5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

ANGELS DIE HARD threshold beyond which it is dangerous © for any of us to step—the threshold of reality. Miss Dean was close to that threshold, I believe. I’m no psychologist, but I’ve studied the new psychosomatic medicine a bit. I know that the mind and its worries can affect the body. Miss Dean, disturbed over her supposed in- adequacies in her part in the play, may have been emotionally off balance. She could have used the poison on Wither- steen without actually realizing the tragic consequences of her act.” “You mean that Vara’s nutty?” said Ed Lasker in a hushed voice. “Not exactly. I’m only suggesting—”’ “We'll help with the sanitorium fees,” said Joy Marlow brightly. “We’ll see that she gets the very best of care.” “In a strait-jacket!” I growled. “You all love Vara but you don’t mind seeing her land in a bughouse?” “It’s better than another place I can think of,” Rich reminded me nastily. It Down at headquarters, with Vara locked up in a cell and guarded by two police matrons, Rich lighted a cigar and sald: “I don’t hold with Tanner’s notion that Vara Dean is crazy. I think she’s just as sane as you or I, Nick. I think she had a reason for killing Wither- steen.” “T don’t,” I said. “Any jury would convict her on the mere possession of the poison,” Rich went on. “People don’t like poison or poi- soners, not even if they’re good-looking dames. There’s something about poi- son—”’ I knew what he meant. I remembered the color of Ron Withersteen’s face and shuddered. “She’s guilty, Nick. You may be the type of guy who can love a murderess, I don’t know. But she’s guilty all right, unless you yourself—” “Bumped off Withersteen because I was Jealous.” 59 “Exactly.” Rich flicked cigar ashes. “I’m not counting that out, Nick. Neith- er is the D.A. He’s asked me to find out just how well Miss Dean knew Wither- steen outside of business hours.” “She didn’t,” I said. “Neither did I. Believe it or not, the party tonight was the first time either of us had ever met him socially.” - He didn’t believe me, I could see. “Withersteen was her angel,” he said softly. ! “Yeah. But angels sometimes keep to themselves in heaven. That’s how it was with Ron. He backed shows but he didn’t mix with stage people any more than he could help. Actors rather bored him, I guess.” “Maybe actors, but not actresses.” “Actresses, too.” “Bunk! Withersteen was a good-look- ing bachelor. He had lots of dough, a big house, a big car—” “And a private life that nobody could pry into,” I said. I leaned over and grabbed Rich’s arm. “What do you actu- ally know about Ron?” Rich was stumped for a moment and very annoyed. “Listen, Nick. Until a guy gets him- self murdered, or is mixed up in murder, homicide doesn’t pretend to keep tabs on him.” “But a newspaper does,” I told him. “Or tries to. Withersteen made quite a splash in this town with his successes in the theater. The News has tried to get his life story more than once and has never been able to. Where, for instance, did he get his dough?” “From shows, of course.” “But before that,” I persisted. “It takes dough to make dough in the show business. Ask any angel. You’re likely to lose as much as you make, getting started. Ron never told anybody where he got his money. He never told anybody anything about himself.” “IT don’t see what that has to do with Vara Dean.” “I do. What’s more, if you don’t put the irons on me, I’m going to find out.” GoOmMiGcdoo S