15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

Corpse’s Comeback 41 facing it and then something in his head was measuring the distance again, won- dering if he could hit Brent hard enough the first time to keep him quiet. He thought of how it would-be at the police station. It would be very tough, especially after they checked his story and found the body. Brent said, “Put the stuff back in the suitcase, Spencer.” : Maybe there wasn’t a body. Maybe this was all a joke of some kind. No, no, no, his brain told him. This isn’t a joke. This is‘the way it starts for the guys who pay the penalties for crimes they didn’t com- mit. RENT had the necklace in his coat pocket now. His hand was moving to his right hip. Spencer stepped toward the bed. He stuffed his belongings into the suitcase, snapped it shut, flung it at Brent’s knees. His fist shot out, caught Brent full in the face. Brent was still tugging at the revolver, bringing it out. Spencer hit him again, throwing all of his weight behind the blow. Blood spurted from Brent’s mouth. He sagged, mumbling. Spencer hit him on the jaw and knocked him out. For a second Spencer reeled, his heart pounding inside his chest. The panic in him was so strong that he was faint with it. He groped for the door, lurched down the hall. He started for the stairs. On the first floor he stopped. The panic steadied, edged back. The clerk, If Spen- cer came down alone, the clerk would be- come suspicious. He would only have to take one look. at Spencer to know that something was wrong. Spencer sobbed, ran to the end of the hall, looked for a back stairs. The window at the end of the hall was open. ie saw’a fire escape. He crawled over the sill, got his feet on the ladder, climbed down. He found himself in an alley. At the end of the alley a red neon flicked off and on, off and on, paving the alley blood red. Bill Spencer quickly ran the other way. Now the alley behind him and he was: crossing a street. Lights rushed: at him, brakes squealed, a voice cursed him. But- he was running, finding another alley, then another, running until: the breath sobbed in his lungs and his mouth tasted of leather. “3 At least he could run no farther. He put his back against a brick wall, chest heav- ing, listening for sounds that meant pur- suit, Listening for the wail of a siren. He heard nothing. Now he thought of ways to escape the city. He thought of the border but by the time he»reached the border the alarm would be out, and the border would be a very dangerous spot. The more he thought about it the harder he knew escape to be. Border City was on the coast. Mexico guarded one side: There was the coast highway, another danger spot. Then there was the back country. But even that direction offered few roads. He thought of Rincon and he damned him. And he damned Bogan because Bo- gan had brought this on. It was good to feel anger; it swept the panic away, made. him think. If only he was certain that a murder had been committed. But he wasn’t certain—not really certain. And yet every- thing pointed to a murder.. Mary War- ton’s apparent hatred for Rincon. The necklace. He looked at the dark sky. He closed his eyes and he felt the night. He was young. There was so much ‘of life still ahead of him. He moved away from the alley, into the street. And then the thought stopped him. It was crazy, but if there had:been a mur- der, it wouldn’t be discovered till morning because this was the maid’s night off. It meant that he could face Rincon without fear, because Rincon wouldn’t dare recog- nize him and give himself away. The man probably had an iron-clad alibi for the evening. CoOnniclooolks (E@)