from a hardboiled detective fiction titled "Two's Company—Three's a Shroud." The narrative follows a detective investigating a murder, searching a victim's room for a valuable necklace. After systematically checking light bulbs and searching through makeup jars and clothing, the detective discovers money hidden in a sombrero—only to be shot through the shoulder before reaching it. The passage ends with the detective realizing the murderer has struck again. At the bottom of the page is a whiskey advertisement featuring Washington reporter Arnold Fine endorsing Calvert Reserve Blended Whiskey.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Two’s Company—Three’s a Shroud have been murdered—when there was no ene else in the room with her? | peered closely at the mirror, seeking the tiny hole that would mark the path of a dart. All [ saw was bloodshot eyes. I[ checked the wall carefully. No holes. I glared back at the mirror. So maybe she was shot with a light ray, | told myself sarcastically. The thought ballooned. Swiftly, | grabbed a light bulb. Just as swiftly, { let go. [t was hotter than a quick-lunch griddle. With a handkerchief for protection, [ began unscrewing light bulbs, looking for the phony one. One after another came out, and went back in. They all worked, and they all were solid in their sockets. My soaring hopes collapsed. lf | could only find the necklace, my theory would be substantiated to some ex- tent. Limieht have folded up right then if my laboring brain hadn't suddenly suggested that a necklace doesn’t have to remain a necklace to be worth a hundred thousand dollars. Quickly, [ removed the lids’ from the make-up jars, and ran my fingers into the stuff. No loose pearls. My eyes swept the reoin—past the evening gowns, ‘the gay costes, the Spanish outfit. [ came back to that, noting the costume jewelry sewn on the colorful jacket. ha I kept staring, trying to pull up the thought buried somewhere in ‘the welter =——_-— REPORTER REPORTS ON SWITCH TO CALVERT WASHINGTON, D. C.—Arnold Fine, Washington reporter and night club editor, flashes this news about today’s whiskies. “Switch to Calvert,” he says. ‘I have. Calvert honestly és lighter, smoother, milder.’ CALVERT RESERVE BLENDED WHISKEY—86.8 PROOF—65% GRAIN NEUTRAL SPIRITS. CALVERT DISTILLERS CORP., N.Y.C. eee of ideas and hunches and theories. [ had seen a movie once in which some stolen genis were sewn on a girl's gown. [ grabbed that jacket tike it was a re- fund from the tax collector. { ran my hands over tt, tore out the lining, plucked off some of the phony jewelry and held it to the light. And { was ready to go back to the Gazette. Mike Sheil was right. [ was an amateur. { had no business in this racket. There wasn’t anything even remotely re- sembling a pearl on that jacket. [ let it fall to the floor in disgust, and glanced up at the shelf. And there, suddenty, crazily, was money from home. The hat —the flat-crowned sombrero . .. It looked like the usual thing, wide and black and... WAS reaching for it when [ heard a popping sound, just once, and felt the darting pain bore through my left shoul- der. The state smell of death was strong in my nostrils. In that instant f had sense enough to crash to the floor, and lhe. very still. The pain was tiquid fire, soaking through my shirt. My heart was ham- mering at my throat, choking me. [ heard a sound beyond the wall, a going away sound, and because it meant living or dying, [ took a chance. [ sat up quickly, fighting off the black curtain of shock, and worked my gun loose. Across the room, [ saw now, the path of Dawn Layne’s murder had opened again. 2G tee & we4GGmMBare 3 a CORMICLOO© 33%.