5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

24 try to buy evidence which might be used against him.” “Was—was— Did I figure in the re- port, Ted?” stammered Loreen. “Naturally,” he replied. “You were right there in a starring part, honey. You were The Other Woman. Slinky, blonde, and dangerous—a threat to the American home and hearth.” “It seems to me, Ted, you’re taking a very cavalier attitude,” growled Ben- nett. “Pardon me.” Ted bowed his head. “I Suppose, when you’re accused of mur- der, attitude is very important. Per- sonally, it doesn’t matter a hell of a lot what people think of me—as long as they don’t think I killed Elizabeth.” “Hold on a second.” Bennett frowned. “You couldn’t have killed Elizabeth. You’ve got the soundest alibi in the world, Ted, so get that out of your head, that ‘what-people-think’ idea. You were at the hotel with me and the Chicago crowd all evening. We'd all testify for you if it came to that.” “The police can say I paid somebody to do it for me,” Ted told him. “The same thing. The same murder. They’ll drop the same kind of goofballs in the little pan of water over in the Quentin gas chamber. I’d appreciate it if you’d take me to Steve.” “If you say so, Ted,” sighed Bennett. He snatched all three luncheon checks, took them to the cash register to settle with Tony. Ted helped Loreen out of the booth. “Do you think,” she asked him in a whisper, “Betty knew about the money ?” He nodded solemnly. T WAS decided that Bennett would drive Loreen back to the plant and be back to pick Ted up at Tony’s in ten minutes. | “Give a quick beep with your horn, and I’ll be right out,” Owen said. “It’ll give me time to finish my sandwich.” As soon as they were through the swinging doors, Ted went to the phone booth, dialed the Crest Meat Company. When Hazel, the switchboard girl, came on this time, he identified himself. “This is Ted Owen, honey. Do me a favor. Don’t faint or yell for a cop. FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE I just want information.” She sounded guarded, as though one of Malotte’s men were standing over her, listening. “Yes, sir. Of course.” The “sir” was the tip-off. Hazel never sirred the help. Ted said, “I wonder if you’d have a record of whether or not my wife called me yesterday afternoon while I was out ?” “Yes, sir, she did,” replied Hazel readily. “She called twice.” _ “Did she talk to anyone else?” “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. The second time she phoned, she asked to speak to Miss Tobey.” “You wouldn’t have listened Hazel ?” “Oh, my, no, sir!” she gasped. Hazel was a little fast on the draw with that gasp, Ted thought. She prob- ably wasn’t telling the truth, but there was nothing he could do about it. He said, “Thanks a lot, honey. You’re a big help.” He returned to the table and finished the sandwich. He was honestly hun- gry and, for the first time in the last eighteen hours, wasn’t too numb to know it. Just as he was swallowing the last of his coffee, he heard the bleat of Ben- nett’s horn and ran out, nodding good- by to Tony Pinta, who was lumped be- hind his big, chrome cash register with an Italiano cigar in his teeth. Ted crawled into the car beside Ben- nett, and the big Cadillac droned south along Bay Shore Highway, past the San Francisco airport—six lanes of sud- den death. Bennett stayed in the outside lane, driving a conservative forty miles an hour. He didn’t seem in any mad rush to get where he was going. He said, “You know, kid, I hope you realize what you’re doing. Murder is a hell of a serious matter to gamble with. You can only be wrong once.” “l’m not too worried,” Ted replied. “All the time, this makes more sense to me. I don’t know how they fit together, but I get flashes which seem to connect. When I first saw Betty up there in her room, dead, I couldn’t think. All I knew for certain was that I had to keep Steve from being pushed around by a bunch in, | ea CoOnniclooo SJ (C(O) mM