5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

64 two hundred will be mailed to you.” CLICK sounded at the other end of the wire. Prentiss replaced the re- ceiver slowly and sat staring at the puzzling head. It was still grinning at him. He found that he rather liked the grin, enough to make him dislike parting with it. Thinking about it suddenly gave him an idea. He went down the corridor of the building to the end suite where an artist friend of his had a studio. Prentiss un- wrapped the head and showed it to the artist. “Can you make me a plaster cast of this, Pete?” he asked. Distastefully the artist examined the head. “Where the hell’d you get this?” he demanded. “What are you planning to do—move to Africa?” “Don’t worry,” Prentiss chuckled. “It’s not real. It’s made of papier- maché, but I want a cast of it made in a hurry. Can you do it?” Pete nodded. “It’s a cinch. You do it the way you make a death mask.” “How long will it take?” “Oh, a couple of hours,” the artist sald. “Okay. And tint it so it'll look as much like this as possible. I’ll get some hair and we’ll paste it on.” Three hours later, he was just ready to start for his appointment when he looked up suddenly. He hadn’t heard the door of his office open. He had heard no noise at all. But the girl was standing in the doorway, and there was a gun in her hand. “Sit still, Mr. Prentiss,” she said. “Don’t make a single move, I don’t want to have to shoot you.” He looked intently at her. Her eyes were even more violet now, shadowed and intent. He thought he had seen a lot of women but he certainly had never seen one like this. “Watch it, honey,” he said. “That thing in your hand might go off.” He was trying to make his voice sound easy but he wasn’t succeeding. He couldn’t help remembering the little man who had died on the sidewalk. The package with the plaster head was lying on his desk. When the girl FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE saw it, her eyes widened. “You mean you haven’t opened it?” she blurted. — He kept his mouth grimly closed. She stepped forward, never taking her eyes from his face. With her free hand, she tore one corner of the paper so she could see part of the hair which Prentiss had painstakingly glued on top of the skull. She picked up the package with a little sigh of relief. There was a closet in the far corner of the office. She motioned toward it with her head. “Get up and turn around.” He stood up, raising his hands shoul- der high. There was something about this girl that told him she would prob- ably shoot if he tried to cross her. She came around the desk, got the gun from his shoulder clip. Forcing him into the closet, she shut and locked the door. Chapter I! HE closet was small. Prentiss waited three minutes to make sure she was out of the office. Then he put his back against the rear wall and his feet up under the lock, and pushed. The lock snapped, and he sat down hard on the closet floor. He scrambled to his feet, rushed to the telephone and called the agent’s office on the first floor. “There’s a girl coming down in one of the elevators. She’s about five-two, has fair hair. She’s wearing a blue knitted suit and a little hat that looks like the usual feathered mud pie. Grab her and watch out. She’s got a gun.” He slammed down fhe receiver and dashed out to the battery of elevators. A car was just coming down. He jumped into it, told the operator to shoot it directly to the lobby. They dropped with a speed that made Prentiss’s stomach turn over. He met the building manager racing down the lobby. Together they watched as the elevators spilled their cargoes into the foyer. But nothing happened. The girl wasn’t on any of them. Prentiss questioned the starter and the girl at the magazine stand, but neither remembered seeing the girl in the knitted suit. It was five minutes before one of the ele- MICLOOKS (C(O) nn