The Black Mask — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

12 Black Shadows “T said I thought you locked it.” “T did, but open it was, and the fur- niture was smashed up generally as though there had been a scrap—” “What?” Suggs was thoroughly sur- prised now. When he was in the study only a few hours before this occurrence everything had been in apple-pie order. And now— “I said everything was broken up,” the policeman said peevishly. “This damned ’phone’s out of order, and you can’t hear anything right. Chairs broken up, pictures busted loose from the walls—the room smashed general- ly,” “Come on, get to-the finish,” urged Suggs. “You're not telling a short story with a carefully arranged climax. I want to get all the dope for the sheet.” Jamieson’s hoarse laugh rumbled over the wire. “We found a dead man in the study, You’re a clever lad, and quite an amateur detective yourself, but T’ll bet you can’t guess who it was.” “T’ve got a ten-spot that says I can,” said Johnny, touched in his pride at the policeman’s dig at his sleuthing pro- pensities. “You’re on. Who was it?” Suggs braced himself for the bellow that would come through the receiver. “J. Sylvester Jones,” he said. “Oh, no,” laughed Jamieson. “You thought I was a dummy when I sug- gested that it might be one of those Dayak fellows who croaked Strickland Guerney. Well, there isn’t an acre of green in my eye, son. Patrolman Duffy found one of those Dayaks in Guer- ney’s room, with a bullet hole drilled through his heart!” CHAPTER IV Urrerty amazed at this turn of events, Johnny sketched what had been told him to his sleepy compatriot, and that gentleman, galvanized into instant life, began hammering out the story on his typewriter. “Better let the old man look it over,” Suggs suggested. “He’s interested in this Guerney affair, and wants to keep his finger on it. Better call him on the *phone, tell him what’s happened and that I’ve gone up to the house to look things over.” Johnny was lucky enough to get a trolley without much delay. And every rumbling foot of the way he kept ask- ing himself what had become of Jones’ body? What malign influence was be- hind these repeated killings? He thought of his father’s words, “Don’t build yourself any triumphal arches until the job is done.” The governor was right, as usual.. Anyone who solved this mystery deserved a trium- phal arch, at that. Twenty minutes later he reached the Guerney residence, and was admitted by Lieutenant Jamieson himself. “Come upstairs and take a look at the study,” the latter invited. “I'll ad- mit this has me buffaloed. Just where this brown skinned baby horns into the picture is beyond me. Now, if it had been Jones—as you guessed—we might have been able to fix up a story that would jibe with the facts, you know, but this—” He shrugged his shoulders. “Bradley must have been mistaken about only the one key. The study door was open, and I know that I locked it before we left.” Johnny nodded. He had locked the door himself. with Mildred’s key at one o’clock that morning. The appearance of another one relieved him, for it shifted the shadow from the girl. Be- tween one o’clock and three-thirty the possessor of the third key—who was probably the murderer they sought— had entered the house. Who was he? The reporter and the police lieuten- ant walked upstairs. _comicbooks-com ~ ent ee ae al Li tte Ta i I De