All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Bodies By Night was wearing overalls, a floppy, broad- brimmed hat. His teeth gleamed in the dark, and he reached toward his hip. “Drop it!” Milt snapped. His hands came up slowly. “Yes sir, boss. What you-all want?” “Turn around.” “You gonna crack me on the haid? I ain’t gonna do nuffin’, Boss. I jus’ guard Mister Haleck’s property.” “Shut up and turn around.” Slowly the big fellow turned, the whites of his eyes like gleaming moons. He kept staring over his shoulder. Milt pulled a revolver from the man’s hip pocket and tucked it inside his own belt beneath his shirt. ‘Now what about that ape-man? I want the truth.” “Moe? He got away. Ev’rybody knows ‘bout that.” “Yeh? You’re lyin’. There ain’t no ape-man. Never was.” “I swear, boss! I’ll show you where they kep ’im.” Milt cursed under his breath. “Got you fooled like all the rest, huh? Show me— walk slow and easy.” A car turned into the driveway from the main road. He pushed the caretaker back until the white glare of the head- lamps swept past the edge of the barn. “Now move,” he growled. They trailed down the long length of the barn, past an open door. . . . Too late, Milt dodged back. An iron bar wielded by a big figure smashed against his wrist; knocked the .45 into the dirt. “Stand still, fella.” CHAPTER THREE ~ On the Spot T WAS Bliss Haleck. He picked up | Milt’s gun, holding it loosely in his hand; set the iron bar against the barn. His lips parted in a triumphant grin. “You’re Milt Clark, aren’t you, 103 work at Pringle’s garage? “oS the devil are you up to?” “You figure it out.” “Oh— Tough, eh? But dumb— I heard you say you didn’t believe there was an ape-man. That’s very interesting. What’s your game?” Milt managed to keep his voice cool. “What’s yours?” The change of expression that swept over Bliss Haleck’s face was startling. He scowled, thrusting out his jaw. He spoke to the caretaker. ‘“That was Blane who drove in. Get him.” “So you’re working with the sheriff?” Milt sneered. “Nice setup.” “T don’t know what you're talking about, Clark,’ Haleck drawled. ‘Blane saw you sneak into my car. He was glancing out of his office window. He waited and phoned me here. Said to see what you were up to. I was to wait until he got here. But I play things my own way.” “Oh sure. You weren’t afraid I’d find out anything. I’m just a dumb mechanic. You’re a big-shot. Got nothin’ to hide, huh?” Haleck shrugged. ‘What is there for me to hide?” The sheriff covered ground with light- ning rapidity for all his bulk. He saw the gun Haleck was holding, and Milt, nurs- ing his wrist. “What’s up Mr. Haleck?” He pushed his hat back on his head. “Clark, I told you I was holding you for questioning. I ain’t in the habit of havin’ men run off when I give ’em an order.” Milt blazed, “Since when am I taking orders from you?” “Since you got yourself mixed up in a killin’ that I ain’t made up my mind about yet.” Blane bellowed. “What’d you sneak out here for?” Haleck cut it. “He’s got the crazy notion there never was an ape-man.” “You preferrin’ charges against this fellow?” Blane asked him. CORIECLO© (C (©