Detective Short Stories - October 1947 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Exclusive Detective Stories, Inc
Published: 1947-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

The Gentle Killer

by Ralph Berard

AUTHOR OF “COPPER’S KID,” ETC,

The fellow was Public Enemy No. 1 all right, but that didn’t make if ex-private-dick Bruce Walters’ business, Bruce was through with blood and murder and gun-play, once and for all…

Whistling softly to himself, Bruce Walters braced his foot lightly against the brake pedal and stopped his big sedan where the narrow, forested road ended abruptly in front of a tiny store. As he snapped off the engine and stepped out, the deep monotonous rumble of the sea came up to him through a veiling fringe of pines. The white-flecked surf broke noisily beyond.

A neat-appearing grey-haired proprietress smiled her recognition as Bruce entered the store. “We’ve kept a cabin for you, Mr. Walters; one of those nearest the beach.”

“Good!” Bruce exclaimed, smiling. He shook a warning finger at the pleasant-faced woman, “And all the time I’m here, Mother Goodwin, remember: Not a word about me being a detective, understand? I’ve made all the money I need and I’ve closed my office. Before leaving town yesterday I handed Captain Cogswell my badge and told him about your cozy place here; I told him I was going out a million miles from nowhere and watch the waves roll in.”

While Bruce was signing his name on the dog-eared sheet of thumb-worn register an ancient vehicle wheezed to a stop outside. A man and his wife came into the store, a little girl of perhaps four holding the woman’s hand. The child, with wide blue eyes, said, “Is it really the ocean, Mommie?”

“Really the ocean, darling,” the woman said.

Bruce paused to look at them. Although the moderate circumstances of the small family was evident he had never seen a cleaner, sweeter-looking child. The father wore a threadbare, grey suit: his driving cap was frayed at the brim. But he possessed an unusually pleasant personality and smiled agreeably as he asked if there was camping space available.

The child’s mother, who could have been no more than thirty-five, was slim and attractive. Even a fifty year old retired bachelor like Bruce Walters could appreciate how economical and efficient a body had to be to create such a favorably-groomed impression with the inexpensive clothing she wore. Their car had unquestionably seen every day of the last decade. But its well-polished finish had fought a good battle with the dusty countryside and still showed evidence of the care and patience with which it must have been regularly polished.

These things made an impression on Bruce. He glanced over the man’s shoulder at the register and read: MR. AND MRS. JAY G. ROBERTS AND DAUGHTER, LUCILE. Then, feeling he had been more nosey than there was any justification for, he got into his car, started the engine and guided it down the extremely steep and narrow road that negotiated the last three or four hundred feet to the beach. He drew up in front of cabin No. 9 and got out, Another car was parked across from him in front of cabin No.

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