15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

76 ery, cleared his throat with a series. of labored rasps, then said: “It’s all sewed up, Bob. More than enough evidence to fry that murdering driver. We've already taken a paraffin test of his hand. It shows that he fired a gun recently. The melted parafhin collects the particles of nitrate, even though invisible to the eye, that have been driven into the flesh of the hand. by the fired bullet. Even washing cannot rid the shooter of this evidence.” Emery’s brain weighed this bit of damning evidence carefully. Against it he had only the sincerity in Sam’s denial. He knew instinctively that Sam wasn’t lying. “What would the motive be in killing the trooper,” he asked. “Sam musta had it in for Trooper Main. Sam’s boy was pinched by Main and sent up on his evidence as the ring- leader of a car stealing mob. That’s mo- tive enough.” The labored rasps came again, “There’s more. Sam’s fingerprints were all over the automatic that killed Main,’’ Lieutenant Fox rasped again. He shook his narrow, bald head slowly. ‘“Bet- ter forget it, Bob.” A/PORAING found Bob. Emery, accom- panied by the district attorney, walk- ing into, Sam’s guarded room. A lawyer for Sam was also on the way. Mute despair crystallized in the injured man’s brown. eyes as the damning: evidence was explained to him. “How could any test prove I fired a gun when I didn’t?” he said hopelessly. “T’ve been framed by that little guy who said I did the shooting. He did it.” “Come, come, man!’’ District Attorney Larski snapped. “We took a test of Mr. Loffel’s hands, too, on the chance that he might’ve fired the fatal shot. The test showed negative.”” He frowned in anger. “He wore gloves! You just reminded me of it. His hands were bare when I came to. He—”’ “Indeed! How very convenient for you. 15 Story Detective How do: you explain the positive indica- tion found: on your hand?” Larski smiled with righteous triumph “And your fingerprints on the death weapon? And Main’s bullet in your shoulder? How do you explain these trifling details?” Emery watched silently as the horror grew on Sam’s ashen face. “My wife— my kids—”’ Sentiment for Sam struggled mightily against material evidence in Emery’s heart. “Let him tell us again all he knows,” he urged Larski. The district attorney’s slim fingers carefully patted his blonde hair into place as he gave a grudg- ing permission. He didn’t even listen as Sam related the tale earnestly. Emery paid strict attention. “Then they musta taken the trooper’s revolver and shot me through the shoulder after the skinny guy knocked me cold. It would be easy to put the automatic in my hand to get my fingerprints. on it,”” Sam concluded miserably. Larski said: “Very. interesting display of imagination, Sam. Only the prints on the trooper’s gun were his. Main shot you when you shot him.’”’ He stifled a yawn. “Here, my man,” he was extend- ing a paper to Sam. “Sign this confession and maybe you'll get off with a life sen- tence.”’ Sam drew in a deep breath. “Life sentence! Never to, hold a wheel in my hands? Never to feel the pound of wheels on the free road. and know the stink of exhaust? I’d sooner fry !”’ Emery’s hand reached out and clasped Sam’s in a hard grip, “I believe you, Sam,” he said in a low voice. “Jim Lamb is backing you, too. There must be some way to clear you. We'll find it.” A faint gleam of hope shone through the despair in Sam’s brown eyes as Bob Emery turned to look at him from the door. He left him in the cream-toned room, propped up in a gleaming white bed, wrapped up in black fear just faintly S EOPNICG OOO (EO)