5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

62 you into anything.” I took my hand away and kissed her while one of the police matrons, watch- ing from a distance, gave a cough that sounded like a bellow. This time Vara didn’t shove me away. “T must have been crazy,” she whis- pered. “Crazy—carrying that poison around with me. How can even you be- lieve I’m innocent, Nick?” “I can believe anything,” I said, “when you look at me out of those big brown eyes. I’m going to get you out of here.” “How, Nick? How?” “Don’t ask me yet. I’ll get you a good lawyer, the best there is. I’ll get you old Blair Dillingham.” | Vera looked up at me out of eyes that were really tragic. “He can’t help me, Nick. No lawyer can. They found the poison on me and that’s enough. I realize that now. And, Nick, I know what Doctor Tanner was telling you. I couldn’t help hearing some of it. They’ll railroad me to an asy- lum.”’ “They won’t railroad you anywhere unless it’s to a beauty contest,” I said. I took her face in my hands, the most beautiful face I’ve ever looked at even if it was pale and even if there were prison bars for a background. “Will you tell me the truth about something if I ask you, honey ?” “T’ll tell you anything, Nick—any- thing.” b IV I. WAS just a little dusty windowed shop on a narrow side street, but it had an air about it. In the window, there were a few pieces of handsome old sil- ver arranged tastefully in front of faded velvet drapes. It was the sort of place you'd expect rich collectors of antiques to patronize. I’d had a hard time shaking off the boys that Rich had set to tail me. It had taken more than an hour, changing cabs and ducking in and out of alleys. But I FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE knew that none of Rich’s bloodhounds was spying on me now. I wished the big baboon would trust me. The hour was late, nearly twelve, and I didn’t think anybody would be up. I had come just on the chance and because I wanted to verify what Vara had told me. Not that I didn’t believe her. But I had to be doing something. Thinking of her in jail, I couldn’t have slept anyway. But there was a light in back. I could see it through the dusty pane of the shop door. When I rapped, there was a move- ment of curtains, then the silhouette of a thin figure in a smock shuffling toward me. Before he opened the door he looked out at my face through the glass. I caught a glimpse of a white mustache and thin old features that had a sort of delicacy to them. I’m not trying to hand it to myself, but my own face isn’t too bad, not when I smile anyway. I turned on my best copy-getting smile now, and the old bird opened the door immediately. “Hello, there,” he said. “Did you want to see me about something? It’s rather late, but—” His voice was soft, melodious, a voice that seemed to have been trained. “You sell silver?” I said. “Yes. I’ve a few pieces, some of them rather good if you care for antiques. But I don’t usually do business at night.” “You clean silver, too?” “Yes. That’s what I do mostly. Peo- ple bring me things, their treasured pieces, you know. Did you have some- thing for me to work on?” “No. Your name’s Scott. You know a girl named Vara Dean.” , He nodded and brightened. “A very charming young person. She’s an actress. Some day I think she’ll be famous.” “TI hope not,” I said. “I’m going to marry her. It would be hell, trying to keep up with a famous wife. But I want- ed to ask you, Mr. Scott, if you gave Miss Dean some sticks of cyanide a while ago?” CORnNICLO® S @)