The Black Mask — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

mee Molspini was standing in the door of his shop. He greeted the detectives with an over-cordial grin, © “What ’a you got in the cellar, Mike?” Cass asked the question cas- ually, “Not a drop, chief, not a drop. The revenue men got me a month ago with ten gallons of claret. I was let off with a fine, but the next time—whew!” Cass and Gatty laughed with him. The revenue men enjoyed no great popularity with the local detectives. “You don’t mind if we go downstairs and look, do you?” asked Cass good- naturedly, | “Hell no! Come right in.” As the detectiveé followed Molspini into the store O’Hara slouched past the front door, his eyes roving over the cinder-covered playground that lay di- rectly in front of the Bend. Any show of interest in the shop would have col- lected a crowd in no time, If there is anything that a good policeman hates it is an assemblage of curious citizens, mixed with the inevitable small boys and peering old ladies whom one carnot very well wallop with a nightsticlc. The bronzed young man, who over- heard the lieutenant’s orders to the patrolman, had crossed the street and was standing at the curb directly oppo- site the shop. As O’Hara eyed him the man drew the “makins’”’ from a pocket, rolled a cigarette and walked lazily away in the direction of Worth street. II WirH care-free alacrity Molspini led the detectives into the rear room and lifted a trap door. A faint flood of light came up from the cellar. “Must have left that lamp burnin’ all night,” muttered the shopkeeper fret- fully, as though estimating the cost of his carelessness. “Silent” Cass walked half way down The Triple Murder in Mulberry Bend the steps. Gatty started to follow, but his superior jerked a thumb over his shoulder and the sergeant remained up- stairs. ; “Tf you find any booze down there, save a drink for me!” called Molspini jocularly as Cass reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘ The detective looked around the dimly-lit cellar, a vault-like chamber of masonry extending the full length and width of the building. Two small, square windows, closed now, afforded the only means of ventilation. The place was stuify to a point of suffoca- tion. The rear half was filled with pro- vision cases and the usual litter of a grocery stoteroom. : In a clear space well forward three men were seated at a large round table over which hung a single, dust-covered electric lamp. ~ “The tip is half true, anyway,” niut- tered the detective whimsically. “The three men are here, all right, but they’re not dead.” Kicking over an empty egg crate he yelled : “Hey, you fellows, stir your stumps —what are you doing here?” The men at the table did not move or utter a sound. ‘Silent’? Cass walked over and jarred roughly against the one nearest him. The man rolled from the chair, fell to his back and remained motionless, one arm covering his face with a grotesque crook. The detective reached down and grasped the upturned wrist. It felt like a piece of damp rub- ber hose. He released it quickly and the arm oscillated stiffly, without alteration of its original position. “Dead!” The word followed in the wake of the detective’s surprised whistle, The two men remaining at the table showed no interest. Cass gripped his automatic and glared at them, jerking the hat off the second man. The head | — ee