15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

Pigskin Patsy George dead we grabbed some of his loose dough and stashed it. With a little capital, we might be able to do okay.” “What's this about there being police in the neighborhood ?” “] recognized one, a guy named Free- man, up the street trying to act like a man with nothing on his mind. They’ve got you covered and they're either waiting for orders to grab you or waiting for you to make a break.” Laura held his arm _ tightly. Barry!” “They'll have a man on the back too, I suppose,” Barry said softly. “What are you thinking of?” Laura asked. “Don’t you see?” Barry said. ‘This is my chance. I’ve got to get out of here. Stackie spends most of his time around the apartment over his brother’s bar. I’ve got to have more to go on before I turn myself in. I’m going to take this news to Stackie and see what happens. If he cracks I'll have a real lead to take to the police.” “IT don’t think that’s so smart,” Jerry said. ‘‘Maybe they got Stackie covered too. They had me and Doc covered this morning until we shook ’em.”’ i “Everything has been happening to me,” Barry said. “I haven’t done a damn thing. So now I start. I’m getting out of here.”’ “A nice trick if you can do it,” Jerry said. Aunt Kath, who had come silently up the stairs, said, “Mrs. Mulroy’s house was built far too close to mine. I objected, but it didn’t do any good. I’d say it was about six feet away. At least it seemed that far when I poked her window out with a broomstick a few minutes ago.” “You what?” Laura said. “Oh, she isn’t home, child. I saw her go out a half hour ago. There’s a plank in the cellar that would fit across nicely, McBride. They have a side entrance only ““ Oh, 67 about fifteen feet from the city bus stop on the corner. It’s a very small lot they built on. You could wait until a bus stopped, and then run quickly and—”’ x * x Doc Leeds looked at his old-fashioned gold pocket watch. Quarter to eleven. Si Coults would open his doors in anether fifteen minutes. HE SIGHED, wondering if he were getting too old for this sort of thing. Lately intrigue seemed to result in a form of acid indigestion. Breakfast sat leadenly in his middle. The thing to do in this life - was to accept the position of a hired man and be contented with your lot. He thought of the money that had passed through his hands since he had_ been drummed out of the medical profession. A taste for high living was a bad thing. If he had saved half that money, he would now be well established. Instead he was once again finding it necessary to do vio- lence. He realized that there was a hint of rationalization in decrying violence. Violence had always suited him, had al- ways eased some inner need. Murder was an end in itself, and, considered only from the point of view of the pleasure in the act, the penalty could be avoided. It was murder for gain that established motive and led to worry—and to acid indigestion. There had been a certain clumsiness about all this that he found distasteful. There were too many imponderables in the equation. He smiled. Too many peo- | ple named Coults. Si Coults seemed to have a certain basic ruthlessness that was refreshing, but the young one. . . . Doc shook his head sadly. That young one was definitely a menace. He thought back over his actions. He had done his part admirably. He had tried to argue Deever into selling out, and then had made his report so that they Gomichbooks (E(0)