15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

Pigskin Patsy Si bit his lips. “Hell, he’s my brother.” “On one side of the ledger is a great deal of money. On the other side is life imprisonment, probably, and your broth- er. Maybe he'll send you cookies every Thursday. It should be a great comfort to vou.” Si lowered his voice to a whisper. “Can you make it look right?” “Remorse. The man who framed a teammate commits suicide.”’ “Can you fix it so it won’t... hurt?” “T can’t avoid a moment of realization. But it shouldn’t last long.” “T hate this!” “Oh, come now, Coults. Sentiment is a sticky substance. Lead the way.” Si walked heavily back to the stairs leading up to the apartment. Doc walked behind him. Halfway up the stairs an idea frought with delicious irony occurred to him. He went over the pros and cons in his mind. The idea appealed to him. And it had the advantage of being much quicker. Si had reached the next to the top stair. Doc reached forward, almost delicately, and grasped the thick wrist, Si’s left wrist, with both his hands. He turned quickly, bracing his feet, spinning Si half way around. Keeping Si’s elbow downward so that the big arm would remain stiff, he got his shoulder wedged against Si’s arm- pit and pulled down sharply on the arm, bending over, facing down the stairs as he did so. This was a far more satisfying method. Si gave one thin gasp as he flew, head first, into space, down the stairs toward the asphalt tile floor of the tavern proper. He hit with a thud that shook the build- ing. Doc came quickly and lightly down the stairs. The big man was unconscious and his face was bloody, but he seemed to have suffered no mortal hurt. Doc clucked disapprovingly, pressed down with his left hand between Si’s shoulder blades, reached around and cupped his right hand 69 on the heavy chin. He made one hard wrench and heard the distinct snap of the bone. “Hey!” a startled voice said from the head of the stairs. Doc did not give way to the impulse to look up. He knew that it was Stackie who had come to the head of the stairs and who had seen it. And he knew that his hat brim shadowed his face. He moved fleetly for the door. Once on the sidewalk, he’d be all right. He yanked the door open and saw Barry McBride blocking the doorway. McBride’s eyes widened as he recognized him. Bare feet were padding down the stairs behind him. The possible courses of action ticked through Doc’s agile brain. Claim the kid killed his brother. Too weak. Slam by McBride and run for it. Not and give up the profits. Kill McBride. Too close to the door and the street. This, Doc decided, is very likely to turn into a shambles. He backed into the bar, saying mildly, “Hello, McBride. Come on in.” Stackie stared at his brother and then at the other two. His tone was full of wonder. ‘That little old guy killed Si! Broke his neck with his hands!” “Oh, come now,” Doc said affably. “Do I look as if I could do that? Your brother took a bad fall. I just checked to see if he killed himself. I saw that he did and so I was getting out of here to avoid just such foolish accusations as you just made, young man.”’ As he spoke he backed casually over to one side. He wanted the two of them bunched close to the bar and Si’s body. CHAPTER FOUR His Guard’s Up! E WITT listened to the report. “Then McBride must have given them the slip, Ed,” he said. “Doc and McBride calling on the Coults! Grab CEOPMICL OOO KS (©)