5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

COMPLIMENTS OF A FIEND took it—but how much fighting it took and what kind, I wouldn’t know.” “Then how were you-—” “Fell out of a tree. Up there getting a line on some pill-boxes. Made a one- point landing and broke an aileron and both rudder-wires. And a man not all in one piece is not much good to the army.” “Tommy, you’ re kidding me. You’re making that up.” “Tam not. Look, will you keep in close touch with Aunt Margaret, so I can reach you in a hurry when I have free time again? I don’t know just when that will be.” “Oh, Tommy, aren’t you getting into something dangerous? I think Mr. Reeder is crazy. ” At one-thirty I took Mary back to the Red Cross so she could help with the blood donors, and left her there. I was walking on air, and yet— Funny, I thought, how little things can change in such a long time. We loved each other once; we did again. And her father had managed to break it up before, and again Mary might— “Cut it out,” I told myself. “This is your busy afternoon and evening. Re- member ?” I started walking toward the place where, last night, I had. found the body. In the bright sunshine, the cornfield didn’t look sinister at all. It looked like an Illinois cornfield in late summer, with the corn tall and ripe, or almost ripe for picking. I crossed the ditch and stepped past the first row of corn, into the field, look- ing down. There weren’t any foot- prints; with the ground so hard, I had expected none. I came out again and walked on up the road to the point where, as nearly as I could reconstruct it, was the spot where I had found the body. My luck was better here, a little. There was a place where the gravel had been kicked around, as though to cover where blood had been. I scraped some of it away with my fingers. There was what might have been dried blood on some of the lower layer of gravel, but I couldn’t be sure. There was no use tak- ing any of it along. Magnus wouldn’t be Sia enough to have an analysis made. 11 NV. Wily OTHER hunch had to be good if I was going to produce a corpus delicti for the sheriff. There are two ways to get rid of a corpse. One is to bury it; the other is to burn it. I cut across fields to the adjacent road and the farm of Bill Janson. Back of the house, a pile of ashes marked where the barn had been. A tall man, so thin as to be almost emaciated, was changing the tire on an o'd Ford truck. “Mr. Janson?” I said. “I’m an insur- ance adjuster. About your barn—” “Huh? I didn’t have any insurance, mister.” “I know,” I told him. “But our asso- ciation asks me to send in reports on all fires in my territory, whether insured or not. You see, we work with farmers in cutting down the number of fires, by helping them eliminate the causes. Do you know what caused yours?” He shook his head slowly. “Not an idea, mister. The noise of it, the crackling, woke me near midnight and she was shooting high then. Too late to save anything. Nobody’s been there since eight. I dunno what started it.” “Spontaneous combustion, perhaps?” He took off his hat and scratched his head. “Heard about it, but don’t rightly know what it is. Whenever they can’t find what started a fire, then it’s spon- taneous com-combustion. That the way I understand it.” “Not so far wrong, at that.” I grinned. “You had a hay-loft in the barn?” “Half full,” he said bitterly. “Do you have a dog?” “Well—not what you’d rightly call a dog. Wife’s got one of these toy ter- riers she keeps in the house, but I wouldn’t call it a dog.” “Lose any stock?” “Nope. That’s the lucky thing. Sold off my team last week and been dicker- ing for a pair of Percherons, but hadn’t bought ’em yet. A week sooner or a week later, I’d have lost a couple horses. I don’t keep cows, and luckily the pig-pen ang chicken-yard weren’t close to the arn.’ “Mind if I look around, Mr. Janson? — In the ashes, I mean?” “Go right ‘ahead. a4 NOOK (C(O)