5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

For that matter George Erickson’s got as much motive as all three of them.” “Who’s George Erickson ?” “Druggist on the corner. Mr. Larson was divorcing his wife and naming George correspondent. Like to have ruined George’s business in a small town like this.” Tony said, “Kind of gives Mrs. Larson a motive too then, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t she inherit the restaurant?” The girl’s mouth widened into a de- lighted grin. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s ae of convenient for the old gal, isn’t t ? ” Tony rose, paid seven cents for his coffee and slipped a quarter tip under the saucer. “Better not mention our conversation to anyone, unless you’re sure it’s someone who won’t repeat it. Wouldn’t do for the guilty person to have warning before Chief Murphy has time to act.” “Oh, sure,” Janet breathed. Tony watched the other waitress en- ter the kitchen with a tray. “T’d like to talk to Gert and the cook now,” he said. “All right to go back in the kitchen ?” “Sure. Go right ahead.” He learned nothing from Gert or the cook, Henry, except they were equally positive in their identification of the ody lying at the funeral parlor as that of the bandit. When he came out of the kitchen again, Janet was ringing the register for a woman who was paying her bill. “and wouldn’t it be awful if the robbery was just a cover-up,” he heard her say in a low voice. “But don’t re- peat it to a soul.” As he left the restaurant, the little man’s grin was self-satisfied. Il ica the Blue Goose was straight out of the pre-prohibition era, complete to sawdust, brass rail and cus- pidors. Through double curtains across an archway at the rear came the whir of slot machines and the brittle click of dice. Aside from two men leaning against the bar, most of the place’s cus- tom seemed to be the other side of the curtains. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE “Looking for Art Jason,” Tony told the bartender. “Usual table,” the man said, jerking his head toward the archway. The little man parted the curtains and stepped into a wide, barn-like room containing a roulette wheel, three dice tables, two poker tables and about twenty slot machines. Five men sat around one of the poker tables, a half- dozen more ringed one of the dice boards and three women played slot ma- chines. No one was playing roulette. Behind a square table centered nearly against the rear wall sat a large-boned man of middle age wearing a close-cut mustache and goatee. Laid out in front of him on the table were stacked coins ranging from nickels to silver dollars, the last denomination taking up half the table space in stacks of ten each. Tony approached the man and said, “Looking for Art Jason.” Sharp eyes surveyed Tony before the man spoke, and his gaze was such a solid ray of power, it exerted nearly physical force. The little man got a fleeting impression of ruthlessness, and experienced mild surprise to encounter it in a small-town gambler. A danger- ous opponent, was his first appraisal, but he immediately revised it down- ward when he detected evidence that the man’s forcefulness was largely the- atrical effect. His whole personality was an obvious pose, from the small beard which only partially concealed a weak chin, to the thick gold ring with its glittering yellow diamond, which he wore on his right forefinger. “You’ve found him,” the man said. “My name is Tony Ransome. Buffalo Homicide and Arson. Got permission from Chief Murphy to ask questions.” “About what?” “Killing night before last. Kind of like to know what made an honest Buf- falonian turn killer.” The sharp eyes lanced at Tony again, but when they clashed with the small- er man’s steady gaze, immediately dropped. “What makes you think I’d know ?” “Didn’t say you did,” Tony said. “Thought I’d try tracing back the kid’s movements after he hit town. Got to start somewhere.” CONNIECLOO© @) S (C(O)