Black Mask (Vol. 29, No. 3 — January 1947)

He figured Kigel had been carrying it in his hand, had the animal cunning to shove the paper deep down into the leaf trash and pine needles.

The house dick cupped another match over it. He said, “Hun-h-h?” as he saw the document lacked the necessary two witnesses’ signatures.

Sound came softly, rustlingly, behind him. He waved out the match, whirled around. A soprano voice said: “Don’t shoot. It’s me again — Spica Zane. I had to tell you. I just remembered something!”

O’Hanna was getting used to it. “I bet you just realized it’s important.”

The blonde gulped. “Yes. You see, I don’t know what a silencer looks like. But lots of Uncle Charley’s employees were drafted. Some of them brought back war souvenirs. It’s one way to get in solid with the boss. Well, Uncle Charley had a funny little tube packed in his suitcase. I thought it was some part of a telescope. Maybe he was killed with his own gun and silencer!”

O’Hanna said: “Hubba-hubba, I’m glad you told me. I just remembered something too. I didn’t realize it was important at the time. I mean the way you dragged your astronomical uncle into the Palomar Room tonight. It was a mighty clever dodge to throw him and McGuffey together in public just before killing him.”

The blond niece gasped, put her hand to her mouth.

O’Hanna said: “They might have got into a public debate about their comet. Or Uncle Charley might have made some nasty crack the waiter would overhear, especially with you there to lead him on to saying it. A very cute trick indeed.”

Spica Zane backed away a yard. She said: “But he called you. He warned you Joe McGuffey might start trouble!”

“He suspected the wrong relative. You walked into that dark room and put the gun’s silencer against his bald spot.”

The girl shrank.

O’Hanna said: “Professor Martin was due any minute. The minute she arrived, you reached for the fireplace poker, At the same time, you grabbed a piece of string. The gun was on the other end, outside, with the silencer removed.”

Spica Zane kept walking backwards. O’Hanna followed her. He said: “The reason you sneaked out the bedroom window was to get rid of that gun outside. By that time Kigel had come back nosing around for the will. He caught you redhanded with the gun. So you gave him the silent slug treatment. Then, to cover up, you repeated the string and gun stunt, this time using me as your alibi’s eye witness.”

The girl whirled. O’Hanna caught at her shoulder. It wasn’t there. She dropped to her knees. Her fingers clawed frantically through the leafmold and pine needles.

O’Hanna shouted: “Hey, Ed! She hid it here! She—”

He saw something in the blonde’s hand. He put out his foot. He didn’t put it there easy. The thing stopped flying when it hit a tree trunk.

O’Hanna sprang, and scooped it up. He said, as Ed Gleeson dashed up with a flashlight: “I’ll say somebody gave Uncle Charley a war souvenir.” It wasn’t just the silencer. A hunk of Waffenfabrik shooting iron went with it.

Manager Endicott’s eyes bulged as they steered the tousled, weeping blonde into the chalet.

He prattled: “Mike! You mean — she—”

“Yeah. She didn’t know her Uncle Charley was a two-timer. She thought he was actually going to give away a hundred thousand bucks she’d hoped to inherit herself. She framed the kill before he could make it legal with witnesses’ names.”

“Good God!” Endicott said. He shook his head. “A lovely young lady like that killing her own flesh-and-blood just for money. It makes me shiver!”

O’Hanna looked around at everybody.

“That’s what murder does,” the house dick opined solemnly. “It leaves you just naturally cold.”

The Corpse I Left Behind Me

by Donn Mullally

It’s good business to keep extra stock on hand, and the gendarmes loved Martin Fowler because he kept them so well supplied with fresh corpses. However, when they found they couldn’t keep up with the influx of new business, they commenced to be annoyed — even suspicious!

Chapter One

The Chivalrous Shamus

I stuck my head in the door and looked around. The scene was not unfamiliar to me, but it was always interesting. If there’d been a cover charge I would have felt right at home. Too many lights, of course, but the bar of justice is funny that way. They want to see the people. Why, I can’t imagine.

They all were pasteboard cut-outs to me, until they moved. Then they scurried like something under a log. Dim lights and a juke box would have helped this bar, too.

What was I doing there? An hour ago I had been sitting around my own apartment having a bull session with Iggy Friedberg, my attorney. His wife was out of town, and we’d had dinner and meant to spend a quiet evening lying to each other.