All-Story Detective, October 1949 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

Bodies By Night grew larger. Ma had a candle lit. She was kneeling by his side, her face a thou- sand years old. “Please Milt—wakeup.” “How long you been goin’ on like that?”’ he whispered. “You all right, Ma? Not hurt ?”’ “What was it? You were fighting with something. . . .” “I don't know. He climbed to his feet. ‘“What happened after I blanked out ?” She licked her lips, holding the flicker- ing candle with both hands. ‘There was a growling sound. I thought you were surely killed.”” Her eyes went over the kitchen, a shambles, table overturned; broken dishes. Abbot’s quiet form by the wall. Milt found the knife, picked it up and righted the table. A lot of good he was with a knife. He threw it in the drawer, looked at Ma and saw her trembling. “Gimme the candle before you drop it,” he commanded. He melted wax on the wooden table top, sticking the candle up- right. “This once I’m glad Joe’s drunk,” Ma quavered. “Listen, Milt. We’ve got to™ let the sheriff know that ape’s hiding around, I’ll light more candies and get Joe to bed.” Milt crouched beside Joe and turned him over, _ wide open eyes. The man’s throat was covered with welts. He was dead. Strangled ! CHAPTER TWO No Ape-Man? T MUST have been the rigidity of | _Milt’s back as he rose to his feet, that told ma. She rushed forward and he spun; grabbed her. “No, Ma. ‘Don’t look... .” He didn’t want to see the expression on her face. He pulled her head against his staring unbelievingly at the 99 shoulder. “T’ll find who done it, Ma. I'll find him. It wa8n’t no ape—choked the life out of him.” The light came back on, flickered, grew bright. A beetle dashed against it. Cyprus Creek returned to life. He couldn’t leave Ma there alone. Milt blew out the candle, guiding her toward the back door. “I'll take you to the church. Everybody’s probably down there.”’ : “T can’t leave him. I—” “Shut up, Ma. Do as I say.” Outside he paused, eyes roving the darkness. She felt the tautness of his arms and jerked back. “That—that thing’s out here somewhere. .. .” “It wasn’t no ape,” der his breath: He tugged at her arm, urging her down the path. There were only a few streetlights, one to a block, hanging over the asphalt street. Their steps scraped loudly. It was almost as if they had the town to themselves. Like the “‘hunch”’ he carried locked away inside; a bit of knowledge shared, as far as he knew, by no one else. The handle of the pitchfork that killed Gearhardt had been whittled at the tip to make the usual tapering point. For what reason? ‘ The answer come to him in a flash when he he said again, un- ‘ laid hold of the murder weapon and found ait so solidly embedded in the tree. It had ~ been driven in. Gearhardt could have been killed somewhere else, the body, with the tines sticking through it, propped up against the tree and the pitchford driven into the wood. This act would have marred and dented the conical. point on the tip of the handle. Someone had _ hastily whittled a new point, but not so expertly that it defied detection. And yet the crowd, gathering around in the dusk had missed it—even Johnny, who was as sharp as a tack. Moving now through the darkness, he wondered about Bliss Haleck. Suppose GoOmiiGdoo (©