15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

Mayhem With a Match smoke hood was closed tightly; so was the fire door, the ash door, the clean-outs. the coal was packed as high as he could pack it. When the tiny flames finally pushed through that jam and hit the gas pocket on top—blam! It was time to go. Danger lay here. He must be far away when those tiny tentacles of fire came up through that ceiling of coal and hit the gas chamber. Shivering, Sfade extinguished the electric bulb and stumbled upstairs. His fingers were all thumbs as he buttoned his overcoat and pulled on his galoshes, The nervous grin kept twisting his thin face spasmodically. Hurry! Hurry! When that boiler explodes, it will hurtle upward with terrific force, perhaps through this very HGOL,' 5% “pus train carried Slade swiftly to Long Island. When he knocked on the door of Mrs. Borden, his mother-in- law, he forced an expression of worry, regret, and sheepishness to his pale fea- tures. He must make this look natural, “Where’s Rita?” he cried, simulating distress. “Is she still mad?” He was kicking off his galoshes. “It was all my fault. Guess I woke up on the wrong side this morning. I’ve come to take them back.” “Rita?” Mrs. Borden was puzzled. She closed the door, followed him into the living room. “What do you mean, Rupert? She hasn’t been here.” A cold dagger of fear knifed through him. What was this? Had his perfect plan gone wrong after all? But it couldn't. “But they—she left me, took Bobby with her. We had a quarrel this morning, She was gone when I came home from the bank. “She left a note—”’ Suddenly the words were choking him. Where had Rita gone? A ghastly horror filled hin. St “What's the matter?” pleaded the old woman, frightened. “You're trembling. Where’s my daughter?” He scarcely heard her. He struggled dazedly to get the full import of this catastrophe. Could he still prove his wife had left him, that he’d chased after her? The note! Where was it? He searched frantically in his pockets. Not here. Had he left it on the kitchen table? The doorbell rang discordantly. He whipped around. Was it Rita at fast? How had he arrived here first? He threw open the front door. stumbled backward, cringing. Two policemen, huge in their wiater overcoats. Stern, tight-lipped, eyes bura- ing into him. Caught! So soon they had discovered him. He stared dazedly, eyes bulging. Why did they look at him like that? How could they have known? He hadn’t left any clues. Or had he? Where had he slipped up? “Rupert Slade?” One of them stepped forward. “We've been looking for you. Headquarters sent out a radio flash that you might be here.”’ | His perfect crime was a shambles. “__T was going crazy. I had to make good that deficit. I set the rubbish bar- rels there. I closed all the doors to create the gas pocket. I— Why are you staring like that? Stop it! Damn you, stop it!” He was aware dizzily of Mrs. Borden's racking breath. What was he saying? Couldn’t he keep that fool mouth of his shut? Handcuffs slipped over his limp, flabby, sweating wrists; pinched cruelly. “Well,” a grim voice beat through his stupor, “we just came up to break the sad news about your wife and child. They were killed in the explosion that wrecked your home. She lived just long enough to say something about changing her mind; something about going back to make up with you. But now— Hey, Tim, give us a hand. He’s fainted.” He EOPNICLOOO KS (E@)