15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

Pigskin Patsy other day? You do? Good. Sir, it looks as if we are winding this up. I thought because of your interest in the case you might like to sit in on it. Since you were once connected with the force, I’m sure that we are within our rights. Mr. Tobert of the District Attorney’s office is on his way over. That’s right. Sorry you can’t make it, sir. A man named Leeds is help- mg us crack the case. Oh, you think you might be able to?. Good. I'll be expecting you.” When DeWitt walked in Barry Me- Bride, his face expressionless, was sitting on a straight chair opposite the windows. ~Laura Kinger sat beside him, her finger- tips on his wrist. Jerry Schaydel sat against the far wall, his eyes hooded. Doc Leeds was sitting two chairs away from him, his legs crossed, a look of mild un- concern on his face. They all looked at him as he came in. “This is ridiculous,” Laura said. “May I remind you, Miss Kinger, that you are not here in your capacity as a representative of the press, but as a per- son accused of hiding a wanted man.”’ The clerk sat in the corner behind his table, his notebook open, a_ cigarette smoulding in the ash tray. The sounds of the city traffic came clearly through the early evening air. The overhead lights looked weak. Ed Crainstock sat on the edge of the table, one leg swinging. He gave DeWitt a glance of amusement. The electric clock on the wall clicked sharply as the minute ~hand jumped ahead. Tobert came in with his briefcase. “Sorry if I’m a little late,” he said. “Good evening, Walter, Ed, Miss Kinger. Hello, McBride.” “One more person coming,’ Walter DeWitt said. The ex-Commissioner arrived three minutes later. He was a white-haired, gaunt, clipped, brushed, polished man with hollow cheeks and a small military mus- 71 tache. He greeted the others, selected a chair, sat down and crossed his long legs. DeWitt noticed that he gave Leeds no more than a casual glance. 668 GUESS we can start,’’ DeWitt said. ‘There's no need to mention how upset the citizens of River City are over this affair. Any mixture of gambling and athletics is a stench of the first order, Add murder and you have a most serious affair. So far one obscure gambler and one one-time famous tackle have died,’ Before too long they may be flashing word of the death of Stackie Coults. A nerve in the side of his throat was crushed, That nerve controls the breathing reflex, He’s in an iron lung right now, but there is spastic action of the nerve which inter- feres with the rhythm of the lung. Another famed ball player—you, Mr. McBride— is in disgrace, held on suspicion of mur- der. Organized professional ball in this city may not recover from this triple dis- aster. But we can’t tell yet.” The ex-Commissioner yawned openly. “Can you hurry it along, DeWitt?” “Til try. One of these men is lying. McBride or Leeds. Each tells an entirely different story regarding what happened in Coults’ place. It is one man’s word against the other’s. So we have been mak- ing it our business throughout the after- noon of trying to prove or disprove one story or the other. We have found one serious flaw. DeWitt turned to Leeds. ‘Tell us again about the two bottles, Leeds. Doc shrugged. “He is a muscular young man and he was chasing me. Fright made me pretty spry after I saw him hit young Coults. As I dodged around the bar I grabbed two bottles and threw them, one after another, through the front window to attract attention.”’ DeWitt turned “Please tell us about the bottles.” “Yes sir. As soon as you gave me the COPMIC OOO K<S to Ed _ Crainstock. (E@)