Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

Every Tuesday from Uic suitcase to tlie shelves. Grazzl moved nearer. "Say, the kid's fast," he commented, and stooped to look into the suitcase. '•Whaf.s this? Huh. looks like you're miles ahead of us!" "Well." said Danny, "that's a latent fingerprinting outfit." "Yeah?" encouraged Grazzi. "What's it for?" "Once I traced a killer from a latent finger-print on the inside of a glove left at the scene of the crime." "The inside of a glove?" Grazzi seemed to be profoundly impressed. "No! Where'd vou work on the case?" "Well." Dannj- replied, slowly and re- luctantly, "in class at the police college." There was a general laugh at his expense, and the laughter was quelled only by the abrupt entrance of Captain Bill Ehigan. who strode over to the new arrival, looked into the locker, looked into the nearlv empty suitcase, and looked into a handsome biit very strained face. " You'd better forget those trinkets for BOY'S CINEMA Under its bancl there was a circular con- trivance, in the front of which a very small lens was fitted. "Oh, it's one of my trinkets!' Danny replied, and turned it sideways in his hands. "Shoot a man and take his picture at the same time." "No!" Casey stared at him in open- eyed and open-mouthed wonder. "Yeah! Would you like to try it?" Casey was a member of the radio patrol, and spent most of his official time coast- ing around the precinct in a car with another officer. He hesitated. " Well—er—I would like to," he con- fessed, "but I'm afraid me partner'd laugh at me.' "Yeah!" said Danny bitterly. "I guess that's about all it's good for—laughs." "Well, let em laugh!" snorted Casey. "I'll take it. How does it work?" Danny explained that it was really a miniature camera under the barrel, and had a universal focus. "As soon as you point at the man," he said, "it's ready to take his picture. All (he city never sleeps, and even at three o'clock in the morning there were still occasional pedestrians about. But the beat became a lonely one between three and five, and Danny began to yawn and feel uncommonly drow.sy. Fortunately the weather was fine and the air was crisp. He became familiar with all sorts of shops and the contents of all sorts of windows. In view of the recent jewel robberies he paid particular attention to jewellery establishments. There was one not far from a cinema that looked di.s- tinctly high-class. According to the letter- ing on its plate-glass window it belonged to the Blue Diamond Jewellery Company, and had been established in 1898. No robber\- had taken place there, but he tried its door more than once during the night. At six o'clock in the morning a patrol car caught up with him between Broad- way and Eighth Avenue, and stopped— and Mike Casey's homely but friendly face looked out at him. 'M't lei's I've .■la^' Mickey West thrust his left hand over the back of the seat and out of the window to force down the gun a while. Blake," he barked. "I have a tough assignment for you.' "Yes. sir?" Danny was delighted. "I'm ready for my first ca.se." , "Good! This one'U keep you on your toes. You pound pavements to-night, from midnight till eight o'clock, on Fiftieth Street." Having administered this blow. Dugan turned on his heel and went out from the room. Grazzi added maliciously : "And if you see anything suspicious— icall a cop!" i He, too, went out, and to a background of laughter Danny resumed his task of jstowing the despised "trinkets" in the locker. Mike Casey rose and walked over :o him, patted him sympathetically on a shoulder. "Pound pavements!" muttered Danny. "Aw, sure, kid," said the Irishman. 'Just the way we all start—but most of us vind up that way, too. You know, it takes ears and years, and lots o' luck, to make he detective squad. What's that thing?" Danny was holding a six-gun like the iemarkable one Kathleen had examined a the laboratory of tlie police college. you have to do is pull the trmaer r.nd if you don't want to shoot him it still works with the safety-catch on." Casey took the novel weapon with almost boyish eagerness. "Is it loaded?" he asked. "Sure,' replied Danny. "Takes a standard .48." THE HEEL-PRINT THAT night Danny became acquainted with the tedium of a patrolman's life on dut}.' in the small hotu'S. Madison Square Garden was on his beat, but it was closed and in darkness when he tried its doors as a precautionary measure. There were cinemas in Fiftieth Street, but their audiences had departed. There were shops and office buildings, and here and there a tall apartment-house. The apartment-houses had their own janitors and porters and did not need his attention. He had a word with some of the janitors, but they disappeared after the traffic had faded away and the street had become comparatively quiet. It is said of New York, as of Paris, that Well, how's it goin'? mquiicU .ht old Irishman. "Oh. I've had a tough night," responded Danny, walking over to the window. "I told a drunk the way to go home, but he went the wrong way. " "Yeah?" chuckled Casey. "I gtiess the crime ring's relaxin' for a change. You know I haven't shot a single picture with that gun 0' yours yet." "Well. I hope ycu don't have to." " The same here." Casey waved a hand. "I'll be seein' yoti at the station-house when we check in." "Okay!" said Danny. "So-long!" It was broad daylight by then, and early morning workers were aboiu. Danny en- countered many of them, but he was away in the region of Park Avenue when a negro porter arrived at the premises of the Blue Diamond Jewellery Company, took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. As he entered the elaborately fitted shop a dark-grey saloon stopped a little way beyond it and a narrow-eyed fellow got down from behind the wheel. His name was Mickey West, and he was dressed nor as a chauffeiu- but as a messenger. In the back of the car a lean-faced man with a gash of a motith was seated watch- fully beside a youngish man. smartlv November lUh. IKX