All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

108 the church and I don’t want any tricks. Haleck will be there.” “You got a reward comin’, Is that it?” “Shut up and get movin’.” Blane stared at the gun. “Haleck wouldn’t pay you off tonight. In case you're gambling on gettin’ some cash to get away with.” “I’m gambling all right. But not on getting away. I didn’t murder Joe Ab- bot. But I’ve got an idea—a way we can identify who did.” Blane looked skeptical. “Almost everyone in town is at the church. I told you I slashed into some clothes when I struck out in the dark, re- member? All I’m asking is that you line everybody up and look ’em over.” “What kind of proof is that ?” “Sure its a slim chance, but I bet if he’s in the bunch he’ll start gettin’ nervous. Maybe we can spot him.” Blane scratched his chin, bent, and picked up his hat where it had fallen on the floor, slammed ft on his head. “Do I get my gun back now ?” “Tf you play the game with me—put on a real act at the church. Yes.” “Reckon you did save my life.” Blane glanced down at the big animal. “Okeh, Clark. It’s a deal.” Wordlessly Mit handed over the sheriff's revolver. Blane took it, slid it into the holster. “C’mon. We'll walk.” Milt followed him outside. Single file they headed back up the hill, cutting at an angle in the direction of the church. Men were standing on the steps evident- ly attracted by the sound of shooting. “I don’t know how you think we're gonna trip anybody up,” Blane said over his shoulder. “There’s been plenty of time for a person to patch up a rip, even change clothes fer that matter.” “We gotta try,” Milt insisted stub- bornly. “What other chance have I got, with you trying to pin it on me?” All-Story Detective As they mounted the steps, men drew aside to let them through. “It’s Blane,” someone said. happened to your face, sheriff?” “Clark here got the ape when it jumped me,” Blane answered curtly. The word spread swiftly as they pushed on through the crowd, entering the wide doors. Those on the porch followed, ask- ing for details. “Shut these doors,” Blane ordered. “And a couple of you men stand guard. I don’t want anybody leavin’.” They looked at him curiously, sensing trouble. “And you,” Blane said to Milt, “stick close—where I can keep an eye on yuh.” They pushed their way down an aisle toward the pulpit; women drawing back with a shudder when they saw the sheriff’s gashed cheek. Milt spotted Haleck, stifl in the tan suit, lounging against a pillar. He looked at him coldly, moving forward. “Are you the Clark who killed Moe?” Blane stopped. “That’s him. You owe the guy a thousand bucks, Mr. Haleck. Good thing I didn’t run him in—yet.” Haleck shrugged. “I'Il write him a check first thing in the morning.” Milt swallowed. He was looking that suit over—in vain. There were no rips or gashes that he could see. He grew aware of Johnny Lee, pressing close against his side. “You all right, Milt?” “Sure,” he said. “Brace up, kid. Don’t look so worried.” But instde he was far from calm. “What LANE raised his voice above the bab- ble of voices, holding up his arms to gain attention. “Listen—you people. The ape’s daid all right. But Moss Gear- hardt and Joe Abbot were murdered. That murderer is in thts church. I wanta look you all over. So file by me here, one at a time, where Clark can see yuh too.” Silence filled the big room. Reverend COMiICcloOoe S ©