5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

Shorty was a pauhandler who had been around town longer than I had and who knew the underside of it better than he knew the palm of his hand. His eyes lighted up when he saw me and he waved. “Say, Mr. Rice,” he said, “can you spare a dime?” “Sure,” I said. I handed him a buck. “Shorty, I’m looking for a guy. Just for information. He isn’t wanted.” And I gave the best description I could. Shorty thought a minute, and then shook his head. “Didn’t see a guy like that.” “Shorty,” I said, “there’s a house just | north of the tracks, about six blocks out that way.” I described it. “Sure,” he said. “That joint’s haunted. What about it?” “Any tramps ever go there?” His eyes got wide. “You kidding me, Mr. Rice? Criminetty, no bo would go any nearer that place than the tracks.” “Okay, Shorty. Listen, if you see the guy I described, drop around and let me know. It’s worth a sawbuck if you do.” Shorty would keep an eye out for a gray-haired tramp with a bruised face, all right. A sawbuck would be a fortune for Shorty. I WENT home and slept till noon, and then waked myself up with a cold shower. I decided to stop in at my own office before going to see Zenas Wegs. Not that there was likely to be anything of importance awaiting me there, but there might be something. The office, incidentally, is only half mine, although my name is the only one on the door, and I pay all the rent. The explanation is Jan Sharpe. Jan Sharpe is a screwball. I had known Jan for a long time, and we liked each other, maybe because we were pretty much opposites. Jan’s a mystic and writes books about it. I don’t mean he claims to be a medium or gazes into crystals. But it’s his hobby, and he has a small income, so it doesn’t matter if most of his books aren’t published and if the ones that do see print don’t sell many copies. Jan had suggested that the desk in my outer office would be an ideally secluded spot for him to do his writing, and in FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE exchange for the use of it, he would answer my telephone and make a noise like a secretary. That suited me fine. It suited him fine too. He was right about it being a secluded spot. He had been answering an average of one phone call a day, which isn’t heavy labor to ex- change for the use of an office to write in. But my first real break, just yester- day, had come through Jan. He Knew a few members of the society and when he had learned that they intended to use professional help in their investigations, he had recommended me and talked Pol- lock into giving me a crack at the job. Jan looked up when I walked into the office, beaming at me through his thick spectacles. “T’ve been hoping you’d come in, George,” he said. “Tell me about it.” “How much did Pollock tell you?” I asked. “Pollock? I haven’t seen Pollock. All I know is what was in the newspapers.” I stood there, stunned, for a minute. The newspapers! I hadn’t thought: of the newspapers and what they would do with a story like last night’s. But where had they got it? Surely, Pollock or Wegs wouldn’t have given it to them. The Psychic: Research Society didn’t go in for publicity and surely they wouldn’t give the papers a half-baked, unproved story like that. Then I remembered the way Captain Nelson had grinned, and I had all the answer I needed. I groaned. I saw the papers laying on Jan’s desk and grabbed for them. Both morning papers and the city edition, which comes out at noon, of one of the afternoon sheets. I ddin’t have to hunt for it in any of them. Editors’ minds must run in simi- lar channels, for it was a boxed story on the front page of each of them. One of them was headed: DETECTIVE VERSUS GHOST Another exploited: MYSTERY OF THE VANISHING CORPSE The third headline said: SHAMUS STALKS SPECTER GOmicbdoo (CC) mM