5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

HEADS—IT’S MURDER me, get on a nice boat, and go down to South America? You’ve got a lot of friends down there. You could have a nice trip—” He showed his amazement. “What do you know about me and South Amer- ica ?”’ “Il know all about you,” she said. “But why ?” he pursued, baffled. She moved her shoulders a little. “When you’re playing an_ intricate, dangerous game, Mr. Prentiss, you have to find out alt about the other players— 99 or you die.” “Like the little man?” She nodded. “Like the little man. He made that mistake, Mr. Prentiss. He thought he knew what he was doing. He didn’t so he died. Now will you please give me that head?” Prentiss shook his head gently, his eyes smiling. “No, I think I'll keep it. I rather like it, you know.” She rose and leaned urgently over the table. “All right, then. All I can tell you is to leave—and leave here as fast as you can.” “Aren’t you making a mistake?” he said. “Remember, all I have to do is go to the police. All I have to tell them is that I saw the little man shot and that you were with him at the time.” “IT don’t think you will,’ she stated coolly. “I don’t believe you’re a fool. Only a fool would do something like that, Mr. Prentiss. Apparently nobody but you paid any attention to me, so it would be your word against mine. There, are a number of people who are willing to swear that I wasn’t within five miles of that place at the time the little man was shot.” She smiled coldly, purely for appear- ances, and walked quickly away from him. He watched her go, his eyes nar- rowed with thought. Then his waiter came over with more coffee. alg you care for a little gambling, sir?” Prentiss turned to look at the man. His face was long and yellow, his Hair extremely coarse, his eyes like dark marbles set at a slant. Prentiss tried te guess his nationality, couldn’t. “Why not?” he said. 67 He finished his liqueur, laid a bill on the small plate beside his check and rose. Chapter III HEN Prentiss entered the gam- bling room, he saw it was almost as big as the supper room. The waiter had led him down half a dozen steps and through three fire doors to reach the place. It was still early. Only a couple of roulette wheels and one dice layout were running, for there were no more - than six customers. Prentiss took his place at the-dice lay- out, got a stack of silver. When the dice came around, he put five on the line. The dice turned up three-one for his point. He played four the hard way. He drew a snake-eye, then came back with a four and two deuces and got fifteen dollars. After that, he threw a seven. “You’re lucky tonight, bo,” the man with the rake said. His face looked like old ivory, but he was young. Prentiss tried to guess the blend of blood and failed. There was probably some Portuguese and an Asiatic strain. “With your luck, you ought to try for higher stakes,” the man said later. ‘Prentiss nodded. “And where would I place the higher stakes?” The attendant jerked his head toward a door at the far end of the room. “In there.” Prentiss picked up his silver and walked toward the door. He pushed it open, expecting to find another gambling room. He didn’t. He found an office, where three men sat far apart around a long table. All three were watching the door. Two were yellow-skinned and they were smiling, but the third wasn’t. Prentiss knew the third man was Sam Jeffries. He’d been a lot of things in his time—rum runner, smuggler, arms run- ner and gambling-boat owner. Prentiss had known him in Bolivia, had met him again in Chile. He stepped through, clos- ing the door. “Hello, Jeffries.” Jeffries nodded. “Hello, Prentiss. The boys here—” he indicated the two smil- ing men with a wave of his big, hairy CoOMmiclooo <) (C@)