5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

72 regular features. “It’s very private, Mrs.—I mean Miss Walker. I’d rather not give it to you in a hallway.” He was leaning backward a little, his big shoulders resting against her door. He dropped one hand to the knob and turned it idly as he spoke. The latch clicked over, and his weight pushed the door inward. It hadn’t been locked. Harrigan almost fell. He made a wild pawing gesture and his fingers caught the door jamb just in time to save him. He struggled upright and grinned sheep- ishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bust in.” He turned and glanced idly at the inner hall. Then his big body stiffened and the half embarrassed smile wiped away from his lips. A man lay in the hall, just beyond the range of the open door. He lay on his back, his face turned upward for Harri- gan to see. It was Mr. Gaudel. The girl sensed the change in Harri- gan. From where she stood, his big body blocked her view, and she could not see that the inner hall had an occupant. “What’s the matter?” She sounded nervous. Harrigan did not answer. He took two long strides into the apartment and knelt at Gaudel’s side. He knew the man was dead the minute he touched him. It wasn’t that the body was cold. It was still warm, but as he touched the coat, it fell open, showing the gaping blood-rimmed hole in the vest just above the heart. Only by a miracle could a man live with such a wound, and Harri- gan well knew that the age of miracles was past. _ He sat back on his heels and spoke sharply to the girl. “Better shut the door. We don’t need an audience.” She had come forward and was stand- ing over him. Her face was very white, save where the make-up made crimson patches. She did not argue, but turn- ing, closed the door, and Harrigan heard her shoot the night latch into place. Then she came back to where he still FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE squatted at the dead man’s side. “Is he—” She couldn’t finish. Harrigan nodded. “Very.” His tone told nothing, but his eyes were asking her a question which she recognized and answered immedi- ately. “I wasn’t here,” she said quickly. “I went to the roof. I was there this morn- ing, taking a sun bath, and I left my book.” His eyes dropped to her empty hands. ° They were nice hands, and Harrigan noted that she wore no rings. Well, you couldn’t expect a woman who was hid- ing from her husband to wear her wed- ding ring. But there was no book, el- ther, and she read his look. “It wasn’t there,” she explained. “Someone must have taken it.” He rose, and there was no stiffness in the action. “IT hope that someone saw you,” he said. HE didn’t pretend to misunderstand his meaning. “They didn’t,” she admitted and her brows twisted a little with thought. Some of the color had come back into her face, and there was no sign of grief there. If Harrigan hadn’t known that the man on the floor was her husband, he’d have thought that Gaudel must be a stranger. “I have no alibi.” He was thoughtful, speaking more to himself than to her. “Few people do, when innocent,” he said. “You didn’t kill him, huh?” “IT most certainly didn’t.” Harrigan sighed. “A lot of people are going to think that you did,” he told her. “People like to think that pretty girls do bad things. It improves their egos because most of them aren’t pretty.” His words brought color to her face. “Who are you?” she asked. “What was the message you had for me?” He said, “The name is Harrigan, plain Joe Harrigan. If you paid more atten- tion to things around you, you’d have MICLOO COMNMIC S