Black Mask (Vol. 33, No. 3 — September 1949)

“Matches like that were found on the Smiley and Miller jobs, and I found some in the alley near Ambler’s office.”

“Did Lew know his brother liked Luretta?”

“I doubt it.”

“What about Ambler?”

“I think he knew. And somehow he knew that it was Wells Ryerson who cracked his safe, and he must have called him. Ryerson didn’t dare return it for then there would always be someone who knew his secret.”

When the body had been taken away, Stigler looked over to Ragan. “Coming with us, Joe? Or are you staying?”

“Neither! We’re going to see Ruth Smiley, and I want that to be the first thing you do. Turn him loose.”

“She’ll be so happy!” Luretta said, when they were in the car. “It must be wonderful to make someone that happy!”

He chuckled. “You’ll find out, honey! You’ll find out!”

Not Necessarily Dead by Robert P. Toombs

Wealthy manufacturer M. Harrison Sprague rushed to break a puzzling appointment — with death.

Chapter One Unexpected Visitor

Awakened from sound sleep by the explosive bark of a gun, I looked for Lyria. The covers were thrown back — she was gone! The bedroom door stood wide open. I staggered out of bed, stumbling around in my pajamas. There was an acrid odor in the air; gunpowder. It was just getting daylight. Bits of the windowpane lay on the persian rug; long, glittering splinters of sharp glass. Our bedroom is on the second floor of the house. The outside wall is of figured stone, easy to climb.

Lyria screamed! It came from somewhere downstairs, her voice muffled, rising thinly up the stair-well. Footfalls, frantic, fearful, came up the stairs and I whirled, ran to the vanity and picked up a bronze candleholder. The mirror tossed out my reflection, lips drawn back, new lines fanning around my blue eyes. I was staring at my own conscience! Yesterday afternoon I had flung the bank-loot in my safe downstairs, telling myself: Just overnight. Tomorrow you can return it. Tomorrow! And this was tomorrow — with my wife’s screams tearing me wide open!

I lunged into the hall.

Lyria ran toward me, stumbling, sobbing — threw herself into my arms. Her negligee was torn, silvery blonde hair whipping almost to her waist.

“What is it?” I choked.

“A man—” she gulped, fighting to get her breath. “I couldn’t see— He’s gone! I heard a noise, got up and went downstairs. He must have been up here! I thought he’d shot you! He came leaping downstairs. He had something over his face — something black — he grabbed me, threw me to one side and ran out the front door—”

With one hand I tried to jerk her arms from around my neck, gripping the candleholder in the other. “He must have put a bullet through the bedroom window. Let go, Lyria!”

“No, Monty! Stay here! Don’t go down—” Strong and supple, she wrestled me into the bedroom. “Let him go. He had a gun! What are you mixed up in? Tell me, Monty. I saw that money in the safe last night when I put my pearls away!”

I stared down into her eyes, breathing heavily. “Better get dressed.”

She pulled away from me. Her cheeks were ashen. “What is it, Monty? What?”

“I don’t know — for sure. But I can guess. Lyria, I’m in trouble up to my neck! He’s after me all right!”

“To kill you?” she whispered.

I looked at her. Until yesterday I would have said I had no enemies — unless I’d inherited some I didn’t know about since my manufacturing business began tottering three years before. This had been a riotous year, in which I’d married Lyria, built this fine house on the outskirts of Jacksonville, Florida, and decided only last week to slow down a bit.

My forty-two years couldn’t stand the strain of dumping my personal funds into the plant with one hand, and hurling luxuries at Lyria with the other. But yesterday—? Yes, I had an enemy — even if I didn’t know what he looked like exactly. Maybe more than one?

I grabbed up my robe, stuck my feet into straw slippers and moved toward the door, gripping the candleholder.

“Wait,” she panted. “I’m coming too.”

“You stay here!”

I slammed the door after me and plunged down the wide stairway to the floor below. Where were the servants? Then I remembered Lyria had taken them all to task yesterday about something or other — fired the lot of them. The front door was open.