All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

All-Story Detective 90 ee door swung inward and Dan looked down at the man lying there. She was right, it wasn’t pretty. It never is when a man gets shot in the face. Dan nearly gagged. You could tell from the looks of the room that Dorothy lived here. Everything was neat and orderly. It was a one-room efficiency affair with a tiny gas range and refrigerator at one end and a single bed in the other. There was a stack of Dor- othy’s favorite movie magazines on the floor beside the bed and a box of candy. A tiny radio on a table next to the bed was still playing softly. There was enough left of the dead man’s face for Dan to recognize. He was a small, rat-faced man dressed in a loud striped suit. It was Sam Cockerell, a crooked little loan shark who ran a hole- in-the-wall office in this part of town. Musicians called him “Dillinger” Cock- erell because of the rates he charged and the strong-arm methods he used to collect. If you owed Sam Cockerell money and didn’t pay on time, you might find your- self in some alley, beaten to a pulp. That’s why Sam never asked for collateral. Dan shivered at the thought of Dor- othy’s getting mixed up with a crook like Cockerell. “I owed him money,” she whispered through stiff lips. “I wanted some new dresses, so I made a loan. It was due to- day, but I didn’t have it and I didn’t go to his office. He came up here tonight when I got home from work. He started getting nasty, Dan. I was so terribly scared= =; 5 “Dorothy—” She shook her head. “I know what you're thinking, but I didn’t shoot him, Dan. I swear I didn’t.” Her fists were two icy knots at her sides. She was fighting to keep her voice from rising hysterically. “He was facing me with his back to the door. He was saying some terrible things. And just then the door opened. Quietly, Dan. He didn’t see it. A man was stand- ing there. I couldn’t see what he looked like. The hallway was dark and I was frightened. He said one word, ‘Sam’, just like that. Cockerell turned and the man shot him. Then he stepped back out in the hall and closed the door.”’ She spread her hands over her face. “I never saw a man die before, Dan.” “You haven’t any idea who this man was?” She shook her head. “I tell you it was dark in the hall, Dan. I wouldn’t have known if it was you standing there.” She started crying softly, hopelessly, “Dan, when the police find out I owed Cockerell money—they’ll think I—” The telephone rang. Dorothy stopped crying, stared at it with wide, dark eyes, as if it were the police calling to say they knew she’d shot Cockerell and were on their way up to arrest her. The whole room seemed to be holding its breath. There was only the soft drip of the kitchen faucet, the radio playing “Cruising Down the River” and the persistent telephone— She snapped the radio off, picked up the telephone. She said “Hello” in a small voice and then listened for what seemed an eternity, staring at Dan with wide eyes. Then she whispered, “Yes—yes, ail right. Right away.” She hung up. “It was Mel Duggard, Dan. He says he knows about the murder and I should come over to his place right away. He said not to let anybody see me leave the apartment.” Out in the back street, they caught another taxi. They rode im silence to where Mel Duggard lived. His father owned a delicatessen store on the corner. Mel’s long maroon convertible was parked in the side street beside the store. Old man Duggard, a widower, lived above the store. Mel had an apartment in an old frame three-story house back of the store. Dan walked beside his wife down the dark side street. They stopped before GomiGcdoo S (©