5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

“Where is he? What did you do with the boy?” Harrigan did not appear excited. “What made you think he was in the closet, Scott? Is it because you bound his hands and feet and put him in there to smother?” “Why you—” There was the sound of a shot—but not from the lawyer’s gun. Scott dropped his automatic and grasping his broken wrist, stared at the kitchen door where the chief of the West Coast Agency had appeared. The wounded man turned and dashed for the door. Harrigan stuck out one big foot, and the fleeing man was stopped, falling di- rectly into Thomas’ arms as the deputy dashed into the room. * * 8 * * R** GAUDEL was holding her son on her lap, his fair hair against her shoulder. “But I still don’t understand.” Joe Harrigan was sleepy but he couldn’t refuse her anything. “Scott planned it all—to kill your hus- band, to make away with the boy and to marry you. That way he would get his hands on a million bucks. But I walked into the picture, and he decided to make me the fall guy. He suggested that you turn the kid over to me for safekeeping, didn’t he?” She nodded. “You see,” Harrigan said. “It was simple after that. He trailed your hus- band up to your apartment and killed him. He knew that the maid was keep- ing the boy, sq he just waited there until I came along. Then he trailed me out to Rinkle’s. “The next thing was to get my gun. He came up to the apartment and stole my keys. I’m careless with them, mostly leave my door unlocked. Apparently I did last night, and Wright walked in. “That threw me off for a while. I thought he might be guilty, but I couldn’t figure what he would gain by killing your husband. Well, I checked with Mrs. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE Rinkle and found out that the killer was a small man. That kept Wright and Scott in the picture, but it eliminated Morton Gaudel, who is my size and who had been worrying me, too. : “Then I had a bright idea down at the D.A.’s office this morning. If the guy wanted to frame me so badly that he first stole my gun, killed Rinkle with it and then brought it back to my apartment, he might hang the kid on me, too. So I called my landlady and told her to watch. “She did and she saw Scott bring in the boy while he thought I was safe in jail. He tied up the baby and put him in the closet. As soon as Scott left, she freed the child and took him down to her apartment. She described Scott over the phone, and I knew for certain who the killer was.” Ray’s eyes were fixed on him. “If you knew, why didn’t you tell the police?” Harrigan gave her a sheepish grin. “I knew it was Scott, but I couldn’t be cer- tain that you weren’t in on the play. I pulled that comedy about you marying me so that I could tell by the way you acted whether you had anything to do with his plans. Don’t get sore. I had to know.” “I’m not sore,” she said. “Was it all comedy about marrying me?” Harrigan was dumb for a moment. He wasn’t thinking very clearly. “Look,” he said, “‘you’ve got your wires crossed. My name is Harrigan, plain Joe Harrigan, and I’m just a big- footed private cop. You deserve the best, not a mug like me.” “T like the name.” Her grin matched his. “It would be a relief to be named Harrigan. Perhaps the newspapers wouldn’t bother me so much.” He got to his feet. “They always mis- spell it; or something,” he warned as he stooped to kiss her. Looking at the story in the papers the next day, she read: The former Ray Gaudel flew to Yuma last night where she married a detective named Huntington. Such is fame. GO OOO <=)