5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

DEATH ALL AROUND ME most that now.” “T’ll go right over,” I told him. “Ex- pect to hear from me tomorrow.” “Very well.” He got up, bowed slight- ly, and got out of there at a rather rapid rate—as if he didn’t want to be asked any more questions. I didn’t move for a few minutes. I felt certain this was a plant of some kind. It had to be, and I was going to fall for it, mainly because I wanted to see what would happen. Maybe the idea . of a two-grand fee—if the thing was on the level—had a little something to do with it too. At any rate, I took a taxi downtown to the address Mr. Albert Moore had given me. I was a little surprised to find that there really was a pawnshop there. A bell tinkled when I pushed open the door, and pretty soon an angular, anemic-looking man came out of a back room. He wore a green eyeshade and had one eye screwed up as if it had grown that way from being closed around a jeweler’s loupe too often. I said, “My name is Craig. I’m a lawyer and I’m here about the back Yr _. He lifted his head quickly in surprise, and even the screwed-up eye opened wider. I leaned against the counter and almost dislodged a bowling ball someone had apparently hocked. It started mov- ing. I grabbed it just in time to keep it from rolling off the counter. That was all I had time for. I heard the door open behind me, and the bell tinkled. I saw the pawnbroker’s face, surprised from what I’d said to him, grow even more surprised and then fill with terror. I knew just what was happening. I got a grip on the bowling ball. Someone said, “Stay where you are. This is a stickup.” It was more than that. It was the reason why I’d been sent here. I was about to be murdered, and the pawn- broker would say the stickup men had shot me for no reason at all, that they were trigger-happy lunatics. It wouldn’t make any difference, because I’d be dead, and that’s what somebody wanted very badly. I swung around fast, measured the distance between me and the nearest of 25 the two men—the one with the gun in his fist—and threw the bowling ball. It hit him squarely in the chest. It must have stunned him, because for some reason the gun didn’t go off. He fell on his back and stayed put. The gun flew out of his hand as he hit the eee and he made no move to retrieve it. The second thug was pulling his gun when I reached him. His right hand was tangled up with the gun and his pocket, and he was a trifle clumsy with his left, so I clouted him squarely on the nose before he could make any show of resistance. He gave a yelp of pain, decided he didn’t want any part of this, and started running for the door. The first man was on his feet by then, trying to find the gun he’d dropped. It was over near the door, and he went for it. So did I. He heard me coming and didn’t bother to stop. His pal had already opened the door and left it open. The second man went through it fast. The last I saw of them they were turning the first cor- ie ae came to and neither one looked ack. Chapter V Y THE time I got back to the hock- shop, the owner was mopping his face and was beginning to lose his corpselike paleness. He made his lips move okay, but nothing came out. “They’re gone,” I said reassuringly. My voice had a definite tremolo in it. “We were lucky. Neither of those hoods had much nerve.” He swallowed hard. “I—I—thanks. Yes—thanks very much.” “They’d have cleaned up tonight,” I ae “There’s that three grand in your safe.” “Three grand?” he asked in some- thing like pure awe. “Three thousand dollars you mean, maybe? I got three -thousand bucks? Are you crazy, mis- ter ?” “I’m beginning to think so,” I said. “About this back rent you owe—” “How can I owe rent? I own this building,” he said. “What is this all about, please?” “Forget it,” I said. “I must have got CoMmiclooolx<s (C(O)