15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

44. ts Mr. Rincon in the bar right now?” “He hasn't ‘come down yet—” Spencer didn’t hear the rest. His heart was byating queerly and he needed very much to collapse in one of the deep chairs and hold his head. Phis was it all right. The girl Sond the photograph, Dora Davis. Mary War- ton’s niece. He walked very slowly toward the bar, and his brain was sending out an urgent message for Dora Davis to follow him. The light in the bar was made up of soft, earthy colors. It softened features that were otherwise hard, made beautiful that which was plain. She came in as he ordered his drink. She was wearing a green suit, and she walked with the easy grace of her youth. Spencer watched her select an empty: booth at the back of the room, speak to a waiter. The moment she has her drink, Spencer thought. He'd have to get it over with fast, get across the plan that was half formed in his brain. If Rincon came down and found them together, if she didn’t believe him and screamed for the police, if— The waiter was bringing her drink. She signed the tab, smiled at the waiter. Spencer picked up his glass. It was a mile to her booth and she was looking at him, all the way. He stopped and tried to make his voice pleasant, but it came out hoarse, urgent. “I have to speak to you, Miss Davis.” Her eyes met his and stayed there. Then she half smiled and said, “If it’s that bad, sit down.” } He sat, put his drink on the table and leaned over. His words came in a rush. “You're Dora Davis, you have an aunt, Mary Warton, you paint, at one time you lived with your aunt but you moved out because there was trouble about Roy Rincon—” ‘Her green eyes widened. “What is this — leading up to?” 15 Story Detective He continued to talk, fast, telling her | about the house, the Chinese statues, that her aunt owned a pearl necklace, wanting to establish a background for the payoff. “And either you or Roy Rincon drive a dark blue coupe,’” he finished, naming the make and year. The girl's eyes narrowed. “That's my ear. But what—” “The clock on the dash is out of com- mission. It’s stopped at six o'clock.” “Well, my goodness, you have been around, haven’t you? But it still doesn’t give me anything, does it?” opencer took a deep breath. “Rincon picked me up this evening, about twenty miles outside of the city. He was driving your car.”’ “You-missed out on that one,’’ the girl said. She was smiling, but behind the smile there was puzzled annoyance. “My car was parked in front of the art school from before seven until after ten. Care to try again?” “Your aunt threatened to cut you out of her will unless you stopped seeing Rincon,” said Spencer. He felt sweat break out on his face. “Now you're speaking of things that don’t concern you,” the girl said angrily. “Who are you, mister?” “T’m the guy Rincon set up to take the rap for your aunt's murder,” Spencer said hoarsely. The girl straightened, her face drawn and suddenly pale. She half rose. “What are you saying—” “Please, please!” The words came on a sob, and his hands formed fists and beat softly against the table. “Don’t do any- thing yet. Please don’t do anything yet. I had to hit you with it, and ['m sorry. But it might mean my hfe. Do me this — favor. There’s a phone booth back there. Call your aunt. See if you get her to an- swer.” She looked at him. There was a little fright mixed in with the puzzled anger Gomichoo “GO