Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

12 let you go so that we could get a line on Banford." "He figured that out, too," said Crystal. "Well, here's something he hasn't figured out—that Banford has ordered you two liquidated to-night—by a long- faced, long-nosed fellow who works for him." "Frenchy!" gasped the girl. "Aw, this is another phoney," scoffed Bixby. "Oh, no, it isn't," corrected Danny. "I heard it in that trick passage." Crystal became really frightened. "Maybe the copper is right," she faltered. "She's talking sense, Bixby," said Danny. "We don't want you—we want Banford. If you'll talk, it'll make all the difference between a long prison term and a suspended sentence." Bixby hesitated, gnawing a knuckle. "I think he's on the level," said Crystal. "You won't cross me?" Bixby looked searchingly into Danny's honest face. "What would it get me?" "Okay. Bring your stenographer along. I'm talking right here—and then ducking low." "We could keep you safe in a cell." "No, I'll show up when you need me." "That's okay with me," said Danny. "I'll use the phone." He went to the telephone-box and shut himself inside it to ring up Dugan. But Fi'enchy had entered the restaurant while they were talking and had slipped into the seat at the next table without being observed. "It's you and me, honey," Bixby said to Crystal, "just as soon as the trial is over." Frenchy rose up behind the high back of the seat, rested his left hand upon the top of it, and with the other levelled a six-shooter at the back of Bixby's neck. "It's over now. for you!" he snarled. Crystal looked up and screamed a warning. Bixby swimg round. "No," he said frantically, "it was all a gag, Frenchy. I swear it was! It was just a gag. I—I was only trying to pump the guy. I " The six-shooter barked, jetting flame and smoke, and Bixby fell forward across the table. Crystal flung herself to the floor and screamed again. The empty beer bottle fell on her; the overturned coffee-cup spilled its dregs upon her hat. Frenchy made for the door, past people who scattered in all directions; and then FUN in the HOME! Introduces all the Favourite Characters from the Walt Disney Films—Donald Duck, Goofy, Snow White, Horace HorsecoUar, the Three Little Pigs, and many more. " Mickey's Fun Fair" is a grand game, novel and endlessly fascinating. Published by Caslell Bros., Ltd., By permission of Walt Disney- Mickey Mouse, Ltd. All Stat inner s and stores sell " Micltey's Fun Fair." > Two packs for ^J /fT. the price of one /£, fO MICKEY'S Fun Fair 88 CARDS IN FULL COLOURS November IHli, 1939. BOY'S CINEMA Danny burst out from the telephone-box and his gun was in his hand. "Up with 'em!" he yelled. Frenchy turned at the door and fired, but his aim was bad and a bullet whistled harmlessly over Danny's shoulder and smashed its way through a window-pane. Danny fired almost simultaneously, and Frenchy was half-way out of the door when he was shot in the left arm. He disappeared from sight, and though Danny streaked after him he was in a car and driving recklessly in the direction of Broadway by the time the pavement was reached. Danny went back into the restaurant, forced his way through a crowd that had gathered round the table across which Bixby was sprawled, and bent over the wounded crook. " He's still alive," he said to Crystal who was sobbing beside him. "Call an ambul- ance—quick!" Crystal rushed to the telephone-box and Danny raised Bixby's head. "Bixby, talk!" he pleaded. "Talk, Bixby! It's your last chance to get even with Banford!" BLxby opened glazing eyes, and his lips moved. "Max—Stockton," he muttered in a voice that was barely audible. "Stockton?" repeated Danny. "Yes? Stockton—well?" "That's—him." Bixby's voice was weak- er than before. "Huxley's—to-morrow— night. Hux " That was all; Bixby was dead. Danny swept plates and a glass from the table- cloth and lowered the pallid face to it. A commotion arose at the door, and the powerful voice of Captain Bill Dugan rang out above ah the noise : "Come on, come on—break it up!" With Grazzi and half a dozen policemen behind him the captain hustled the patrons of the place aside, and Crystal was back at the table, sitting beside her dead lover and murmuring his name when he came face to face with Danny. " They got him before he could say very much," lamented Danny. ■■ Never mind that!" snapped Dugan. "Who saw him killed?" "She did." Dugan scowled at Crystal. "Yeah?" he blared. "And where were you?" " I was on the 'phone, trying to get you at the station. He was going to give evi- dence against Banford." Dugan was furious — unreasonably furious. " Impersonatin' an officer, eh?" he raged. "Blake, you're just beggin' for a jail sentence! You're both under arrest as material witnesses!" RED-HANDED! THE newspapers next morning con- tained a highly coloured account of the "Murder in a Restaurant," as they called it; but the main headlines of later editions were concerned with a different aspect of the case. Captain Bill Dugan, in his office at the police station, read those headlines aloud to the men he called before him late in the afternoon. "'Big Police Shake-up Under Way. Commissioner Demotes Officers Involved in Bixby Bungle.' " He flung the newspaper to the floor. "That's it!" he gritted, sinking heavily into his chair. "The axe hasn't missed any of us. I've just got back from the Commissioner's." "We've been kicked around before." said Grazzi. "But what about you, cap?" "Down to lieutenant—with a desk job out in the sticks," was the grim response. "All right, boys, I guess that's all." They went silently, Grazzi last, and Kathleen brushed past that detective with a copy of the " Herald " in her hand and temper flaming in her eyes. She advanced to the desk, and she held the newspaper across it. " Uncle Bill, I can't understand it!" she Every Tuesday cried. "This paper says you've arrested Danny!" " That's right," growled Dugan, avoiding her gaze. " Oh!" Indignation and dismay were compressed in that one short word. "He's short-tempered and impatient, I know, but —but he was trying to help you." Uncle Bill did not speak; but Grazzi, who had turned about and followed her into the room, spoke for him. "Maybe so," he said, "but he's just cost your uncle his captaincy." " Oh, no!" she gasped. "Yeah! Sort of lit a bomb under all of us." She gaped at him, and she gaped at the huddled figure of Dugan. "I can't believe that. Where is Dan? I want to see him." " He's down in his cell," Grazzi informed her. "May I see him. Uncle Bill?" "Sure, sure," replied Dugan wearily. "Go ahead." Grazzi went with her down the stairs and past the locker-room to a door of bars which a jailer unlocked and opened. She went with the jailer along a gloomy corridor between a double row of cells, and the door of the one in which Danny was imprisoned was opened for her. There was a table in it, and on the table was a bust fashioned out of modelling clay. Danny was working on it, and did not look round. "Hallo, Danny!" she said, standing beside him. He turned with affected surprise, and he did not seem to be in the least pleased to see her. "Well," he drawled, "I thought visitors were supposed to be announced." "You might forget the sarcasm and worry more about getting your badge back," she said crushingly. "Your career as a cop lasted about as long as your temper." He sat down on a bunk. "Yeah? I guess you're right," he admitted bleakly. " From rookie to patrol- man, from patrolman to detective, and back again to nothing in six easy lessons. Maybe I did speak out of turn once too often." "Well!" she exclaimed. "Boy breaks down and confesses he was too cocky!" "You can forget the sarcasm now, Kathleen," he rebuked. " How would you like to see me reinstated and your uncle back again as captain?" "How could you do that?" He pointed to the bust. " This clay model could prove the whole case, if Dugan weren't so stubborn. I tried to tell him that Banford was going to rob Huxley's, but he wouldn't listen to me." Kathleen blinked at the model. " But what has this thing got to do with Banford and Huxley?" she asked wonder- ingly. Danny picked up a record card. "When Bixby was dying," he said, "he mentioned the name of Max Stockton. I had Grazzi get his pictures out of the police files." He handed her the card, and she looked at three photographs pasted on it, all of the same man, one showing him full-face, one his left profile, and the other his right profile. He was a clean-shaven fellow with dark and evil eyes. She read aloud from the details beneath the photographs: "' Max Stockton, alias Joe Manters, alias Mike Spelville. Died in Marysville Prison fire, May 12th, 1929.'" She looked at the model again, and she saw that Danny had reproduced the features of Max Stockton extremely well. Why he had gone to so much trouble she could not understand. "But this man's been dead nearly ten years!" she exclaimed. "No," said Danny. "Look!" From the table he took a false moustache, which he attached to the upper lip of the model, and a pair of horn- rimmed pince-nez, which he perched on its nose.