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Show Kfi By Sylvia Taylor But It was Eric Strom who lay upon the floor. There was a gun beside be-side his hand. THE STORY SO FAR: Joan Leland, secretary to Importer Arthur Mulford, is discharged by him and refused any explanation. ex-planation. She takes a similar post with handsome Karl Miller, proprietor of a night club who pays her generously for unusual late hours of work. He gets her lister Sybil a new Job and Joan falls In love with him. His club manager, man-ager, Paul Sherman, warns her about Karl, but refuses to give any reason, and later rescues her from the unwanted j lo.emaklng of Eric Strom, Earl's busi-JL busi-JL ness partner. Sybil suspects Karl's mo-s7 mo-s7 tlves but Joan defends him. They board a freighter-ship, apparently as a lark, and as they leave, Joan notices that Paul Sherman had followed them. She remains silent about this. Later Karl sends Joan with a package to the freighter captain. Paul follows, again warns her. One night before Christmas Eric arrives suddenly and Karl asks Joan to leave the office. Now continue with the story. ' CHAPTER Vni t The club was crowded with a gay holiday group. Joan went into the bar and took her place on a tall 1 ttool., "Something to drink, Miss Leland?" Le-land?" one of the attendants asked. "No, thank you," Joan said, "I'm (waiting for Mr. Miller." She looked at her watch. Exactly ten o'clock. She hoped Karl would not be long. She was jealous of each moment he spent with anyone else. She was so ' deep in her own thoughts that she did not hear Paul Sherman until he spoke a second time. "Fancy finding you here," he was i saying as he caught her attention. "I'm waiting for Karl." Paul smiled ruefully, "I might have,.known it." j "Are we going through this gain?" Joan asked. "It's Christmas Christ-mas time, Paul. I'm happy and I don't want to quarrel with anyone." any-one." Paul's brown eyes twinkled. "Even me?" "Even you," she said firmly, "Let's call a truce, shall we?" "It's a deal. And to prove it, how bout a dance with me?" She hesitated, but Paul pulled her to her feet. "I won't take no for an answer. Even Karl can't begrudge me one dance." Paul was an excellent dancer and Joan was relieved that he seemed reigned to the situation. She really r wanted to be friends with everyone, every-one, to share her happiness with the whole world. There was pity in Paul Sherman's brown eyes but Joan did not see it As light as a feather, she danced in his arms. Over her head Paul's serious se-rious face belied his gay attempt at bantering conversation. "You have the cutest turned-up nose," he informed her. "But it doesn't suit the rest of you." "That's a dubious compliment," Joan smiled. "Your nose gives you away for Just what you are, a cute kid! Paul laughed and so did she. Cute kid! Karl called her beautiful, glamorous, glamor-ous, exciting Paul Sherman thought she was just a cute kid. It proved how much more sophisticated Karl was. Yet if she had never met Karl she would have been fond of Paul. He was young, good-looking and intelligent. Karl, however, had Her green eyes were pleading from a chalk-white face. "Karl! Karl! Answer me! You didn't . . . You couldn't . . . Why that would be . . . Murder!" Karl Miller smiled grimly as he took a cigarette from the silver box on his desk. "Some people might call it that," he said without a trace of excitement. Joan leaned weakly against the desk. She was beyond fear, beyond tears. There was a terrible silence in the office, a heavy dreadful silence. si-lence. A silence intensified by Karl Miller's face, narrowed eyes, hard mouth. A silence made more tense by the stillness of Eric Strom's body upon the floor. Joan's mind slowly tried to put together the pieces of this horrible picture. Karl had shot Eric killed him. Beyond that she knew nothing. Her hand reached for the telephone. tele-phone. "I'm going to call the police!" po-lice!" Karl seized her arm with a violence vio-lence that almost jerked it from its socket "You will do nothing of the kind!" She stared at him. Was this the Karl Miller she knew? Was this hard-faced man the one who had held her tenderly and murmured "liebchen"? Someone was pounding at the office of-fice door. Karl had locked it. Paul Sherman's voice came distinctly through the opaque glass panel. "Joan! What's going on in there? Let me in!" Karl walked to the door and opened it. "There has been an unfortunate un-fortunate accident," he said calmly. Paul's expression did not change. "What happened?" Karl Miller smiled a little as he regarded his white-faced manager. "Joan was perfectly justified. Eric has tried to annoy her before. You can testify to that yourself." "Just what are you driving at?" Paul demanded. Joan tried to speak but her lips would not move. What was Karl saying? What did he mean? Karl Miller advanced towards her. "And if you double-cross me, you know what to expect Now do you understand?" "You wouldn't dare!" Joan said but the sightless eyes of Eric Strom refuted the statement. She covered her face with her hands and wept. It couldn't be true. That wasn't Karl, her Karl! He must be driven by desperation to turn against her. It was some horrible mistake. In a moment it would be over. He would explain everything and hold he- in his arms again. But Karl was saying, "You know nothing! You will tell no one what has occurred here tonight. We will go on as if nothing has happened." She wanted to laugh wildly, hysterically, hys-terically, "Go on as if nothing had happened"? Karl wrapped the pistol in a handkerchief, hand-kerchief, put it in the safe, then motioned to Paul. "Give me a hand." Together they carried the lifeless Eric Strom from the office. Joan could hear them descending the fire escape, outside the back of the building. What would they do with Eric? The noise from the orchestra or-chestra must have prevented the sound of the shot from disturbing the Club guests. Joan stared at the telephone. She was alone. It would be easy to call the police but she was afraid. She was afraid of the look in Karl Miller's Mil-ler's eyes. There had been ruthless determination in those eyes. And in the safe lay the gun that had killed Eric. A gun bearing her fingerprints. fin-gerprints. Paul had said he would testify in support of Karl. What chance would Joan Leland have? The evidence was conclusively against her. What was behind this murder? Why Karl's attitude, Paul's sudden change of front? She had no idea how long it was before Karl returned. He was alone. "Let us understand each other," he said, sitting down at his desk. "It would be most unfortunate if I were to become involved with the police. I am not an American citizen." so much more to offer. He had lived. He was experienced. There was a mystery about him that set him apart from all others. There was even a subtle fascination about his guttural accent. Karl represented represent-ed power and strength. Karl . . . "I'm still here," Paul reminded her, breaking into her dream. "Sorry," Joan admitted. "I'd almost al-most forgotten." The orchestra filed out for an intermission. in-termission. "I think I'll go back to the office," of-fice," Joan said. "Karl said he'd send for me in ten minutes and it's ' been much longer than that. Eric Strom is there." "Eric Strom!" "That's right. And Karl didn't ieem too pleased about it." "I wouldn't advise you to go back then," Paul said, frowning. "I'm worried," she confessed, "about Karl." "Karl can take care of himself," Paul said, lighting a cigarette. But Joan felt a sudden inner compulsion. com-pulsion. "I'm going anyway," she toljl Paul. He made a step as if to detain her, then apparently reversing re-versing his decision, walked to the bar. Joan hurried down the long corridor corri-dor exactly as she had done so many times before. But fear hastened has-tened her footsteps, fear for Karl. She did not trust Eric Strom. She 'had been alarmed by his expression. "If anything happens to Karl . . ." she thought As she reached the door she heard the two men arguing violently. Then there was a shot followed by a crash. "Karl!" Joan screamed, flinging open the door. But it was Eric Strom who lay upon the floor. There was a gun beside his hand. Her eyes sought Karl's fearfully. "He killed himself?" she faltered. karl shut the door. "Pick up that gum" he commanded. Shuddering, Joan obeyed, placing it upon the desk. "Karl!" She ran to him, seizing his arm, staring into his face, which had no glint of emotion in it "Darling, "Dar-ling, you didn't kill him?" "Joan shi . Eric," Karl Miller stated. His words were like an electric shock. "I didn't! Karl, you know I didn't! You did it yourself! You shot him!" She ran to Paul and clutched his arm. "Paul, you believe me, don't you?" Paul Sherman did not answer. He did not even look at her. "Your fingerprints are on the gun," Karl said. "But you told me to pick it up." She could not believe her ears. Karl, the man she loved and trusted, had turned against her, accusing her of a murder he had committed. It was like some fantastic nightmare. "I have no wish to turn you over to the police, Joan. We will forget about this little matter. No one need know what has happened." Rage blazed in her green eyes. "But I haven't done anything. I'm not afraid to go to the police! And I'm going to tell them the whole story. She was not speaking to the Karl Miller she had loved. This man was a stranger. "You will not go to the police!" His voice cut like a whip. Paul Sherman stared straight ahead of him, seeming to see or hear nothing. "I will!" Joan cried hysterically, turning towards the door. Karl's powerful arm stopped her and forced her roughly into a chair. "There are two reasons why you will not. The first if you do I will testify that you shot Eric, and Paul will back me up." Her pleading eyes turned to Paul. He would not fail her. But he said coolly, "I'm afraid that's right." "But you can't! It isn't true! Karl, why are you doing this? Paul! Help me! I don't understand." "Eric," Karl went on, "tried to double-cross me. You may observe for yourself what has happened to him. That is the second reason that you will do nothing." Joan clutched the arms of her chair for support. She compressed her lips in a desperate attempt to control her emotions. dully. "Naturally, as is everyone else associated with me here at the club." "Paul, too?" "Of course, Paul, too." Karl Miller Mil-ler smiled as he leaned towards her. "You see we are engaged in certain activities which are necessarily very private." Then at last Joan knew the truth. This was a spy ring. It must be. That explained everything those mysterious letters to Mexico, Karl's reticence. The Club Elite was only a blind. But why was Karl telling her this?" "I trust you now," Karl said with a wry smile. "You are in much too deep to get out Not only would you be held for murder, but you are implicated just as much as the rest of us. You recall the portfolio you delivered to the freighter?" She stared at him without answering. answer-ing. "That envelope contained very valuable information. Information enough to convict you on many counts. You were seen delivering that envelope by several people. One of them happened to be Paul Sherman." Sher-man." Little by little Joan Leland's confused con-fused brain began to see the picture. pic-ture. And she knew that what Karl said was true. She was in too deep to get out But she must get out! She could not would not continue to have anything to do with Karl Miller now that she knew the truth. A spy! So this was the mystery mys-tery that she had once considered romantic and attractive! She looked at him now with loathing. But Karl put a hand over hers. "Be sensible, Joan. You're hysteri-"cal hysteri-"cal at the moment but you'll be all right You have nothing to worry wor-ry about. I'm very fond of you. Is there any reason we should not go on . ." The girl leaped to her feet "I hate you, Karl Miller! And no matter mat-ter what you say, I'm not afraid of you!" His hands were on her shoulders "You don't mean that, liebchenl" (TO BE COXT1MEDJ ' I |