15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

40 15 Story Detective quietly. “He says you took it all after you slugged him. Eleven hundred dollars. He swore out a. warrant. [’m afraid you'll have to come along, Spencer.” Spencer groaned. “The guy’s a chisler. He stalled me for a month. [ wanted my dough and [ got it. That’s all there is to it.”” Brent shrugged. “You'll have to prove that in court.” “But { was leaving for Mexico in the morning —” “So the clerk told me,” Brent said dry- ly. “That won't look so good, -will it?” “My Lord, man! Would [ go to a ho- tel, register under my own name, if [’d robbed him? Use your head!” “Yeah, it was easy enough finding you. But that still doesn’t solve anything, does it? Let's go, Spencer, The clerk said you had a suitcase—”’ “Up in my room,’’ Spencer said angrily. He wondered if anything could come of this. One man’s word against another. Damn Bogan! 3 They took the stairs, Brent a couple of steps behind Spencer. In the room, Brent said, “You made pretty good time.” “Fellow gave me a ride,” Spencer said. He turned and spread his hands. “Will it help if you search me?” He dug out his wallet, flung it on the bed. “That’s all of it.” He picked up the suitcase, snap- ped it open, dumped the contents beside the wallet. ; Brent said wearily, “They'll go through your stuff at headquarters. Now put that stuff back and—”’ Brent broke off, staring at the bed. He stepped around Spencer, reached into the tangle of underwear, shirts and_ socks. Then he was holding up a pearl necklace, looking at it, then at Spencer, suddenly alert. ““Whiere did this come from?” he asked in-a cold. voice. Spencer's insides turned to putty. He stared at the necklace, moistened lips that were suddenly dry. Brent said, “Ehey look and feel like the real thing.” 7 Spencer closed bia eyes, opened them again. ““The woman—she was wearing them.” “What woman?” Spencer gestured and Brent stepped back. Spencer said, “The guy who gave me a ride. He stopped at her place, in- vited me in. The woman—” A look of frozen disbelief on Brent's face stopped him, He felt panic rise. He blurted, “f’'m telling you that’s what hap- pened.” “You can tell it at headquarters,” Brent said. Spencer stood there, too paralyzed: to speak. The horrible conviction had hit him that Mary Warton was at this mo=- . ment lying dead in her house. It didn’t take a second thought to con- | vince him. He had a picture of Rincon riding around, taking drinks from a bottle, trying to raise the nerve to commit a mur- der. And then he sat inside of Rincon and saw Spencer, waiting at the side of the road, a patsy to catch the penalty for an unspeakable crime. It was suddenly very clear to Spencer. Mary Warton had threatened to cut her niece out of her will if Rincon married the girl. Rincon hadn’t liked that and had taken steps to alter the old lady’s fatal decision. Spencer saw even more. He saw his fingerprints on the Chinese statue, on the decanter, on the glass. He saw them all over the pint bottle in the driveway, and he saw himself walking back to the liquor store while Rincon ghee the necklace in his suitcase. Rincon had forgotten his hat on pur- pose. He’d gone back after it and thery killed Mary Warton. Spencer wanted to weep, to cry out for help. He looked at Brent’s frozen face. No help there.- He measured the distance between him and Brent. He thought of ‘ EOPMICLOOOKS (Oo