Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

S44 as one who was quick to reward any visiting detective with a package of cigarettes or a cigar and were corres- pondingly suspicious. Decent folls, and sometimes inde- cent ones, patronized the soda fountain and sweet shop of Hadram Euthopo- polis; but decent folks never had any dealings with that other member of the Euthopopolis family upstairs called Niek the Grik. About twenty minutes after Morris Korbeck had taken leave of Henry K. Funk, foreman of John Conover’s » wholesale fur establishment, Korbeck mounted the dark stairway that leads up into the Elite Pool Parlor. Only one of the six pool tables im that establishment was in use when Korbeck walked into the long chamber with its brown linoleum covered floor patterned with cuspidors and the scars of cigarette burns. It was growing dark so that at first Korbeck saw only the figure of the youth who leaned into the pyramid of yellow light flung downward onto the green cloth of the table as he prepared to drive his cue ball into the triangle of tightly clus- tered targets. meet him. “Come downstairs and sit in my automobile for a talk,’’ said Korbeck quietly. “Sure,” agreed Nick, “just wait down there until I lock the cash regis- ter.” In the automobile Nick the Grik, nee Euthopopolis, said nothing, which was a thing he did very well. “T haven’t much time,” apologized Korbeck, “so here’s the dope: I could make a mice profit on some furs, sables, squirrels, seal skins, if I had ’em. Do you happen to know where [I can get any?” “Well,” temporized Nick the Grik, “Tet me think now.” After some two minutes of silence Korbeck seemingly decided that Nick the Grik was not thinking so very well, But Nick the Grik saw Korbeck inimediately and hurried to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. so he primed him with a bit of con- versation. “ There’s a fellow named Conover in’ the Thirties, between Sixth and Seventh Avenues, got a stock just about the size I require.” “You don’t say?” “Yes; just exactly what I need. Still—” “These crash jobs ain’t so much fun.” “Funny thing about this bird. There’s no burglar alarm lattice under the windows at the rear of his place and a brick passageway there connects with the street to the north. Rtuns through a vacant building that’s going to be torn down. An old smoke watch- man hangs around there nights. I never knew one that wouldn’t take a drink if you offered him a bottle.” “Lemme see now,” pondered Nick the Grik aloud, “this is Thursday, ain't it?” It is not a matter of record that any of the Greeks of old spoke quite as Nick did, but then, Nick was more of an American than he was a Greek. He was born in New York and he did not say, precisely, “ Thursday.” What he said sounded like “ Thoisday,” but Korbeck understood him quite well. “Yes,” he agreed, “this is Thurs« day, and that loft region in the Thirties is dead quiet on Saturday nights and Sundays.” * Will you be at the warehouse early Monday?” asked Nick the Grik ab- ruptly. “Surest thing you know. I'll be there all day. Why?” “Oh, nothing except [ think maybe TY may have some furs for you.” “ What kind of tools would any one need to bust a hole in an old brick wall and then to open up a metal cabinet with heavy padlocks ?” “ How should I know that?’ sneered Nick the Grik m a manner he intended to be pleasant. “ I’lf see you Monday:” Morris Korbeck decided at that mo- ment to call fris efforts a day’s work, S Gomicboo (E@)