5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT record. You know. That’ll be all right with you—won’t it?” The man’s threatening gaze convinced Mr. Bridgewater that it would be all right. He nodded. They both heard the steps coming down to his half-basement entrance and the click of door handle. The man with the gun slid quickly into the dressing booth beside the rear door. But he kept the pistol in Mr. Bridgewater’s sight. “Wait on the customer, but I’ll be cov- ering you.” The customer was a lady. “Wasn’t it terrible about poor Mr. Horowitz?” she asked while Mr. Bridge- water found her suit on the hanger and started wrapping it. “They say that rob- ber just went in and asked to see dia- monds. Then he pulled a gun and made Mr. Horowitz go to the back and open his safe. Then he shot him. Poor old man. You and him was friends, wasn’t you?” Mr. Bridgewater’s throat went dry. So it was Mr. Horowitz this man had killed. “Yes. We played pinochle together every night. Him and me and Delehanty. We were friends.” “I bet Mr. Delehanty would like to get his hands on the murderer,” the woman said, paying her bill and picking up her package. “And I bet you would, too.” “IT sure would,” Mr. Bridgewater said.. “If I had my hands on him, he’d be SOrry.” Aue WOMAN was gone, and the tailor looked furtively toward the rear of his shop. The killer, standing half out of the booth, crooked his finger. Mr. Bridgewater walked back toward him, like a man marching to the execution chamber. “T’ve got it all cooked up,” the killer said. “This block is gonna be hot for several hours yet, and you’re shorthand- ed. I’ll run that pressing machine for you—in case anybody comes in. I’m your new presser—but I wouldn’t want any- body to know just how new I was. That’ll be all right with you, won’t it?” The little tailor managed to agree to the intruder’s suggestion. “Yes, you’re my helper, in case any- body comes in.” 93 “That’s the idea.” The killer beamed. “Between customers, you can show me how to run that gadget. Who knows? I] might get a suit pressed for you.” The man took off his coat and hat and put on a blue smock which Mr. Bridge- water kept for his extra help to wear on certain occasions. Then he led the way to the pressing machine. “How do you work this, Mac?” he asked. Then he looked and said, “Ain’t those pants almost cooked?” Mr. Bridgewater looked at the pants smoking in the pressing machine and groaned. : “Seven-dollar slacks! And he’ll swear they cost fifteen dollars when I go to settle with him.” Another woman came in. “Have you got Sally’s coat ready?” Mr. Bridgewater gulped. “No, Mrs. Meaders. I’ve got such a rush, Come back in a couple of hours.” “You said you’d have it!” “Look. You go on home, and I’ll send it up by Tommy Nevins as soon as he gets out of school. He’s delivering for me.” Mr. Bridgewater got Mrs. Meaders out just as a pair of uniformed cops came in. “See anything of a man in a tan plaid coat and slacks? About six feet, hundred and eighty pounds. Mr. Bridgewater swallowed and looked around. The killer brought the top of the pressing machine down on the slacks, and steam hissed. His eyes never left Bridgewater’s. His blue smock was unbuttoned; his hand was in quick reach of the gun in his hip pocket. “No,” Bridgewater answered, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “They. didn’t catch him yet?” “No, but we will. We got the block surrounded. Mind if we look around?” The two officers began searching the dressing. room, shoving back the door curtains. Mr. Bridgewater felt a chill run up his spine. They’d find the man’s coat and know he had lied. That was some kind of a criminal offense, he thought. One of the cops opened the booth where the man had hidden, while Bridge- water held his breath. Then the cop dropped the curtain. CoOMmiicloookKks (C@)