5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

ANGELS DIE HARD nearly got me. You stole the cyanide out of Vara Dean’s handbag and poisoned Withersteen. You knew Vara might tell me about Scott and you were afraid Scott would remember that you were one of his customers and that he had told you about giving Miss Dean the poison sticks. You were watching Scott’s place and when you saw me go in, you killed him to cover up and tried to kill me.” “And why did I kill Withersteen? I’m interested in your psychopathic ravings, Thatcher. As a professional man such things are worth a little study.” He was sneering now, sneering but backing away, and I was watching his right hand. This was one time I wasn’t going to get there after it happened. I didn’t think I’d look pretty as a corpse. “He was blackmailing you,” I said. “That’s how he first got his money to back shows. You were a rich and suc- cessful society doctor making about fifty grand a year, and Withersteen made you pay up.” “Why 9” I waved my hand toward the framed medical school diplomas and the licenses that told what a fine doctor Tanner was. “Because you got those under a fake name, and you know it. I’ve been doing a lot of telephoning tonight—long-dis- tance stuff. I phoned Fairfield College. They didn’t have any Tanner in the class of ’26. That made me suspicious. There was a guy named George Wayland, sec- ond from the left in the third row of the class photo. That was you. You studied medicine after graduating from Fair- field. Only two years after you started practicing, you got into a bad scrape when a patient died, following an illegal operation and you went to prison. After you got out, you disappeared. Nobody I talked to knew where you were or what had happened to you. But I did. “Withersteen worked his way through Fairfield. He was an orphan with no relatives to inherit dough from. At col- lege he was interested in amateur the- atricals. The rest was easy to figure, Doc. He happened to run across you and 67 saw his chance to get the dough he want- ed to back shows. “You had to give it to him or he’d have exposed you as an impostor and ex-jail- bird. Even when his shows made good he went on bleeding you. Finally vou de- cided to kill him and throw the blame on Vara Dean. It looked like a cinch to have her shut up as a homicidal maniac. Does that explain everything, Doc?” “No. You’re mentally unbalanced and I’m going to—” He made a dive at me then and his hand came out of his right hand pocket. I got quite'a surprise, for he didn’t have a gun, after all. He was too smart to be caught with the rod that had killed Scott. It was a surgical knife, long and sharp, and I sensed exactly what his game was. He planned to murder me, call me crazy and say he’d done it in self-defense. To keep the knife away from me I grabbed his wrist, and that gave him his chance to knock me off the chair onto the floor. He was on top of me like a tiger then. I was a little dizzy from the head wound, a little slow in my reactions. I just didn’t want him to get that knife between my ribs. I had an idea a doctor, even a bum one, might know too well where to put it. 7 Our little tussle was interrupted first by the ringing of the doorbell, then by the smashing in of the door. It was a shame the cops had to do that to such a nice office. Tanner didn’t seem to mind, however, for, as the door burst open, he dropped the knife beside me, jumped off me and faced the men who were coming in. “Thank goodness you’re here, Lieu- tenant Richardson,” he said. “Thatcher is a raving lunatic. He came here and attacked me, first accusing me of all sorts of things.” “Yeah?” Rich looked at me, his big bullet head wagging from side to side. “We’ve been tailing him all night, Tan- ner. He’s led my boys a chase.” “Now you’ve got him,” Tanner gloat- ed. “Don’t let him pick up that knife. He’s really dangerous. COMmiclboooks @)