Western Trails – [October 1932] – an A. A. Wyn pulp magazine

July 7, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceA. A. Wyn, Bert Little, Clyde A. Warden, Delos Palmer, Don Diego, Don Hewitt, F. R. Murray, Frozen North, Howard E. Morgan, Jack Allman, Joe Archibald, Lester Dent, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, T. W. Ford, Walrus and Wishbone, western, Western Trails, William Merle Allison4 Comments

The start of 2023 heralded the arrival of a vast 1930s collection of Western Trails pulp magazines. Sadly, an overwhelming majority of them were reading copies. This, the October 1932 issue, is no different. That’s my copy. It’s a fantastic cover, showing a cowboy tethered, his hands bound behind him, while a beauty sneaks up behind him with a knife to cut him free while slipping him a six-gun. I love Delos Palmer Jr.’s covers. He really made the scenes larger-than-life, making full use of the space allotted to him.

I’ll start off by noting that overall this is probably the most completely enjoyable issue I’ve thus far read. Nearly every single story was a winner.

This issue leads off with The Murder Brand by Clyde A. Warden, a novelette featuring western superhero Bert Little. The story is illustrated by F. R. Murray, who is new to me. Nearly an hour of research leads me to speculate that this might be Frank Richardson Murray, born 1889 or 1891 (?) in Pennsylvania, and died 1973. Lived and work in New York. Married Pauline. If the correct artist, Murray didn’t remain with the pulps very long.

The tale opens in Auburn. All the men are in the saloon. Nobody is drinking. They are petrified. The “phantom” has been sending notes to individuals, drawing them out to death. Those that depart are never seen again. Failure to accept the invitation also meets with death, as one man who hired goons to protect him discovers; he was found in the morning, in bed, his neck slit.

Hal Jackson, a behemoth of a man, enters the saloon with an envelope. The crowd demands he open it. Whose name is inside? He’s terrified to, as his name might be inside, but Hal does so and is shocked. Bert Little. The entire saloon is stupefied. They’ve heard of the legendary man but never seen him. Surprisingly, a man in a corner stands up, walks over, and casually asks for the letter, claiming to be Bert Little. The big man takes this runt’s claim as an insult and throws a fist. It never lands. Bert grabs a point by the elbow, applies pressure. Sends pain radiating through the towering man’s entire being. Wrenching free, Hal tries again, taking a gigantic swing. He misses wide as Bert easily slides away but returns the missed favor, with a singular fist that knocks out the beast. The he-man’s body collapses and removes any dust in its wake, slamming into the timbers. Attaining said letter, Bert makes to read it when hooves are heard to approach.

All fearfully await the “phantom” when to their surprise, a sweet little thing in a sombrero boldly walks in. She is looking for a man, a man to help her with a death or death scenario. Hardly life or death, as the scenario seems dire. Nobody answers. Bert is still reading his fan mail, then glances at her, steps over, accepts. They step outside and he states who he is, refuses her offer to pay handsomely, etc. Turns out he was in Auburn on purpose because he had heard of this phantom killer and wished to solve the mystery. But how did the “phantom” know he was in Auburn? Too, what are the odds this mouth-watering beauty, by name of Lee Maple, should require such a hero? Seems she’s missing a brother. He apparently took a fancy to riding through a ghost town and spotted a luscious dame. He hunted her through the town but couldn’t find her again. He later returned and has not been seen since. She fears her brother may be dead. After all, a week has gone by. Bert accepts the mission since he has been summoned by the phantom, so he might as well tackle this problem, too. Lee Maple is no wishy-washy woman. She asserts she’ll ride with Bert Little and, she can handle a gun! She quickdraws and informs she hits her targets. Bert doesn’t want her along but accepts when she states she’ll either ride with him or trail him at a discreet distance.

At its heart, this story is a weaker cousin to the shudder pulps, in that Bert is fighting a phantom, a hunched over, freakish being that hides in an abandoned mining town. The “phantom” heard that Bert was coming to Auburn and prepares himself not only with how to capture and contain his adversary, but also how to eliminate the deadly potential of Bert’s faithful companion, Buck.

Trigger Trap by Lester Dent is illustrated by F. R. Murray
Lent would go on to do the Doc Savage pulps, but it’s nice to see his style developing already scarcely a year before his leap into Doc Savage fame. And Lester Dent strikes gold with this tale. Wick is 50 yards away with his rifle sites on a freckled face girl with a bonnet. She’s got wire cutters. You get the idea. She pops the barbed wire loose from the post. Wick, annoyed, fires a round in her direction, but not at her. Rather, he shatters her rifle, which is leaning against the post. He walks up and she fumes at him. We learn his employer set fire to her range and her beef will starve. So she is trying to force her livestock onto the villain’s field. Wick gets slapped fiercely about the face and he holds her tight and returns the favor, with his lips. Lots of fast action occurs. We meet the head boss, his second, and Wick’s friend, Spindlin. The villain offers Wick and his friend a job. Corral some of his own cows and rebrand them as the girl’s. Then he can circumvent the sheriff, who dislikes him, and issue a formal complaint to the cattle association. They’ll investigate, see she branded his cattle, and she’ll be broke. Wick doesn’t like that idea and decides to flip the script. Only, they lied. This wasn’t the real plot. Spindlin is shot dead and the second is drilled through the arm. He claims he saw the girl and her men fire at them. Wick sends him away for reinforcements, but when nobody shoots at Wick, he suspects a double-cross. Some swift action takes place, lots of blood is shed, and Lester shows off some fun inventiveness to a worn plot.

Lester Dent placed 13 stories and 4 articles with Western Trails from 1932-1933 and I’m thrilled to say I have some more in my collection to tackle. Woohoo! The Lester Dent files suggest the original working title for Trigger Trap was Medicine for Wick. If any Dent readers don’t know, well, in 2009, Black Dog Books compiled all of Lester Dent’s tales from Western Trails, titling the work: Hell’s Hoofprints: The Complete Western Trails Tales of Lester Dent, a print-on-demand cheap alternative to collecting the original pulps.

The Killers Come by T. W. Ford is illustrated by W. M. A. (William Merle Allison)
The story opens with Sheriff Hutch Logan riding into town with Don Diego, an outlaw and killer. He’s bound, hands behind his back, and the lead rope around his pommel to Hutch’s horse. Riding into town down the main drag, they hear gunfire. A well-dressed man is flinging lead with an automatic pistol as various men grab their gats and join the onslaught. This stranger runs into the sheriff’s building and drags out a lovely young lady to use as a shield. The shooting halts. Even from the distance, outlaw Don Diego realizes the girl is likely Hutch Logan’s daughter. He doesn’t care until one of the townspeople pops out a window with a Winchester. It’s clear the man intends to take the shot, girl or no girl. Disgusted, Don Diego, who had been working his hands loose, strains, breaks free, spurs the horse forward hard, and drags the sheriff’s horse into the dirt, throwing his captor underneath. Jumping free, he sheds the ropes, confiscates the sheriff’s lead-throwers, reclaims his own .45s, all the ammo he can carry, and rushes to the stranger. The stranger is welcome for the assistance until Don Diego wrenches the girl free and spins her away. In true cinematic fashion, the pair continue to fling lead, wound or kill others, are wounded themselves, etc. They hustle into the hotel, the tallest building in town, and arduously make their way up the landings to the roof. A foolish spot, but one they are forced to take, the high ground. But in that southern desert heat, on a hot tin roof, Don Diego knows the sun will cook their souls to damnation. Just how the pair manage to survive long enough to escape makes for good reading, but survival is short-lived for the stranger, ex-gangland city boss. For while stuck in the hotel, he watches in horror as his ex-gang arrive to kill him. Preferring to die by their code than by a crooked sheriff that framed both men for a deputy’s death (who incidentally was robbing a coach), the stranger offers himself to them if they’ll get the two of them out of town. They do, which makes for excellent blood-and-thunder reading!

This is the earliest Don Diego story in my arsenal of Western Trails, but I do have more to tackle. If they are all as exciting as this one, they ought to be collected, though no doubt those that wear wet diapers will squirm at Don Diego being referred to as a Spic or a Mex. The writing is erratic and drove me bonkers. So I looked online to see if anyone had anything to say about Ford. Shucks and quackin’ ducks! There was scant information, but my old friend James Reasoner, a lover of pulp westerns, had read Ford and I was impressed to see on one of his blogs that he likewise noted Ford’s style. I feel partially vindicated.

Madman’s Run is by Howard E. Morgan and features an uncredited illustration
This frozen north tale features two RCMP lads chasing 5 unidentified murderers. The quintet recently slayed two fur trappers and like preceding kills, stole their furs and set fire to the cabin. A young lady, sole witness, runs away from the scene, but is spotted in flight by the RCMP boys. It’s clear the killers are sledding away from Canada, west to Alaska, to a shack that sits boldly astride both boundaries! There one of the RCMP meets his maker and the other is left for dead. Unknown to the five, he survived, but his bosses arrive on the scene and accuse him of murdering his mate, as he is doused in whiskey and the scene was left to look like a fight took place. His commanding officer takes the man’s badge and coat, but leaves his gun, which is his personal property. He then takes to the trail in pursuit of the five men, and, to also rescue the girl who now is in their company. It’s a standard RCMP story with nothing new, but I liked it all the same, and I’ve become a fast-fan of Howard E. Morgan’s stories.

Salivatin’ Satan features Walrus and Wishbone, the comedic comedy duo of morons, written by Joe Archibald. The accompanying illustration isn’t credited, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Joe did it himself, given he was also an accomplished artist. As usual, Walrus and Wishbone are fleeing another town after creating havoc. One shot at a sky pilot for preaching temperance. If you know these two characters, laying off the liquor is a sin. So, they ride for salvation and free of a hemp lynching to a fresh frying pan, meet a kangaroo that likes chewing tobacco, conned into pushing a herd plagued by blackleg into another range during a range-war, arrested for said activity, accused of rustling, and rescued by the owner of the kangaroo. ‘Nuff said.

Holster Havoc by Les Rivers is illustrated by Don Hewitt
Les Rivers was the alias of Clyde A. Warden, author behind all the “Bert Little” stories.

Marshal Dick Tanner sneaks into Helen Pearson’s cabin, finds a love letter from outlaw Tom Lorrel, and forges a new one to trap Lorrel at a remote cabin in the hills. Helen receives the fake letter requesting her aid and goes to the cabin. Tom eventually makes the ride to the cabin, of his own accord, which belongs to Jake, an old-timer who knows that Tom is innocent of the charges brought against him. Two years earlier, Tom’s father was murdered. Tom called out the killer, but the entire town believes the gambler was innocent and saw Tom murder his own father. Who could have convinced the entire town of this is unclear to Tom, but he’s been on the run in the hills ever since. And since that time, all manner of other crimes have been assigned to his deadly cross-Colt drawing hands. Lorrel is shocked to find Helen there, and after the confusion is aired, he foolishly remains for sustenance instead of fleeing. Marshal Dick Tanner pops a gun through the window, covers Lorrel, climbs in over the sill, relieves the youth of his two guns, cuffs him, then they ride away.

Once removed from the cabin’s witnesses, Tanner goes to uncuff the boy only to find Lorrel already picked the lock! Tanner confesses a deeper interest in Lorrel, stating he knows the boy is likely innocent of all crimes and wants his assistance outside the abilities of the law to track down robbers, etc. Lorrel readily agrees to terms, and requests Tanner to have $10k on the next stage. Handpick a reliable driver and a good gun to ride inside as guard. Instruct them where Lorrel will slip aboard the stage. Tanner agrees and sets the staged stage in motion.

Lorrel sees the stage approach the curve, runs alongside, and jumps inside, only to find the guard draw a gun and slam it fully against his skull. Knocked out and a bloody mess, the stage comes to a halt. The driver is nonplussed when he opens the door to find the guard has killed Lorrel! They toss his corpse over the bluff into the raging waters far below. We soon learn that neither man was assigned to the stage. The real men were murdered when one got drunk and blabbed about the cash aboard (but thankfully failed to reveal Lorrel’s involvement).

Slamming into the waters far below revives Lorrel’s corpse. Thankfully, the morons failed to steal his guns. Clambering out of the water, he returns to the road. Eventually, the stage minus one (the killer) returns along the route and Lorrel jumps it again, this time getting the benefit. He extracts the truth from the driver, ties him up, and sends the bound man and stage riding back to Gaston, where the Marshal will be waiting.

Riding to the remote hideout, Lorrel looks inside to find two men and a bound Helen Pearson! Stepping in, he guns both down. Then two more riders appear. To his shock one is a reputable townsman and the other is the sheriff! They feign innocence, pretending they had surely discovered the gang’s hideout, but to their dismay, one of the dying hoodlums confesses his shame of the two as being yeller, calls them out to Lorrel, who has a final shootout with them. But he doesn’t kill them. Rather, he riddles their gun hands.

One White Chip by Jack Allman is illustrated by W. M. A. (William Merle Allison)
Hank and Ben are gold prospecting partners. At the moment, they are in Placer City playing cards. Under the table is an old dog (Bingo) that used to run the mail route. Years earlier, the dog grew to fame when the driver was shot and murdered. The dog continued the dozens of frozen miles of route, passing two emergency stations, with two other dogs dead. Upon arrival, 3 others had died. So Bingo lives in Placer City and survives on gratitude and memories. Ben has only been in the area for 3 years, so wasn’t there for Bingo’s fame. When the dog stirs under the table, he kicks Bingo in the ribs. Hank pushes his chair back, stands, and pretty much threatens murder, forcing an apology out of Ben. Hank cashes his chips but retains one white chip. This he hands to Bingo, and tells the dog to go to Mike’s restaurant for food. The dog had been taught this trick and plays the game.

One day, someone casually notes that Bingo might enjoy being in the wild. Hank, at the bar, enjoying a drink, beams. What a suggestion! The old dog would! So, he announces to the drinkers that Bingo is going for a trip upriver with he and Ben to their cabin to play in the snow, etc. At the cabin, the gold fury sets in when none of their holes turn up gold dust. Ben becomes belligerent. Wary of the signs, Hank removes the lead cartridge from the rifle and fills it with a plug of molded candle wax. One day, Ben snaps, fires that gun at Hank pointblank! Oh, it fires, all right, and the candle slams into Hank’s forehead, but the flash blinds him. The dog snarls and is beaten down with the rifle butt. Ben then departs the cabin.

Hank treats his blinded eyes with tea poultice and tries to get the dog to mush back to Placer City, 70 miles away (which I suspect is a typo or a failed imagination on the part of the author. Why? That’s the same distance quoted for the deadly mail route). Days go by and the dog won’t leave. Hank finally drags out the ivory cribbage board and using his knife, blindly carves a piece out and shapes it. Roughly now the dimensions of a white poker chip, he hands it to Bingo and tells him to go get a nice big steak from Mike’s place. The dog departs. Hank can’t see him, but no longer hears the dog, who is starving because Hank on purpose ceased to feed him.

I’m not sure if feasible, but the story claims the dog made the journey back to town, and people returned with a doctor 3 days later. How did the dog get there and back with a team of men in 3 days, to save Hank’s life?

Ben was found, too. Dead. Frozen to death.

The magazine wraps up with Powder River Bill’s letter column, letters from fans and four letters from authors contributing to this issue! Included are Lester Dent (defending the “fanning” of a revolver), T. W. Ford (discussing his Diego character as though he is a real person), Howard E. Morgan (discussing the Frozen North tales), and Jack Allman (discussing his story in this issue).

The fan-mail letters are from:

J. E. Boswell (33 Springdale Blvd., Toronto 6, Ontario, Canada)
Marie (Mick) Sheppard and Juanita (Punk) Cowsert (Junction, Texas)
Helen (Nicky) Regina (281 River View Place, Cliffside Park, New Jersey)
Corporal Jack A. Dunn and Corporal Fred Perry (13/18^th Q. M. O. Hussars, Sialkot, Punjab, India)
Jackie Brown (675 West Monroe Street, Jacksonville, Florida)
Evelyn Gaines (21^st and Roblee Avenue, Murphysboro, Illinois)
Bill Kirley (1222 9^th, Beloit, Wisconsin)
Geraldine Field (3 South Wheeling, Tulsa, Oklahoma)

William L. Rohde (1918-2000) — the real history of a literary writer and advertising executive

July 1, 2026 Morgan A. Wallaceadvertising, Al Hammers, Detective, Greenfield High School, Mohawk Daniels, murder, mystery, Nick Carter, railroad story, western, William L. Rohde, William Laurence RhodesLeave a comment

When I first decided to investigate author William L. Rohde, it was to great consternation that I discovered very little about him online. I was reading one of his crime novels and felt that this was a great injustice. The only site that I did locate discussing the author had performed horrible research and provided inaccurate information. So I decided to perform some of my investigative skills and flesh out the man who had written some crime novels and several short fiction stories for the railroad and crime/detective pulp magazines.

Foremost, his birth name was actually William Laurence Rhodes and he was born 1 May 1918 in Boston, Massachusetts. His parents were Joseph S. Rhodes and Edith E. Whicker. The 1930 census has the family residing in Greenfield, Massachusetts. His local born father was a washing machine agent. His mother a stay-at-home mom, born in England. William is the sole child born of their marriage.

William graduated from Greenfield High School (Greenfield, Massachusetts) Class of 1938, and the yearbook states he belonged to numerous school clubs, drove a black car, and always had a “lady friend” along for the ride. Intriguingly, he went by his middle name. I did not pay for access to the e-yearbook site but was sorely tempted, just so that I could copy and paste his yearbook photo here.

While I could have yet to locate him on the 1940 census, I did locate one William T. Rhodes, instead, aged 21, born Masschusetts, enlisted with the US Army and stationed at Fort Slocum, New York. The middle initial might well be a registration error. Further, from the United States Social Security database, I found for certain that our William L. Rohde “entered military service 1 August 1942 and was released 9 January 1943” and then was transferred that day into the Merchant Marine and “released 10 April 1945.”

Perhaps the most informative article discussing young William’s life comes from the 22 March 1946 edition of the Greenfield Recorder-Gazette (Greenfield, Massachusetts). The photo attached to this blog is courtesy that newspaper. The article reveals his life from high school graduation, into World War Two, to his full-time day job and weekends at the typewriter cranking out nonfiction and fiction articles for various magazines, and the origin of his surname. Below is the entire article:

Washing machine and short stories that sell are not an unusual combination to William L. Rohde, Greenfield navy veteran who combines the Standard Appliance company with a busy typewriter. Most recent of Rohde’s literary efforts is the featured article in the March Railroad magazine, on the New Jersey Central, complete with pictures most of which he took himself. Sandwiching in his writing with managing the Bank Row store of the concern, surrounded by electrical appliances of all descriptions, Rohde does not restrict himself to factual writing on railroads. He is, however, considered a national authority on the subject and contributes regularly to Railroad magazine. Most of his material he gets by personal research, making side trips with notebook and camera.

The January issue of the same magazine carried another featured article by Rohde on the Boston and Maine and other New England railroads and, in the monthly popularity poll conducted by the magazine it took top place, next to a regular department by the votes of readers. Writing isn’t hard, Rohde says, if you follow the few simple rules of the craft and keep plugging. Ability to typewrite rapidly he considers as much of an asset as anything because it enables intense periods of writing. During the day he is kept busy with the electrical appliance business, and he confines most of his writing to nights and weekends. His recipe is simple–write, send your stories out to potential buyers, and in the meantime keep on writing. In one weekend he turned out 8,000 words without a halt. He admits he writes to sell, and he warns beginners that it is most important to give the reading public — and editors — what they want. A common fault, he finds, is that beginning writers bog down in literary technicalities. Again he turns to his formula–just keep on writing, get it on paper no matter how it sounds at the time. Later you can polish it up.

Rohde, who graduated from Greenfield high in 1938, learned telegraphy and started to work for the Boston and Maine railroad, later going to the Pennsylvania as telegrapher and dispatcher. But his most colorful and valuable experience, he says, came at sea, first in the coastguard and alter in the maritime service, in which he was a radio operator rated as lieutenant junior grade. There he learned high speed typing which keeps his typewriter rattling at a high enough rate so his production can keep up with his fertile ideas. Railroading and sea stories are his specialty, although he has found time to sandwich in a few bits of fiction on other subjects, which he has sold to Blue Book, to detective magazines of Popular publications and to Adventure magazine. His experiences on the hazardous Murmansk run impressed him greatly and he has drawn on them in two different directions. A feature article on Russian railroads will appear shortly in Railroad magazine while his sea life is providing the background for a novel.

Although many Greenfield people have doubtless read his stories and articles, the fact that his name appears as Rohde, the original spelling which he adopted in the navy, has kept most from identifying him with the local spelling of “Rhodes” which his father adopted when he started the electrical appliance business here.

A 27 November 1950 piece in Advertising Age states William was “formerly in the New York advertising office of National Lead Co., has been named an account executive of Chambre Advertising Agency” in Miami, Florida.

With the lead from above, I searched for William Rohde in the New York 1950 census and found him married to Marion, with eldest son James (age 6), twin sons William and Robert (age 3), and his occupation given as advertising. They reside in North Hempstead.

The 19 February 1955 edition of The New York Times announced his promotion to advertising manager for National Airlines, which features a grainy black and white photo of Rohde. The New York Post also ran a piece with a very grainy photo. Bizarrely, that same year, I find Rohde no longer with National Airlines. He has left and joined Geyer Advertising, Inc., as copy writer.

The February 1964 edition of Sponsor reads “formerly account supervisor, Cunningham & Walsh, named account executive for Smith & Dorian, New York.”

Now, I don’t have open access, but there is a 1976 issue of Trains magazine that features a piece on Bill Rohde, showing that Mr. Rohde never abandoned his love affair with the railroad industry.

During the 1980s-90s, I found a William L. Rohde listed in the amateur radio operator guides. I wonder if he took an interest in playing with the ham radios during his retirement years? Given his telegraphy expertise from his railroad occupation decades earlier and during WW2, this is a match made in heaven.

The Social Security Death Index states he died 26 April 2000, with a final residence recorded in East Chatham, New York.

An obituary fills in the rest of the blanks but bizarrely there is no mention of a literary career!

OLD CHATHAM–William L. Rohde, 81, of Old Chatham, died Wednesday, April 26, at his residence.
Born May 1, 1918, in Boston, Mass., he was the son of the late Joseph and Edith Whicker Rohde.
Mr. Rhode was educated in Greenfield, Mass., and attended New York University.
He served in the U.S. Coast Guard during World War II and sailed on sub-chasers as a radio officer and gunner,
where he made numerous crossings across the Atlantic Ocean.
He was commissioned in the U.S. Maritime Service in 1944, and served in the
103rd Horse Cavalry (28th Keystone Div.) and 104th Infantry (26th Yankee Division).
He received an award for his part in getting supplies to the soldiers.
They sailed from Scotland around Finland to Murmansk to deliver the supplies.
He was also a member of the Chatham American Legion Post 42 and the Disabled American Veterans.
Mr. Rohde served as public information specialist for the New York City Division for Youth
at the time of his retirement.
He is survived by his wife, Jean (Peduzzi) Rhode; his son, William K. Rohde of Albany;
two stepdaughters, Penny Sanchez of Peekskill and Mary Coulson of Chatham;
two grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren.
He is predeceased by two sons, James and Robert Rohde.
A service of remembrance was conducted Saturday, April 29, at
French, Gifford, and Preiter Funeral House in Chatham.

While that obituary avoided shedding light on his literary past, we know that 1946 local newspaper did, and, the pulpwood magazines also featured many articles by our author. William L. Rohde supplied a cheeky autobiography for the 25 January 1948 issue of Short Stories magazine which mirrors some of the obituary data! Want to read what he said? Sure, of course you do. I’ll retype all of it below!

“Once I spent a couple of the hours near midnight in the Hotel de Paris off the Rue Rivoli,” reveals Rohde, waiting to accompany a French Resistance man on a little visit to some quite well-placed persons who hadn’t stopped cheering for Hitler, although Paris had been liberated several months before. He was a good Joe. We got along well, and of course I pumped him as much as possible, due to this troublesome curiosity of mine that never lies down. The pieces of his adventures during his personal war made an Arabian Nights Tale out of Ray Chandler by Dash Hammett–yet if the boys wrote anything half as bizarre no editor would take it. ‘Too fantastic!’ One of the Resistance man’s final phrases sticks in my mind. ‘You know,’ he said, in a sort of wonder at himself, ‘and I’m only twenty-six! Only twenty-six.’ His remark came back to me when I received your letter asking for a few paragraphs about my history, to accompany the stories about Al Hammers–who by the way is a composite of some good lads I’ve known. It seems that every writer lists the jobs he’s held, and I jotted down stableman, bartender, railroad telegrapher and dispatcher, bus driver, sailor, movie and radio script writer, advertising man, and research writer, before I muttered, ‘I’ve left out a few, and I’m only thirty!’

“Include service in the infantry, cavalry, U. S. C. G., and U. S. M. S., and you’ll be able to figure that I traveled too fast for my hair, which picked up quite a few streaks of gray somewhere. Maybe in British jails, or on the beach in Venezuela, or riding the lightning on the Murmansk run, or waiting for an assortment of breaks in arms, ribs, or nose to knit. I’ve got a chunk of .38 I dug out of a plank beside my head … after the shooting stopped, and a few ribbons I’ve never worn. I’ve been a private and a sergeant … an apprentice seaman and a lieutenant (j.g.) … and my gold-braid was tarnished and salty.

“On the really personal side, I have a grand wife who turns out the finest stuffed cabbage and butterscotch-cream pie in our town, and twin sons who have been offered modeling contracts … which were turned down. I like all people and all places very much, and the only guys I envy are Edgar Snow and John Gunther.

“I’ve written and sold a lot of stuff, but for my own enjoyment I read Short Stories. … (I’ll get a nasty letter about this from some editors I know.) When I find time I like to ride good horses–borrowed–and play poor chess. Today I wear hand-tailored, double-breasted suits and white shirts with small bow ties … but I still remember the days when I slept on boxcar floors and patched my single pair of faded dungarees with the pieces of material from the pockets.

“Al Hammers is on his way to new adventures far above the Arctic Circle. I’ve tried to make him a good Joe, because most of the men of whom he is a picture were right lads … although probably no angels in the lot. If any of the readers have any suggestions … I’m one of the few writers who like to answer letters with sense and savvy in them. Well, all the best to you and a damn’ good magazine.” — William L. Rohde

The following issues of Short Stories for certain feature Al Hammers. These are the only ones I had access to, but I’m certain Hammers appeared in other issues.

1948 January 25 — A Bonus in Death
1948 August 10 — The Blind Alley (crossover)
1950 June — Pay on Demand, or Else!

Al Hammers also surfaces in the paperback novel Help Wanted–for Murder, published by Gold Medal in 1950.

He also created railroad detective Mohawk Daniels (aka: Mo Daniels) for Short Stories magazine; this list is not a complete.

1948 June 25 — Bury Me Deep in a Boxcar
1948 August 10 — The Blind Alley (crossover)
1948 December 10 — Uncode My Double Cross
1949 January 10 — Side Line
1949 June — Red Over Yellow
1949 September — Thunder from the Grave
1949 November — Complete Results
1950 October — Ride ‘Em Mohawk

He also pops up in High Red for Dead, published by Gold Medal in 1951, later reprinted as Murder on the Line. Mohawk Daniels even gets an honorable nod within the Nick Carter paperbacks published by Award Books that Rohde ghostwrote. I think it’s really swell that Rohde had both his characters (Al Hammers and Mohawk Daniels) pull double-duty in the short pulp fiction magazine story The Blind Alley.

The 1946 article, btw, had mentioned that he was writing a sea novel, but I’ve never located any such published effort. In later years, Rohde expanded into other areas, writing a novel about a man in advertising that uses illegal means and sex in The Heel (Pyramid Books, 1953) which was later reprinted as V.I.P. by Pyramid Books in 1957; a hardcover western The Prairie Marshal (Arcadia House, 1955) reprinted as The Gun-Crasher (Pyramid Books, 1957); and an adult sex novel, Give Me a Little Something (Pyramid Books, 1956). Uneasy Lies the Head was bound as an Ace Double in 1957 and later released as Killer’s Kingdom in Australia. I have that novel, read and enjoyed the work, and it was that work that led me to create this lengthy entry on a now very forgotten writer.

William, I appreciate your service for our country, and all my research into your glorious past is dedicated to you, herewith the week of our country’s 250th anniversary.

Aylwin Lee Martin – a brief history of a literary writer

June 22, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceAylwin Lee MartinLeave a comment

Our author, Aylwin Lee Martin, was born 27 October 1894 in Richmond, Virginia to Samuel P. Martin and Hattie Mae Tyler, both born in North Carolina. Over the course of twenty years, his mother gave birth to one more son and four daughters, the last being born in 1913.

Per the 1905 New York census, his family was living in Brooklyn, New York.

Aylwin attended Temple University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, listed under Department of College Preparation per The Temple University Bulletin, Annual Catalogue, 1911-1912. He is not featured in their graduation roles.

The 1915 New Jersey census finds Aylwin listed as a salesman, married to Mildred J, born 21 January 1898 in Camden, New Jersey. Their daughter, also named Mildred, was born 8 August 1917, in Camden, New Jersey.

I could not immediately locate whether or not he registered for the World War One draft.

The 1920 census has the family in Camden, New Jersey, with Aylwin as an apparel advertiser.

Printed within the March 1923 issue of Advertising & Selling is the following entry: William Jenkins of the Economist Group Publication, and Aylwin Lee Martin, Account Executive of the Eugene McGuckin Company, have founded the firm of Jenkins-Martin advertising agency, with offices at 231-232 Presser Building Annex, 1713 Sansom Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

Per the 20 March 1924 edition of Printers’ Ink, it’s announced that Aylwin has quit the joint venture: Aylwin Lee Martin has withdrawn from Jenkins-Martin, Philadelphia advertising agency. William Jenkins will continue the business under the firm name.

Meanwhile the 22 March 1924 edition of the Boot and Shoe Recorder expands and clarifies the above statement: Aylwin Lee Martin of the firm of Jenkins-Martin, sales promotion and advertising, withdrew from the concern on March 7 because of illness in his family. He will move to a southern climate. William Jenkins is carrying on the business.

Per the 10 October 1929 edition of Printers’ Ink: Alywin L. Martin, formerly manager of the Philadelphia office of the Dry Goods Economist, has joined the staff of Geare, Marston & Pilling, Inc., Philadelphia and New York advertising agency. He will head the style merchandising division of that agency. Mr. Martin at one time conducted an advertising business of his own at Philadelphia.

The 12 October 1929 edition of Sales Management adds that he worked previously “manager” for Dry Goods Economist “for several years.”

During the late 1920s, Aylwin launched his literary career. All three novels would center around The Deep South, slavery, and take place around Civil War-era America. But the real question is: Why? Was there a correlation to the 1924 announcement that his family moved to “a southern climate” and this exposed him to Southern tensions? Or was there something in his or his wife’s own family past?

The first novel was The Gambler, published in the United States of America by Thomas Y. Crowell, March 1929. It was released in the United Kingdom as Black Blood, via Sampson Low, circa August 1929. An advert in the New York Times had the following to say: The muddy lower stretches of the Mississippi , the stern-wheel steamers and old New Orleans of antebellum days are the stage and background of this powerful novel with its pictures of Creole society and its dramatic climax, where the heroine is offered for sale upon the slave block.

For his second novel, Encumbrances, this found its first publication in the United Kingdom courtesy Sampson Low, February 1930. It followed a year later in America via Alfred H. King, June 1931. An advert in the New York Times terse stated: The story of a Carolina planter family before and after the Civil War. The Daily Mirror said it was a strong, stimulating novel. Extremely interesting and readable from start to finish, per the Cork Examiner. And from The Times: A book which is a fine tribute to courage and virtue in the best sense of the words.

Mad Interlude was his third novel, but it never found an American publisher. The novel appeared in the United Kingdom via Sampson Low, 1930 and a cheaper edition followed next year. The 22 November 1930 edition of The Tablet: A Weekly Newspaper and Review, ran a lengthy review in support of this publication, along with their opinions and criticisms. Of Mad Interlude, the review: his new romance has to do with days which suit him well–the days when New Orleans was still French and Jackson Square was the Place d’Armes. The story takes us, in the delicious heroine’s company, on a slave-ship to Loanda and thence to San Domingo where her own private ordeal ends suddenly and triumphantly amidst the public horrors of the slave rebellion. This is an exciting story. As Mr. Aylwin Martin feels very strongly on the base unions between white slave-owners and black beauties. Mad Interlude, like its forerunner, Black Blood, contains passages which are not for squeamish readers. We are persuaded, however, that whenever Mr. Martin lets himself go in this way, he is not ignobly catering to depraved tastes but is solely intent on making us understand the evil which he detests. It could be objected that, as slavery was abolished nearly three generations agon in the U.S.A., the evil is over and therefore we do not need any more didactic novels against it. The answer is that young white men still unite themselves selfishly with “native” women and that the children born of these lust-affairs are often wretched themselves and an affliction to others. Perhaps in the future, under new conditions, a mixing of bloods may solve many problems and may re-invigorate the human race; but we are living in a present to which Mr. Martin’s lessons from the past come with stern and useful force. We bid him God-speed. None the less we would have him grow less lusciously, and, if we were at hand, we would rap his knuckles for writing such dreadful French as à la Africaine.

Per the 1930 census, Aylwin is an advertising executive, living in Camden, New Jersey.

In 1939, he, his wife, and daughter Mildred, returned to America; his address is given as 90 Riverside Drive, New York City. They sailed aboard the S. S. Quirigua on 16 September 1939 and returned to port on 1 October 1939. Online data states that the vessel was originally built in 1932 as a refrigerated fruit boat, hauling perishables from Central America.

The 1940 census has their address as 82 Riverside Drive, New York City. His occupation is given as Advertising Executive at a publishing company. Wife and daughter both have no occupational data; the former is clearly a housewife, but it’s surprising that daughter Mildred at age 22 hasn’t a job listed, nor “at school.”

Aylwin registered for the World War Two draft in 1942, listing his employer as the Crowell-Collier Publishing Company, the very same company that published his first novel. His next of kin is given as Mrs. Mildred J. Martin, with their address being in New York City.

On 18 August 1945, daughter Mildred, at age 28, residing at 259 S. Crescent, Beverly Hills, a motion pictures secretary, married Frederick Joseph Magnus, age 39, residing at 6670 Drexel Avenue, Los Angeles. Frederick was born in England and was an accountant for a motion pictures firm. He was cremated in 1967; his remains are held at the Chapel of the Pines Crematory in Los Angeles, California. By the 1950 census, Mildred is still married, but carries no occupation, nor do they have children.

The 1950 census finds him in California as a writer for the movie studios, residing in Beverly Hills. I couldn’t locate his name credited on the IMDB database, so don’t know just what he contributed to Hollywood. Hopefully someone out there can fill in the blanks for me.

From 1951-1952, after vanishing from the literary field for two decades, Aylwin had four novels published in rapid-fire succession. These abandoned his slave-trade fixation and switched to crime fiction. All feature ex-FBI agent Matt Hughes who is a lawyer and operates at times in his capacity as a private detective, doing so in the interests of his clients. Those four novels and plot synopses are:

Death on a Ferris Wheel, published by Gold Medal, July 1951, they advertised: From a car high on the Ferris wheel he fell, his shirt front scarlet with blood. Three lovely women breathed easier. Dead, he was worth a million. For those that enjoy the carnival as a background to murder, readers will no doubt enjoy this thriller. This novel was reprinted in the United Kingdom, published by Frederick Muller as # 28 in their own Gold Medal paperback series, January 1954.

Fear Comes Calling, published by Gold Medal, February 1952, featured the cover blurb: Every shadow held a menace. Every stranger wanted her life. An entirely meaningless blurb. Thankfully, an advert Gold Medal Books ran was more enlightening: She walked in on murder. The dead man was the notorious mouthpiece for gangdom. Matt Hughes had to know the secret she held. The inset photo of the author comes from this paperback’s rear cover.

Death for a Hussy, published by Graphic, February 1952, lacks a blurb. However, the basic plot is that Matt Hughes is hired to investigate a wife’s murder for the husband realizes that he is the prime suspect. But when he is murdered, Matt finds himself chasing a double murderer. This novel appeared in Australia as # 240 in the Star Books series published by the Original Novels Foundation in 1954.

The Crimson Frame, published by Gold Medal, September 1952, features another vague cover blurb: She was too young to die. Too dangerous to live. An advert from Gold Medal Books ran a lengthier bit: Rough, tough Matt Hughes finds himself involved with a string of lovely ladies, a vengeful Chinese girl, a pair of fierce boxer dogs, and a very tricky double cross. This novel appeared in Australia as Original Novels # 108 in 1953 courtesy the Original Novels Foundation.

Online sources state that two of his novels were converted into Sexton Blake novels. The Crimson Flame became Deadline for Danger as by Arthur Maclean, Sexton Blake # 380, for April 1957, and Fear Comes Calling became Roadhouse Girl as by Desmond Reid, Sexton Blake # 386 for July 1957.

His crime novels were translated abroad into a variety of languages, appearing in Spain, Finland, Sweden, Italy, etc.

Fear Comes Calling was reprinted again in England, in the late 1980s as a Curley Large Print edition.

Aylwin Lee Martin died 18 September 1964. His final residential address is given as 345 No Oakhurst Dr., Beverly Hills, Los Angeles, California. What’s left of his mortal remains are in Los Angeles, California, at the Chapel of the Pines Crematory.

After daughter Mildred’s husband passed away in 1967, she remarried in 1975, to Arleigh Leon Schwab, age 60, in Ventura, California. Mildred passed away 1 March 2013 in Arroyo Grande, California, and her remains were handled by Lady Family Mortuary & Crematory of Arroyo Grande.

Why have I compiled so much data on Aylwin Lee Martin? Well, it began like any other project. I was reading one of his crime novels, and just with any other author I read, I like to learn about an author’s background. Surprisingly, he lacked any notable entries online. This puzzled me, as I honestly and genuinely rarely come across an American crime fiction writer and find zero. So, I decided to rectify that situation for any future researchers and readers.

Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction (25 June 1927)

June 16, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceAnthony Wynne, Barney the Night Watchman, Charles de Balzac Rideau, Charles Lee Bryson, crime, Detective, Dr. Eustace Hailey, F. M. Follett, Flynn's, Flynn's Weekly, Flynn's Weekly Detective Fiction, Foster Morse Follett, Garret Smith, John Chancellor, John H. Thompson, murder, mystery, Peter Perry, pulp, Robert McNair Wilson, The Red Star News Company, William H. Hamby, William J. Flynn, William Johnston, Zeta RothschildLeave a comment

Originally titled Flynn’s, this highly regarded detective pulp magazine began in 1924 and ran through a variety of title changes. But quality always seems to have remained. Published by The Red Star News Company, Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction for 25 June 1927 had now entered their 3rd year of publication.

The lead story is a four-part serial by William Johnston simply titled Wait. Lacking the rest of the story, I’ll be skipping this entry. Previously, he had written some crime novels, which include: The House of Whispers (1918), The Apartment Next Door (1919), The Mystery in the Ritsmore (1920), The Tragedy at the Beach Club (1922) The Waddington Cipher (1923), The Affair in Duplex 9B (1927), An Accidental Accomplice (1928). Wait was Johnston’s last pulp fiction story published in a magazine. It was one of only two serials he placed with Flynn’s, two years before he died. I do wonder if these two serials were originally meant to be novels.

The Alarm Clock by Peter Perry
A family man desires to travel to foreign destinations, have romances with dark skinned girls, and have the money to follow such pursuits. So, when the opportunity presents itself, he plans to murder his boss and steal the bonds. Only, he partially succeeds. While he does murder his employer and burns the man’s belongings, upon arriving at the bank at night, he discovers the bonds missing! Realizing his employer was actually fleeing the country with the bonds in his travel case, the killer mentally loses his rational mind and eventually and perhaps psychotically cracks and confesses everything the next day to the police, but only after an alarm clock destroys his alibi.

The Shadow Line by William H. Hamby
Tam Durbin is requested by the United States government to investigate the murders of their border agents and illegal border crossings by illegal aliens. Couple hundred are known to have crossed but the government suspects several thousands have been secretly aided. Tam Durbin is neither a detective nor a government agent. However, his remarkable intellect and past experience in the military during the war arrested the attention of the government and from time to time they call upon him for assistance. He was once also employed by a major newspaper outfit. Now, arriving in the Southwest at a hotel, he’s in for a shock, as he runs into an old newspaper comrade by the name of Alonzo Bell. He operates the hotel. Durbin fears that Alonzo’s lack of morals and his easy ways of befriending anyone, including criminals, may be at the root of the dilemma. But when he is introduced to some other gentleman, pieces of the puzzle begin to potentially fit. Unlike a detective who goes looking for clues, Durbin tackles his job in a different manner. Educated as to the assignment, he realized that first an American facilitator was required, one that would readily be overlooked. Two, someone with vast wealth and power. Introduced to him by Alonzo is a powerful rancher, owning property on both sides of the invisible border between the two countries, a border with scarcely a fence. The rancher employs numerous foreigners: Chinese, Japanese, Mexicans, etc. The story has several dialogue scenes involving criminal law, government law, police law, immigration, philosophical discussions arguing both sides of the equation. The story, written nearly a century ago, reads like current affairs, illustrating how timeless the topic genuinely is. Durbin’s initial border patrol agent contact is murdered, one in a string of agent’s that are mysteriously slain. He soon enlists the aid of another, and insists until the case is solved that all agents work in pairs, for their own safety. A romantic interest is tossed in, and I must confess that the story actually doesn’t need it, but realize that editors had their formulas and rarely deviated from them. I won’t ruin the rest of the plot (which amounts to 20 more pages) but suffice to say I found the story quite enjoyable and engrossing.

Author William H.(enry) Hamby sadly died 26 January 1928, nearly 7 months after this story appeared. Only 3 more stories appeared during his lifetime; two others were published posthumously in 1928.

The Jewels of Yvonne by Anthony Wynne
The story features his popular recurring character, Dr. Eustace Hailey, a very large and tall doctor, an imposing figure of a man. A detective shows him a Paris stage danger. She’s wearing a pearl necklace. Dining at a fancy restaurant. Opposite her, a young Englishman. He presents her with countless jewelry to wear. The detective tells Hailey the man is penniless. Is he a thief? Hailey spots another figure present at the dining establishment, an elderly man that reminds him of King Charles I. Later, the pair attend to watch the girl dance, and note she is now wearing zero jewelry. In a box seat above, the old man drops seems annoyed. The pair wait for the girl (Yvonne) in her dressing room. (Really? No security? No stage manager?) She enters. The detective explains the man, the jewels, his financial position, etc. In walks the young man, who admits the stole the money to buy the jewels, to go ahead and arrest him. The detective does not. Something doesn’t add up. (Like, why am I still reading this droll story?) In short, the old man is rich, buys the baubles, contracts the young man to give them to her, and the old man gets off on the belief she accepts the baubles and he has secured her love, though she doesn’t even know he exists. But once she has declined them, he goes insane and decides to murder her.

Anthony Wynne is the alias of Robert McNair Wilson. I found the Hailey character appears in plenty of stories, so he must have been fairly popular to readers of the period. Perhaps older readers not interested in blood-and-thunder pulp fiction? Looking online further, I found some bloggers review his works and it seems they all concur, that his stories are flat. That’s the word I was thinking too. The characters had zero depth to them, no development, no personality. They felt like automatons. Looking at the rest of my detective pulp collection, I’m grateful to not own another with Wynne present, save for a prior Flynn’s I read; it contains a serial, which I lacked in full, so had skipped out of reading. Phew! Boy, did I dodge that bullet.

The Dark God by John Chancellor is a four-part serial illustrated y F. M. Follett (Foster Morse Follett).
John Chancellor is the alias of Charles de Balzac Rideau. The Dark God is a Scotland Yard story. It was bound by Hutchinson (UK) around July 1927 and The Century Co. (USA) in 1928, for those wishing to read the full work. I’ll be skipping the serial, lacking the other parts.

Faulty Perspective by Charles Lee Bryson
Charles Lee Bryson in 1927 created a series character called Dick Barnes. He’s better known via pulp indexers as Barney the Night Watchman, for which this story has not been recorded as thus. Nor has others on the FictionMags Index site. He’s a young man who desires to be a police officer but is too young and naive to quite make the grade. However, due to his remarkable ocular abilities, what he sees is photographically imprinted and indexed upon his mind’s eye. Sound familiar?

One of my favorite pulp writers — Victor Rousseau Emanuel — also wrote a series over 15 years earlier called The Man with the Camera Eyes. Those 12 tales were compiled a century later by me and sold to Linford via their Large Print editions in 2016. Sometimes a cheap reading copy will turn up for sale eBay, etc., for those interested. Rousseau’s character was based upon a real police officer who had the ability to recall every face he’d ever seen.

Barney accidentally witnesses an artist painting a traffic jam scene but subconsciously notes the man also had a smaller sketch of a bank vault. The painter is irate and departs with his canvas and paints, for he can’t stand disruptions. Another man approaches, asking if Barney saw the painting. He acknowledges he did, fascinated by the traffic jam he was painting. The man furthers query to see if he saw anything else in the painting. An unusual question. Barney innocently mentions he saw a sketch, but nothing more. The man has his tailed for several days to make sure he saw nothing, then Barney is dismissed.

Meanwhile, Pudgy Carroll, mastermind thief extraordinaire, the Lex Luther of the 1920s, because he orchestrates crimes that seemingly do not coincide until it is too late for the police to connect the dots. The artist he enlisted is from another city, not known to local police. His cohorts have a wide range of skills. Many have occupations to disguise their extra abilities. He arranges for the night patrolman of the bank in the painting to be murdered. Another assumes his role and watch. A crew busts into the bank and places a painting of the bank’s interior at the window, to make everything to the casual nightwalker seem normal. Behind that large painting, a crew cracks the safe. They make off with a half-million in dollars, gold, bonds, etc.

Barney reads of the heist in the newspaper and realizes he may have “seen” something. Reporting to the police chief, who he has assisted in the past with his remarkable ocular ability, he informs the chief of everything. The chief sends out a dragnet to search for the painter. They locate him and the loot. Also, they search for the other men he saw. They find them and, the man who accosted him with the fleeing painter turns out to have also murdered the police officer, is accidentally slain via friendly fire courtesy one of his own illegal mates. A detective wings that man’s shoulder and places him under arrest. Pudgy Carroll walks into the police precinct, a man of great girth, an Al Capone of sorts, threatening suit over the arrest of his friends, who likely were framed. The chief loosely alludes that they have the goods on the cretins arrested, secured the lost bank loot, and lies through his teeth lastly, claiming they have an inside man within Pudgy’s organization that gave them downlow on the bank heist plan, hence why the chief was able to find everyone so quickly.

Pudgy departs, clearly agitated, and begins to shakedown his cohorts to learn who the snitch is. However, in due time, he learns through his own police snitches that one Dick Barnes is responsible. The story concludes with him planning retribution, clearly indicating a further story in the outing.

A Case for a Nurse by Garret Smith
Smith’s literary career spanned four decades. Here we have 2 English women and 1 man in America pulling a heist on an armored truck with half a million dollars inside. Smith details the entire heist and how well executed it is, up until their getaway, when the motorcycle cop they knocked out isn’t entirely out cold. He manages to draw his gun and empty his gun at them. He’s certain to have missed, but he’s wrong. One bullet manages to crease the male, a fatal wound. He bleeds out badly. The two women tend to his wound, improperly. It turns septic. They realize that he’s in mortal danger and phone a doctor, explaining a nail got him. The doctor doesn’t notice anything wrong about the excuse, but when he sends his lover, a nurse, to remain with the trio and care for the bedridden man, she is certain that something is awry. The women seem edgy, always watching her every movement, etc. And that nail wound? No dice. She’s sure it’s something else as the wound is a disastrous mess. The man eventually dies and a funeral is set, a coffin obtained, etc. They bury the man in the backyard and place the stolen loot inside the coffin, and toss some irons inside to help make the weigh more, like a human body. They have it sealed, to be transported aboard a liner back to England, for proper burial. Only, the nurse and doctor bring in a cop-friend who listens to her story and realizes the trio are likely the heisters.

Worst Aid by John H. Thompson
Bill and Jim are two penniless men, hoboes, and Bill is confident that all he needs to do is locating a millionairess, save her from some malady, and she will bequeath a vast fortune upon him by way of reward. So, when the pair spot a fainting woman at a shop, Bill goes in to save her. Only, when she spots him, she screams and collapses into a dead faint. A shopwalker investigates and the pair are awarded a $10 reward for their part in catching a suspected thief. About her person was tons of stolen goods.

FictionMags Index site has the pair recorded as regular series characters “Bill & Jim” but none recorded as far back as these Flynn’s magazine entries! In fact, a quick look at other stories and it is a cinch that several others that Thompson authored are likely Bill & Jim stories, too. And not just the Flynn’s entries, but also several Argosy entries, such as Diamonds Are Trumped, The Reward, When a Turkey’s an Elephant, Bill Dopes It Out, and tons more! “Bill & Jim” were regulars of John H. Thompson for over a decade!

Miss Lucas Takes a Lover by Frank Griffin

June 5, 2026 Morgan A. Wallace"H. W. Perl", crime, forgery, Frank Griffin, Hamilton & Co., murder, mysteryLeave a comment

Miss Lucas Takes a Lover by Frank Griffin was published by Hamilton & Co., circa 1946-1948. Not a single major English library possesses a copy, nor is it mentioned in the Whitaker’s indices, so precisely dating it is temporarily quite difficult.

The cover features a lovely good-girl-art illustration of a trim brunette, created by H. W. Perl. I’ve had this tall, side-stapled booklet in my collection since 2015 but only now got around to reading it. To my dismay, it is missing four pages!

A terrible shame Griffin abandoned the literary field, too. His cheap thrillers for the mushroom publishers are loads of fun, fast-paced, violent in their own era’s way, full of floozies, and this one has some great web-work that left me wondering if Frank Griffin was sober while typing portions of it. Yeah, I was a bit bewildered by some of the plot points as they steered off course.

Don Hardyman, a lowly mechanic earning minimum wages and barely scraping by, rides his bicycle to Miss Lucas’s (a rich bitch) estate to return a case containing valuable pearls. He hates her guts because her type never treat people of his class with common decency, never tip, etc. To his surprise, after her initial nasty reception of Don at the late-night hour, she flips like the proverbial light switch to a very friendly woman. Offers him pricey drinks and then sleeps with him. He receives similar repeated treatments and comes to love the woman, much to his surprise.

But something just isn’t right.

Don discovers the pearls are stolen and that the woman, Miss Lucas, is part of a gang of thieves. So Don steals the pearls from her and hands them to a good, married friend. The idea is to send his friend to the police, get the reward, and split it, but leave Don’s name out of the story. Unfortunately, his friend has a conscious and instead he mails the pearls, anonymously, to Scotland Yard.

But Don’s already way over his head. The gang aren’t mollified by this and end up kidnaping his friend. To discover his whereabouts, Don returns to Miss Lucas’s rich estate only to find her not at home. But the maid, Lucille, is. He interrogates her and she volunteers the information, to the point that she’s terrified of her mistress and the gang. She wants O.U.T. immediately, departing the home and leaving with Don in her boss’s Jaguar.

Lucille leads Don to a home in the remote countryside. Leaving her with the Jaguar, he breaks into the home, finds his friend, and they escape, but not before they open some boxes in the room. They contain stacks of money. Counterfeits! Perfectly forged cash. Don snatches some, thinking they’ll come in handy later down the road.

They do, as he runs into strange girls, gets a posh hotel room, attracts too much attention, has his room ransacked, his fake bills stolen, tracks the creeps, then blackmails them (essentially) into helping him raid the even more deadly bad guys. The whole plot turns upside down when he splits from them to track another girl down and they steal his map to the countryside home.

The whole conclusion ends in wild fights, a police raid and loads of gunshots, then erratically switches to a wedding and a shocking reveal.

I suspect the publisher had the printers excise a chunk of closing text to make the novella fit within their guidelines as there are some pieces to the story entirely missing, and I don’t just mean the pages my copy are lacking. For instance, what happened to Joe? He’s the guy that ransacked Don’s hotel room and stole the counterfeit bills. Anyway, if the original manuscript exists, I’d sure love to give it a good looksie to compare the text against the printed conclusion.

Complaints and plot holes aside, it was indeed a fun read like all of Griffin’s thrillers! I can’t wait to read the next one. And don’t worry. I do have more of his works waiting the Green Light.

Dead Man’s Spread by John Theydon

June 1, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceJohn Theydon, Martin & Reid, Mascot series, westernLeave a comment

John Theydon authored numerous westerns during the late 1940s. Dead Man’s Spread was published 1948 by Martin & Reid (London) under their Mascot series, with story text spanning pages 3 to 96.

Dan Morby receives a note that his father has been murdered. Worse, he’s discovered his father mortgaged the old ranch and the local sleaze-ball lawyer has taken control of the banking interests and sold the notes to an Easterner and his daughter.

Riding into town, Morby faces off against a thug and snarls his way into everybody’s face, making no effort towards being friendly. His father’s ranch-hands are happy to stand by his side and take action to solve the mystery. There really isn’t that much of a mystery. It’s the same damn boring plot as any other western, but none of that really is important. There’s plenty of other behind-the-scenes plot twists that intrigue you greater than giving a damn that Dan Morby’s pop was popped off. He’s dead. That’s a given. Let’s move along, right?

Right !!!

Morby can’t figure the Easterner and the daughter. He despises the slick, refined gentleman, whose hard eyes betray the fact he is a very dangerous man. But how about the girl? She’s no wilting flower. He finds her hard and unyielding, not the least terrified of him, even when he busts in her room by accident and faux-threatens her lest her dad enters. But daddy knows something is awry, because she claims she’s undressed for bed and the door is locked. He knew the door wasn’t locked, so he went around outside and got the drop on Morby. Thankfully, one of Morby’s friends was also hanging around and pops his gat through the window.

Long story short, just about everyone is a villain save for the one person he was certain he had to burn lead through, the Easterner. He’s actually an undercover agent and so is his daughter!

Now, to be honest, John Theydon does the girl zero justice. There is zero interaction on her part to showcase any skills. Her only assignment is at the conclusion. Her father sends her out of town to bring in Morby’s hands for a showdown against the town’s ruffians. Otherwise, zilch. A lackluster effort by a man quite capable of churning out better fiction than this piece, but I’m not dissuaded from tackling more Theydon westerns. He’s generally fairly reliable.

Greek Street Tragedy by Maurice Levinson (Digit Books, 1964)

May 22, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceBrown Watson, Digit Books, Maurice Levinson, Michel Atkinson, murder, mystery, serial killer, Soho Square, spy, striptease, Taxi2 Comments

Maurice Levinson was born 19 October 1910 into a Russian-Jewish family who emigrated to England while he was a youth. Death records online provide his full name as Maurice Isaac Levinson, death being 15 June 1984, with burial at the Bushey Jewish Cemetery in Hertfordshire. However, The Palgrave Dictionary of Anglo-Jewish History notes that he passed away two days earlier, and that he began working as a taxi driver in 1937.

He married Annie Cohen early 1954 and the couple had two children, who I believe, but have not been able to confirm, are Brian, born 1936 in the Stepney district, and Helen, born 1937 in the Hackney district.

Maurice’s adult occupation of a real-life taxi-driver became the inspiration for autobiographical works and fictional novels that incorporated his own experiences in taxi-driving. According to the Jewish Chronicle, he edited a few taxi trade magazines. His first book, The Trouble with Yesterday, was published by Peter Davis in 1946, is an autobiography. His second published work, The Desperate Passion of Henry Knopp, released by Faber & Faber in 1962 was adapted into a play in 1964. His third work is the acclaimed novel Taxi! Published by Secker & Warburg in 1963, this an autobiographical memoir of the author’s own life as a taxi driver. It was immediately reprinted by Brown Watson Ltd. in 1964 as a paperback. His fifth work, The Woman from Bessarabia published by Secker & Warburg, October 1964, is a biography featuring his mother as the protagonist. This narrows our author’s ancestry to what is currently the southwestern part of Odesa, Ukraine, directly south of Moldova. He wouldn’t release another work for nearly a decade.

That same year, Levinson’s fourth work, predating the aforementioned novel, is Greek Street Tragedy. It was released as a paperback original via Brown Watson Ltd. as Digit Book R884, copyrighted June 1964. The cover art is signed lower left “Michel.” This was Michel Atkinson, a highly competent cover artist who created several covers for Brown Watson Ltd. and illustrated Hank Janson hardboiled gangster novels during the 1960s.

London’s newspaper the Daily Express (02 July 1964) provides the following plot synopsis: When four girls are fished out of the Thames, taxidriver Bert Meadows turns amateur sleuth. Boy, this couldn’t be further from the truth. The entire statement is inaccurate! Did they even read the novel? Seven days later, the Evening News ran a more accurate teaser: a vicious killer roams the streets of Soho. A girl who drifts into the world of striptease awakes to find herself the likely next victim.

The novel opens with Bert Meadows, a taxi driver down on his luck, is home trying hard to make a pass at his wife in bed. But Mary isn’t interested. Mary isn’t putting out what Bert wants to put in. She goes to sleep, leaving him annoyed and feeling unloved. Next morning, she’s up making breakfast, he’s still in bed, and hears Mary speaking to their now jobless daughter, Rosie, about getting a new job, not leaving the house, and not coming home late. Alas, Rosie isn’t interested in her parent’s requests. She desires to lead her own life and not be held back by ancient parental standards. She intends to move out and in with a friend. Her parents do not approve. She skips breakfast and departs. Bert leaves and goes out for a drink at a pub and hits on the bar woman. She politely declines his offers to drive her home after work lest the serial killer get her next. He’s already slain three women. She’s not worried. She’s not a model.

Bert gives up and goes to his taxi, repaired, but has to work off the debt. He’s shocked to behold a gorgeous female walking towards him. He’s seen her before. Bert gives her a lift to Soho Square and they talk. He laments his life to her and despite the age gap, takes pity on him. They arrive in Soho and he notes the poster on the building, an identical likeness to the beauty in the car with him. She’s completely naked save for a thin piece of lace around her thighs. He can’t stop looking. Her stage name is Princess Fatima, but she says her real name is Lily Wouke and she offers to help him earn better taxi wages from a friend, Emanuel Shultz. Bert calls the buildings Shultz owns brothels, but Lily corrects him. He owns a striptease joint, and that it’s only the newspapers that slander his operations. Lily exits the cab, buttocks sexually tantalizing Bert as she sash-shays into the Pee-a-Boo Club. His life feels brighter and exciting; in fact, he can’t wait to bring Lily home.

Bert scarcely departs from dropping off his fare at the Peek-a-Boo Club when Rosie makes an appearance. A childhood friend of hers, Elsie, has a job there, was attached to a wealthy older man simply known as The Colonel, and lives a lavish lifestyle. She suggests Rosie abandon her typist jobs and try the striptease operation. So she enters and the doorman takes her name — Rosie Meadows — and she’s sent in to see Mr. Shultz. He’s positively a massive man, not just girth, but in strength. And scary. He gives her the once-over, tells her to strip naked. He’s gotta examine the goods. Make sure she’s real. No falsies, stuffing, etc. Too many other gals come in pulling routines. His clientele wants to see the real deal. Rosie however begins asking nosey questions and doesn’t know when to stop. Queries involving who is Peppi and Morgan. Elsie says they run the show. Shultz doesn’t like this. Says there is no Peppi and while Morgan is involved, it is HE who is in charge and examines the girls. And he’ll be having a chat with Elsie. And what of the model killer? Didn’t the girls that died all work for Shultz? He acknowledges, but they died because they couldn’t keep their mouth shut and they took jobs outside of company permission. In other words, he didn’t take a cut, so they got rubbed out? That’s the inference Rosie implies, openly, to him. He doesn’t denounce direct involvement. Did the Peek-a-Boo Club assassinate 3 of their own girls? She finally accepts the job and strips.

Peppi Marciano is requested to appear before the police as he’s under investigation for the murder of the three slain girls. All three bodies were stuffed into trunks and delivered to his residence. As he coolly informs Detective-Inspector Bill Fenton, if he murdered the girls, why would he have them delivered by inept taxi men to his home? Peppi claims he makes all his money from the ownership of the best racing horses and recently married Princess Fatima. This surprises Fenton immensely. He even states they have an “open” relationship, regarding affairs! Peppi Marciano suavely departs, leaving Fenton frustrated. Chief Inspector Davies discusses the case with Fenton. They both know he operates brothels and owns and operates numerous other disreputable establishments, but they can’t absolutely prove any unlawful wrongdoings. They’re certain that if a fourth murder does occur, it might be that very night, a month since the last occurred. Anyone available is assigned to keep tabs on the trio of men, but for the moment, assume that none of the three are committing the murders.

Bert grabs a bite to eat at a cab shelter and joins in a gab fest with the other cabbies, most of whom he doesn’t personally know. Soon he sways the discussion to Princess Fatima. Does anyone know her? You bet they do. Plus, word is that she’s hunting for cabbies down on their luck. Couple even proclaim that they’d been directly approached by her. She’s bad medicine though, as they note that she’s connected with Peppi Marciano. Bert’s disgusted. He figures half the people they nab fares from have a unsavory life in some form. He drives to the Peek-a-Boo Club and decides to go inside, watch a show, see some skin, then talk to Mr. Shultz about a job.

Morgan is boss of the motley crew of English pickpockets, knuckledusters, back-alley beaters, etc. They were blackmailed into joining up with Shultz, an ex-member of the American Dillinger gang, and with Peppi Marciano, who they all call a Wop. Clearly post-WW2 feelings against the Italians are still riding high. Morgan’s discussing plans to wipe out one while handling the other to regain control of his gang and increase a cut of the profits. After all, since being forced to join this organization, they’ve lost a large percentage of the take. But Shultz and Marciano both were something Morgan and his gang weren’t: organized. They had grander plans, money, power, prestige, and the fearsome awe of the Dillinger name attached to fat man Shultz. Now Morgan’s game to shake up the whole world. Too, he puts forth his belief the trunk murders are a front, another blackmail attempt by Peppi to lay the blame upon Morgan and his gang.

Bert enters the Peek-a-Boo Club and grabs a seat. When the act begins, Bert is mortified and angry to find his Rosie on stage, naked. He hollers for her to get down from there but can’t be heard over the noise. Then two strong men grab Bert, wallop him out cold, and toss him out in an alley. He comes to and finds a police officer shining a flashlight in his face. He doubly damned. Arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. Two things he’s actually innocent of. He can’t confess. Then his wife knows he went to the Club, off duty, to look at naked girls. Doesn’t even matter that he found Rosie there. He’s a dead man. Bert is taken to the precinct. While charges are brought, he truthfully informs the police, of which Fenton is present, that he was tossed out of the Peek-a-Boo Club. Fenton perks up and thus begins a real Q&A session, but Bert refuses to cop to why he was there nor why he was thrown out, short of simply saying that it is “personal.” Fenton pumps Bert, learns that Princess Fatima wanted his cab services, and was setting him up with Shultz. It’s too perfect and Fenton is clearly excited. The Club was too dark for anyone to recognize Bert twice and he wasn’t wearing his cabbie badge. Fenton’s got a plan, and that begins with freshening Bert up with hot tea and he arranges a talk with the Chief.

Bert is introduced to Chief Davies, with Fenton silent but present. He’s asked more questions and finally educated confidentially more about the three dead girls. Bert is confused. What does Shultz gotta do about the trunk murders? When Peppi and Morgan are brought into the discussion, Bert panics. His Rosie might be next?!?!?! He finally confesses everything. They calm him down. Only “prostitutes” have been murdered. Rosie so far is just entering the striptease field. She’s safe. Chief Davies wants Bert to accept the cab job and act as their “secret agent.” Bert balks. He’s no James Bond. He’s definitely not spy material. Davies and Fenton convince him to play ball and assign him an alias: Charlie Bond. Part joke, sure, but also an easy name for him to remember. Too, because Rosie likely gave her real name. It would be too suspect for Rosie Meadows to be hired and then a Bert Meadows arrive as a cabbie. With a snippet plan in place, and the promise of double pay, he grudgingly accepts. If he can save Rosie, it’ll be worthwhile.

When Bert was nabbed and lugged out of the Peek-a-Boo Club, his daughter Rosie did hear and see the activity. She definitely can’t go home ever again, not after that scene. Now she’s fully invested in making a career out of being a striptease artist. Shultz hands her over to Burrows, the matron who delivers the girls to their new homes. She once was among the most popular “call-girls” in her day but a knifer carved up her pretty face. Burrows gives Rosie plenty of sage advice, all friendly and kindly. Then leaves her at Elsie’s pad to sleep.

Bert is interviewed by Shultz and assigned to drive Princess Fatima home after her act. She dresses and gets in the cab. Only, she’s not going home. They pick up an older gentleman. She tells Bert to return later, take a sealed envelope, and keep it locked away safely for her. Claims they are personal papers. He leaves and reports to Chief Davies, then drives to the cab shelter for a cup of tea. While there, he overhears two cabbies discussing the trunk murders. It upsets him to the point of yelling at them to shut up. Annoyed at the whole situation, he finishes and departs.

Morgan infers to Peppi that Shultz is not who he claims to be. In name, that is. He found a magazine showing American mobster Chick Burton. Man’s a dead-ringer. Was locked away in an asylum and escaped. Believed to be in Europe. If he’s right, Shultz offers him 2000 to bump off Shultz. He departs and Fatima walks in. She’s stolen some government documents from the man she had Bert pick up. Said sheets are under her mattress, on hold for Peppi. He informs her that he’s leaving next day for Mexico. She wants to come along, but he tells her she must remain in London, keep working on the project. She realizes he’ll never call for her, that she’s essentially abandoned property.

Suspense of Shultz identity ends when he arrives at Elsie’s flat and Rosie admits a killer. He’s clearly mentally unstable. He thinks she’s the reincarnation of his former flame and says he must kill her…again! He’s the trunk murderer. And the three prior deaths were all her. He forces her to strip and make love…just like she did with Peppi all those years ago. She tries to convince him to kill Peppi first and then return to her. After all, sending those 3 trunks didn’t frighten the man. And the fact that she keeps coming back from the dead hasn’t killer her off yet. But he doesn’t bite. He wants sex and to kill her, both. Rosie is frightened; her vision fades away as Shultz mounts her and strangles her to death. Glass breaks and Shultz becomes aware someone is trying to break in. The door opens and Morgan enters to fulfill his kill-contract. But he lacks the element of surprise. Shultz bashes him then uses his own immense bulk to hurl Morgan through the window and down to his demise.

Bert climbs into bed only to have Mary ask him to peep in and see if their daughter is home. He refuses. They get into a heated argument. He finally tells a half truth. She’s not home. Rooming with Elsie. Claims he ran into her. Mart blames Bert for their nearly 22-years old child moving out. The phone rings. Shultz needs a driver, asap. He gets dressed and Mary freaks out. Her husband has never accepted a night job. He retorts he’s trying to pay off the car axle repair. He drives away and hears a noise in the back. The items from Princess Fatima are there. He’d forgotten about them.

Shultz regrets phoning Charlie Bond. He is certain to arrive and find Morgan’s corpse outside before he can drag a trunk from Elsie’s attic to toss Rosie into. Sneak away before the police capture and place him back into an insane asylum. That he doesn’t mind so much. But first, he must murder Peppi. A cab drives by. He recognizes it as Charlie Bond’s. Soon he hears his name noted on a police patrol’s mike. Now he must run into the night, slay Peppi, and disappear.

Bert served during the second world war in the North African campaign. He’s seen grotesque death. The police spending half an hour extricating Morgan’s impaled body from the railing outside Elsie’s flat is a bloody mess. Her rooms are investigated. No body found. The place reeks of perfume. Fenton knows a dame was present. Where did Shultz hide the body? Was it Rosie? All the same, he and Davies keep mum about it and simply inform Bert that nobody was upstairs. Now they are racing across town to another location…Peppi’s flat.

The police spot Morgan crawling across Peppi’s roof. But he’s stuck. With the place surrounded, access to Peppi is limited to a window whose very entry means death. And yet, Peppi assures the demented man that he can make it. To throw salt on the wound, he teases the man regarding his old flame, Rosie Dillon. Morgan goes maniacal, threatens murder, and attempts the impossible. And death indeed follows as he somersaults down, smacks his skull on the window, bashes it gushingly open, and pancakes to the earth at the feet of the police. Peppi is satisfied. Princess Fatima is mortified by what she has witnessed, and his callous attitude.

When Rosie recovers consciousness, it’s to find herself gloriously still alive albeit with a very sore throat. Her vocal chords are further shredded by an ear-piercing scream as she discovers the shish-kabob Morgan. Running down the street, she lucks into a cab and requests to be driven home. Mary finds a sobbing Rosie in her arms and puts her to bed. What happened is a mystery but one more worry is afoot, where is Bert? He’s never been out so late before.

When Peppi’s wife enters police HQ, it’s not Princess Fatima but a vengeful and spiteful Lily Wouke who confesses to witnessing a case of double murder planned by Peppi. Too, she confesses to the theft of government papers concerning the development of a secret, powerful bomb. Davies and Fenton are gobsmacked. She assures them that a cabbie named Charlie has them; this equally surprises the pair, as Charlie had not mentioned possession of any papers. Davies sends for an officer to protect Lily’s life while arranging to pick up Peppi and secure Bert, alias Charlie Bond and those top-secret documents.

Bert returns home, very late, to find his wife asleep, and the sound of sobbing from his daughter’s room. Peeping in, he’s elated to find Rosie home and alive. They exchange details and swear not to tell Mary. He sneaks off to bed and falls asleep…but not for long. Mary nudges him awake. Someone is at their door. In his pyjamas, he opens the door to find Chief Davies and Fenton. They inquire after the missing documents that Lily handed him. He’d entirely forgotten (again) about them. Retrieving the packet, the officers rip it open and discover they are indeed about a new, secret bomb. They enlist Bert for one final task. Phone Peppi, tell him about the papers, ask if he wants to pick them up to return to Lily (who Peppi won’t know is under arrest) or if he turns down the packet, Bert alias Charlie Bond will either hand them to the police or toss them. The stage is set, the bait ripe, for Peppi to finally make a wrong move and be captured with the goods.

While the police are present, Bert hears a noise and pulls open the door. His wife was spying, listening to the discussion. The police lavish rave reviews of Bert’s assistance with The Yard, then depart. Bert comes 100% clean with Mary, even about Rosie, the striptease club, the trunk murderer, his entire undercover involvement and cooperation with The Yard, etc. So much for not telling mom! But he sets new marital rules that benefit both of them, and offers a life reset that should also benefit their daughter. Mary is stunned.

The Yard phones the government rep that Princess Fatima stole the documents from, assures him they are safe. He arrives and immediately attempts to flex on them, keep his name out of the newspapers, he’s innocent of any wrongdoing, Princess Fatima didn’t steal them, he just accidentally lost them, and Peppi, why, he’s the owner of fabulous racehorses and has sod all to do with the prostitution racket nor the striptease club. Officers, you should release Princess Fatima and not proceed with your plans to arrest Peppi. He departs, all the more confident in his arrogance, but the Chief is not pleased, nor is he going to be strongarmed. The man had access to documents that pose a threat to their nation in the wrong hands and Peppi clearly intended on selling them or keeping them to blackmail the rep into surrendering further documents. The Chief plans to move forward, arrest Peppi, and give all the information to the newspapers and permit them to run the data.

Too, he’s going to permit them access to Bert Meadows, who he’s certain will enjoy the publicity and arrange a monetary deal with the newspapers and land himself a heap of money, which will help in his cabbie business and the debt in car repairs.

PHANTOM [Vol. 1 No. 6, September 1957] a weird stories magazine

May 11, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceB. S. Breed, Cliff Lawton, Dalrow Publications, Dermot Canning, Everil Worrell, ghost, H. S. Savage, Hyslop, J. Fallows, James Nuttle Sutton, Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, Kali, L. B. Gordon, Leslie Syddall, P. L. Howard, Peter Dale, Phantom, R.W.S., Richard Hanson, Ronald W. Smethurst, transmigration, vampire, waltz, Weird TalesLeave a comment

The sixth issue of Phantom magazine [September 1957] was published by Dalrow Publications with a charmingly ghoulish ghost cover illustration by Ronald W. Smethurst signing as R.W.S. Its editor, Leslie Syddall, is still not mentioned within. Interior illustrations are by Cliff Lawton.

H. S. Savage (previously in May 1957) and L. B. Gordon (previously in May and July 1957) both make appearances. This issue also sports two American pulp reprints, both by Everil Worrell, each from Weird Tales magazine.

The opening tale is The Last Waltz by Richard Hanson. A young man’s car dies on a remote country road and pushing it to a mansion, he walks the mile back to a hotel to obtain a room. The hotel man is mortified. The man at the bar is probably somewhat intoxicated. They finally shed light on their mysterious gathering, and why the hotel man is alarmed to see their visitor. Seems a hundred years ago, a young lady’s father threw his daughter a coming-of-age dance. Her two lovers or potential suitors apparently had a duel to the death. Reportedly she would annually dance alone and only be freed upon her 100th waltz visitation. And the mystery man who just arrived fulfills the lore. However, when the trio break into the old mansion, it’s the man drinking at the bar who is drawn shockingly into the waltz and the hotel man later horrifically remarks he knows the man can’t dance! A staid tale but one that catches the reader off-guard as they are prepared for the mystery man to be the dancer, or, for the pair to be the reincarnated suitors and must duel. A dancing duel to the death would have been more intriguing.

J. Fallows’ The Shaft involves a family informing a woman that a shaft (with no holds in the walls all the way down to the water) once killed a child. The woman walking one day comes across that shaft only to hear a voice call for “Daddy!” Fearing the couple’s young daughter fell in the shaft, she runs to their home and with local assistance, they lower the father in by rope. But when their daughter comes running over, the shock that she is NOT at the bottom of the shaft screaming for help shocks everyone and the rope slips free, sending the father to his death.

(Mrs.) Everil Worrell has two stories appearing in this issue! The first here is The Canal, originally published in the December 1927 issue of the American horror pulp Weird Tales. It was subsequently reprinted many times over by virtue of being a credibly well-written vampire horror story. Here is a list of its later appearances:

Weird Tales, 1935 April
The Sleeping and the Dead ed. August Derleth, Pellegrini & Cudahy, 1947
Avon Fantasy Reader 8 ed. Donald A. Wollheim, Avon Publishing Co., 1948
Phantom, 1957 September
The Unquiet Grave ed. August Derleth, Four Square Books, 1963
The Undead ed. James Dickie, Neville Spearman, 1971
H.P. Lovecraft’s Favorite Weird Tales ed. Douglas A. Anderson, Cold Spring Press, 2005
The Vampire Archives ed. Otto Penzler, Black Lizard, 2009
The Women of Weird Tales, Valancourt Books, 2020

A young man in love with the morbid gets more than he bargained for when he stumbles upon a creature of the night stuck on a broken boat in a canal. She refuses to cross over to him and does not permit him to cross to her. She alludes that she’ll see him only when the canal waters cease to flow. And cease they will, for the waters had already been blocked off. They are a mere trickle. Then one day, they cease entirely but by this time our narrator has learned that she isn’t all she presents. Not that she lied. She simply never advertised what she is: a vampire. And she’s not alone.

Ghost on a Mission is by English article writer Dermot Canning. The piece opens in 1907 detailing mother Audrey Smith’s premonition that her U.S. Navy son Jim Smith has died. Then she is visited by his ghost explaining that he was murdered. He did not commit suicide. He was roughed up and then shot dead. The Navy reportedly covered up the murder, writing him off as a suicide. His mother never gave up and fought to clear his name and tried to bring the guilty parties to justice. To this day, however, his death is an unsolved mystery, despite clues that suggest foul play. Canning cunningly rewrote the original article, altering facts, names, etc. However, he left some glaring clues. The 1907 date is correct, and he noted that the article was by Hyslop in the Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research in 1911. Those journals happen to be freely available and fully searchable on HathiTrust. However, I found zero matches. So, I slowly went through every single article written by Hyslop until I found a match. The original title was The Case of Lieut. James B. Sutton by George A. Thatcher with an introduction by (Professor) James H. Hyslop in the November 1911 issue. Remarkably, this was a real case! But even the journal got his name wrong. His correct name is James N. (Nuttle) Sutton. His was and still is an interesting, long forgotten, buried case, one that ought to be revisited with modern forensics. And he should be given a proper burial and stone; reportedly his has no engravings!

H. S. Savage returns with another tale: Train of Doom. A young man misses his train and the aged porter relates while the man sleeps overnight rumors of a ghost train that fell off a bridge into the waters below, killing all but two in the rear car that somehow didn’t go over the precipice. Anytime someone hears the ghost train, the next day, a wreck occurs. Sure enough, the narrator wakens to a train in the midnight hours. Boarding it, he’s surprised it’s lit inside by gas light and the racks filled with decades old mags and rags. Soon he realizes he’s on the death train. It fulfills its endless destiny and he survives for having boarded the last car. Walking back sodden from the rain, he goes back to sleep. The porter wakes him to board the morning train, which he refuses. It ends up wrecked with again only two survivors. The aged porter grabs him and asks if he heard the ghost train to which he says no, only the wind.

B. S. Breed supplies two altered non-fiction articles concerning persons and their ghosts returning leading to future murder trials and investigations. The first begins with a 1745 disappearance of an English sergeant, Arthur Davis. You can read a record of that account HERE, which slightly differs from the text provided by Breed. The second concerns the 1728 death of a young boy, John Daniel. Click HERE to read online of one account. These are just two accounts of Ghosts Started Murder Trials.

Within Peter Dale’s The Legacy, a young man joins his father as a country doctor. Sent to attend to an elderly lady, he also meets her niece and the niece’s teen son, mentally deranged from brain damage. The old woman eventually dies, is buried, and days later, the niece phones the doctor about her son. He’s been asleep for two days. A coma? Checking on the teen, he finds nothing wrong and sends the mother for warm milk. The boy’s eyes open and he speaks intelligently for the first time, but as the dead woman, who has come to possess the boy’s body and must now learn to be a man. One can readily foresee the benefits of transmigration in fiction as much as the insane world we currently inhabit. Overall, a weak tale lacking in a realistic explanation for the strange phenomena of mind transference. While the old lady may have somehow made the transition, the fact remains the boy’s brain would still be damaged and she’d be hostage within, no?

And now we tackle the second reprinted (Mrs.) Everill Worrell tale, Call Not Their Names, from the March 1954 issue of Weird Tales magazine. It’s illustrated by Cliff Lawton. Here is the limited list of reprints:

Weird Tales (UK) v1 #4, 1954
Phantom, 1957 September
Weird Tales: 32 Unearthed Terrors ed. Stefan R. Dziemianowicz, Martin H. Greenberg & Robert E. Weinberg, Bonanza, 1988
The Century’s Best Horror Fiction, Volume Two: 1951-2000 ed. John Pelan, CD Publications, 2012

Having finished the tale (or rather, glossing over it through sheer boredom) let us just state that the tale is cumbersome, choppy, and leans on Far East ancient ritual sacrifices, influences, beliefs in Kali, etc. A bunch of people are living reincarnations of their ancestors and come to be possessed by their former selves, essentially. They come to reenact those past lives and commit murders by Far East methods while in America. Then an American who was directly a descendant of an Englishman (apparently) saves the day. I couldn’t wait to move on from this tiresome tale. ‘Nuff said!

In L. B. Gordon’s The Dead Hand, a young lady feels a dislike for a manse her father has moved them into to get away from his clerical duties. One night, while preparing a sermon, she enters and feels a coldness. Reading the paper he had begun, she is mortified to see a feminine hand instead dictating a romantic interlude. Investigating the prior occupants with the town elders, she learns the possible identity of the ghost that guided her father’s hand. In due course, his hand is again possessed and, watching from outside the window, she clearly sees the lady-ghost standing behind her father. Quickly entering, she tries to snatch the paper but he instead reads it and is mortified. She explains the entire situation and they search for the dead girl’s remains.

The Changing Man is by P. L. Howard and takes place in Ireland, told first person reflecting back to The Great War years, then flashes forward 40 years later, clearly indicating that this is either a new story or recently published and thence reprinted. Tale relates soldiers stationed at the bank and a painting on the wall featuring a goblin. Something supernatural occurs, the goblin comes to possess the narrator’s body. Somehow or other, the body remains partially the goblin and partially the man. It’s all rather vague and nonsensical in a way, but that’s often the way of the unexplored supernatural. I don’t know (yet) who Howard is, but he’s recorded with a mere half-dozen short stories during very short period of time.

ROUGHRIDERS BRAND by J. M. Henderson (UK: Curtis Warren Ltd., 1950)

April 28, 2026April 30, 2026 Morgan A. Wallace"Curtis Warren Ltd.", Blue Band Western, crime, J M Henderson, James Maddock Henderson, Ray Theobald, western8 Comments

I’ve been ripping through reading reams of American and British westerns. Roughriders Brand by J. M. Henderson, published by Curtis Warren Ltd. in 1950 is filled with all manner of plot twists. Would the author be capable of carrying this mad skill continuously through to the concluding pages? I also desired to learn more about the author.

I asked good friend Philip Harbottle the question: Who is J. M. Henderson? Philip Harbottle informed me that the author, James M. Henderson, was a real person, and not an alias. Under his own name, he authored 3 western paperback novels for the publisher Curtis Warren Ltd.

Flaming Guns (1949 November)
Six Gun Marshall (1950 July)
Roughriders Brand (1950 November)

A quick visit to the FictionMags Index site and Richard Simms’ The Star index yields that his non-fiction articles and fiction appear as J. M. Henderson, James Henderson, James M. Henderson, etc. I also found syndicated in Australia The Chill of Death via The Australian Worker, 1936 January 1st, and Gunga Reis Passes By was syndicated in Australia’s Sunday Mail, 1940 July 28th. No doubt Henderson wrote more works that appeared elsewhere, but that’s more than enough for this blog.

Never mind. Moving along, I next visited the British Free Birth-Marriage-Death Index. I couldn’t immediately locate the author’s birth, but landed his death. One James Maddock Henderson’s death is recorded as 2nd Quarter of 1983 in Kingsbridge district, with his birth given as 1902 December 2nd. With that fresh info, he could be the “James Henderson” born in W. Derby district during the 4th quarter of 1902. Assuming he remained in Derby, I found one James M. Henderson married 1st quarter 1936 to Winifred A. Roome.

This pair had two daughters: Ann M. Henderson (2nd quarter 1937 in Derby) and Jane Henderson (fourth quarter 1944 in Derby). Assuming the girl’s remained in Derby, Jane may have married David A. Morley in 1967 while Ann(e) M. might have married Frank J. M. Richardson in 1959. The marriages are 8 years apart for the girls, which is also the age difference between Ann(e) and Jane.

Ann(e) and Frank had two children: Lisa (1967) and Lee (1969).
Jane and David had one child: Sarah Jane (1968)

Philip Harbottle also noted that he was the man behind the Bryn Jordan alias; the British Library notes this was the alias of James Maddock Henderson, authoring 21 western novels. All appear to be hardcover publishers, except for perhaps the fourth title, unless it is a retitling of an earlier novel.

as by Bryn Jordan:

Rustlers’ Roost (J. Coker, 1950)
Cowboys Three (J. Coker, 1950)
Nighthawk Trail (Gryphon Books, 1951)
Border Bandit (Fiction House, 1951)
The Drunk of Buzzard Creek (J. Coker, 1951)
The Gentle Outlaw (Gryphon Books, 1952)
Colt Comfort (J. Coker, 1952)
Guns Flame in Arcady (J. Coker, 1952)
No Peace in Sleepy Valley (J. Coker, 1952)
Arizona Outcast (J. Coker, 1953)
Rimfire Creek (Gryphon Books, 1953)
The Westering Kid (W. H. Allen, 1954)
The War at Muffled Hoof (W. H. Allen, 1954)
The Burning of the Bar-K-Bar (The World’s Work, 1954)
Outlaw Sheriff (Gryphon Books, 1954)
Renegade Guns (The World’s Work, 1954)
Border Luck (Gryphon Books, 1955)
Crisis in Cataract (Gryphon Books, 1956)
Coyote Springs (Gryphon Books, 1956)
Lost Mountain Trail (Gryphon Books, 1957)
Dark Valley (Gryphon Books, 1958)

This tempted me to wonder if he had any works published in, or exported to, America. A quick visit to the Library of Congress copyright records yielded something entirely fresh. Henderson also wrote western novels under yet another alias, one not noted anywhere online. Not even the British Library has noted that Pete Danvers is the work of Mr. Henderson!

as by Pete Danvers:

Lone Wolf Trail (Hammond, Hammond, 1950)
Rancher’s Gold (Hammond, Hammond, 1952)
Sheriff Hater (Hammond, Hammond, 1953)
Border Wolves (Hammond, Hammond, 1954)
Saddle Fever (Ward Lock, 1954)
The Amateur Sheriff (Arthur Barker, 1954)

Clearly Henderson was quite capable at cranking out western novels, now credited with 30 spanning 1949-1958. But what of crime novels, gangster novels, detective, mysteries, etc.? He wrote such short stories during the 1930s prior to World War Two, then come the war, essentially vanishes. Did he enlist and serve from 1941-1948? Or did he serve in some at-home capacity? Hopefully a family member (if any) will one day locate this lengthy blog post and provide some additional information, and I definitely would be quite grateful to hear from them, indeed!!!

Roughriders Brand

Roughriders Brand was published by Curtis Warren Ltd. as part of their Blue Band Western paperback series, featuring cover art by Ray Theobald. One cowboy riding hard while the other tosses a lasso. Story text spans pages 3 to 128.

The plot is so convoluted that I probably ought to note the key protagonists and go from there… The novel opens introducing Doreen Bishop in a stagecoach attired with twin gun-belts. With her is her uncle. Riding a short distance behind is Tex Condon, a hired gun that normally operates solo, chasing down bad guys and meting out justice. Operating separate from the trio is another stagecoach rider from Chicago, an undercover detective by the name of Lee Everest.

The Bishops are returning to Tranquil Basin to kill the man that murdered Doreen’s father when she was a mere child. He was shot down in a fair gunfight he stood no chance of winning. The uncle stood by like a yellow cur and didn’t draw. He departed, collected his niece, abandoned the ranch, and made for parts unknown. Time passed and he brought her up with an intense hatred for Marvin Adams and trained her to be a proficient gunslinger. The hired gun is along for assistance. Unbeknownst to Tex and Doreen, the uncle in a drunken stupor foolishly wrote and forwarded a threatening letter to Marvin Adams weeks ago. He received, read, and contacted Chicago, rather than rely on a range-detective. He wanted a completely unknown outsider, but someone familiar with the West.

Tex drops back to smoke and relax, intent upon catching up, when he hears gunshots ahead. The stage is held up and being robbed of tens of thousands of dollars, which belongs to Marvin Adams, who also owns the town’s banking interests as well as much of the surrounding lands. These were acquired in his younger days, when he was young and brutal and a man-killer. He’s no longer young, he’s still a brute, but no longer requires being a man-killer, having usurped all he needs. Anyway, returning to Tex, he forks leather and arrives in time to lend his irons to the fusilade of swapped lead. His arrival turns the tide, and the robbers flee. Unfortunately, the drivers are both dead.

Lee convinces Doreen to ride with Tex and fetch the law, etc., and he and the girl’s uncle will eventually make their way into town. Lee maintains his secret identity. Later, the Bishop party checks into town and Lee rides out to the Adams ranch and into a young lady trying to fend off an unscrupulous man forcing himself upon her. Lee wins, knocking the man out. The girl is one of two children belonging to Marvin Adams. Jill is grateful but worried the downed man, saloon-keeper King Page, will bear ill-will against Lee and try to murder him one day. Lee’s not worried (naturally). She is beautiful, and there is little doubt that in Jill Adams we have our second potential romantic interest. This is quite unusual in the British westerns I have read. How will the author juggle two lovely females? Clearly by this point Lee and Tex are our main single male players.

Jill introduces Lee to Marvin Adams, but Lee is quick to identify himself. Marvin is angry with Jill for having ridden out alone, bringing the problems onto her own self. Marvin primes Lee to keep an eye on the Bishop party, which shocks Lee. He hadn’t known the identity of the party he was to watch, and here he had ridden into town with the very people. He thinks Tex is a straight-shooter, inherently honest. The uncle he soon learns is an alcoholic and yellow. The daughter, Doreen, he worries may be the hot-head, primed all her life to hate the man that murdered her dad.

We meet Marvin’s other child, a worthless son, a drinker and gambler in debt to King Page, foolishly thinking the man is his friend and despising his brute father. Cal Adams is a good-looking young man that needs a strong woman in his life to set him straight. When the bank is robbed, Cal and Jill are in town, and Cal does not ride home to inform his father. This leaves Jill stuck in town, angry and crying that she can’t get Cal away from a card game with King Page and his three killers. And King Page is crowing because he met the drunken niece’s uncle and he spilled his hatred for Marvin Adams. Believing they have comradery, he’s certain the niece and Tex are allied with him.

Tex and Doreen are walking the town when they hear crying and come upon Jill. She sobs her story to the pair, and Doreen is mortified to learn this girl is Marvin Adams’ daughter. She ought to feel hatred for the whole family but can’t bring herself to express displeasure for Jill. Instead, she likes and consoles her. Tex gets up and decides to retrieve Cal and send him and Jill on their way. Walking to the rear of the saloon, he peeks in the window and calls to Cal that he needs to quit the game and come along at his sister’s request. King Page is angered and tells him to blow, but Tex is not flustered. King’s fastest gun-hand streaks for death but is shot twice before he can pull. King and company are astounded and Cal in a stupor departs with Tex.

Cal and Jill are sent on their way; arriving home, they inform their father of the bank robbery. Infuriated, he whips Cal and disowns him. Jill is locked in her room. Marvin then cobbles together his entire crew to form a posse to hunt the robbers. He leaves two people to ensure Jill remains locked in her room until he returns.

It gets entirely convoluted from here on, with loads of interchanging fast-action as we are introduced to separate scenes involving the sheriff and deputy, Lee riding solo after initially riding along with the posse, the posse being bushwhacked and Marvin leading his men into a distant canyon and certain eventual death, Marvin’s spread assaulted by King Page and rustlers kill the people left to mind Jill and kidnap her, etc. It’s all an insane but excellently handled flurry of chapters.

Remarkably, the deputy (O’Hara) and aged sheriff (Hank Wathen) survive trickery and ambush in the mountains. Left for dead, O’Hara awakens and discovers Wathen missing. Tracks show the sheriff’s horse went over the ledge. Himself horseless, he looks over the side to spot the battered horse remains far below, but the sheriff is unconscious, suspended precariously on a tree growing out from the cliff side. O’Hara lassoes him and recovering, Wathen manages to walk up the cliff to safety.

Lee had accidentally found the pair and rode back to town for a doctor and to form a posse, knowing now all the bad-players, but runs into a ready-formed posse, courtesy the blacksmith who is good friends with Hank Wathen. Noting he was missing, he had a bad idea the pair had run into trouble and got the town together. They return to the lawmen, recover them, and ride on to save Marvin Adams.

Marvin Adams meanwhile has holed up with the remnants of his crew, and, ironically, has companions in the form of Doreen and Tex. Her uncle was murdered when the trio were riding away from Tranquil Basin, abandoning it as a bust project. She was angry at her uncle’s duplicity, learning the gun-match was fair, and Marvin apologized for his past doings, etc. With him dead, the pair road hard to avoid their would-be killers, and by accident merged with Marvin’s fleeing crew. Hence why they are together, awaiting certain death. Realizing they are being slowly picked off, Doreen saves her last two bullets to personally swallow, rather than be forced into a sex-trade racket in Mexico. She turns the gun and fires but the gun is forced aside just in time by Tex as the blacksmith’s posse arrives and turns the tide.

Shortly before they arrive, though, King Page and the leader of the rustlers depart, returning to their secret hideout. There they have locked up Jill and Cal. The pair are watched over by two men. While the pair are setting a food tray, Jill snatches the open container of pepper and flings it into their eyes. Cal tackles the one, and eventually takes out both sentries. Securing the pair with their gun-belts, bound and gagged, etc., brother and sister escape and ride through a secret path toward town as a shortcut but are stymied to discover a rock-slide cut them off. The pair are forced to turn back and ride the long way to town and go to the sheriff. They aren’t aware the sheriff and deputy were previously slated for murder.

Meanwhile, King Page and the lead rustler discover Cal and Jill missing, freed. Interrogating their two men, they follow the tracks and enter the secret path. Soon they ambush the returning Cal and Jill. Unbeknownst to them, Lee had also discovered the hideaway, and being a skilled tracker, pursues King Page and company. He arrives in time to save the day.

Fast forward, and the romantic entanglements come to fruition, but not in the manner suggested. Initially we are led to believe that Lee and Tex are fascinated by both girls, one and then the other. Doreen seems slated for Tex, and Jill destined for Lee, only our author adroitly flips the script. Doreen’s affections remarkably attach to Cal Adams! And Jill Adams latches onto Tex Condon. Marvin Adams splits his property in half, to go 50/50 to each to-be-married couple as restitution and retire from ranching. He owns enough interests in town to keep him busy. What of Lee? Don’t worry. Turns out he already has a girl back in Chicago! That concluding line to the novel made me wonder if there is a prequel or sequel involving detective Lee Everest, and if one does exist, is it a western or a detective novel?

An absolutely superb western novel. I dodged numerous plot-twists that run rampant throughout the novel, preferring any potentially interested readers the opportunity to obtain a copy themselves. At the time of preparing this blog, Richard Williams in England has a “good” copy listed for about 25 pounds.

No Dice! by Al Bocca (UK: Scion Ltd., 1951)

April 23, 2026 Morgan A. WallaceAl Bocca, Bevis Winter, blackmail, crime, Detective, murder, mystery, private eye, Scion Ltd, UlrichLeave a comment

No Dice! was published circa April 1951 by Scion Ltd. and represents the 13th novel written by Bevis Winter under the Al Bocca pseudonym. The cover art is signed Ulrich; they created numerous covers for the mushroom publishers. Who Ulrich is and what became of Ulrich after the mushroom publishing boom collapsed is anyone’s guess. Ulrich may have been the person’s surname or first name, for that matter.

Huh? Yeah, Ulrich is a first name, too. I found one Ulrich Finke authored French 19th Century Painting and Literature (1972). Suffice to say, learning that fact didn’t help to narrow down my scope. It broadened quite exponentially. I’ll leave off and let others figure out the identity. Or hell! maybe a relative could please step forward and claim the family honour!

Enough on that. Let’s dive into No Dice!

Chapter 1:
Al Bocca is receiving a massage when Charlie Penrose (rich man, tall, muscular) enters. Bocca then describes Mr. Penrose and quickly lavishes his recollections of the man’s young wife, Cora Penrose (wife, former vaudeville attraction). Charlie attempts to hire Bocca for a job, but that latter notes he does not do domestic issues. Despite that, Charlie firmly insists he come to his home and sample some newly arrived liquors. Bocca accepts the offer to become intoxicated, then departs. Outside, walking the sidewalk, he spots Cora in a car, impatiently slogging through traffic. Hailing her, he walks up to her car and chews the fat with a woman that clearly appears to be avoiding his eye. But Bocca isn’t a detective for nothing; he immediately notes the bruised eye. Who socked her one? Her husband? Was she fooling around? Ironically, while trying to get rid of him, she ends up inviting Bocca to the house. He accepts.

Chapter 2:
Al Bocca enters The Sahara and asks bartender Mack Smithers, described as “lean, gaunt-faced, mop-headed” if Sol Avery is available. Sol beckons Bocca into his office, and is described as a “plump, jovial Jew.” Sol wishes to hire Bocca as a strong-man to protect his business interests from Denny Dereta, a hoodlum recently released from prison. Seems this Dereta put the squeeze on Sol prior to his prison term for illegal goods. Bocca accepts the job.

Chapter 3:
Accepting a drink and meal at the Bodega Grill and Bar, Bocca finds himself seated with an aspiring journalist. Lena Dawlish is “tall, slender, smooth-complexioned, chic…” with “titian hair, green eyes and ginger brows betrayed the warm, hot-tempered passion that lay dormant inside her closed-shop emotional build-up… She had small, perfect teeth and wide generous lips that were invitingly red and moist.” I take this to mean she is one hot cookie. Afterwards, Bocca returns to his office and receives a phone call from Cora Penrose inviting him up to the mansion to attend her husband’s social party. She needs to hire him for a job. What a coincidence! Her husband had already extended an invite.

So, you get the drift so far? Great. Let’s speed this along. Cora plays it cool at the party, acting as hostess. She eventually feigns exhaustion, wants to go to bed. Hubby dismisses her. She slips Bocca a piece of paper to find a way to escape the party and meet her outside. He does, bailing on a card game, obtains fresh air, only to be intercepted by Charlie Penrose, who desires a private chat. Meanwhile, Bocca can see Cora waiting in his car. He steers Charlie back inside to sit and talk; he still wants to hire Bocca for some strong-arm work. See, there’s this guy Dereta out of prison… Second time Bocca has heard that name. Doesn’t want Dereta horning in on his territory. Sure…

So he departs, goes to his car, Cora is still there, and they drive away. Can’t very well sit there and chat. Someone will get a clue that something is awry. Pulling off the road a ways, Cora spills that she requires Bocca’s services to handle a blackmailer. In her younger life (what a joke! … what, when she was a teenager? Turns out, YES...) she was a striptease dancer and not a very good one, but her body and looks more than made up for that. Anyway, she mixed with the wrong sort of company, and her erstwhile boyfriend took many photos of her in compromising company. Who’s the shady creeper? Denny Dereta, of course. How much moola does he want? Oh, just 50 grand. Cora readily supplies the cash, but wants to know that she really has all of the photos, negatives, and no chance of copies. Bizarrely, she confesses she 100% trusts Dereta to cough up. Bocca deduces that the bruised eye noticed earlier was delivered by a jealous Dereta, fresh from prison, discovering his girlfriend had moved on, and up!

Bocca goes to the predetermined meeting place, and is shown to a bar. Meets Dereta. They play verbal toughies with one another. Bocca gets the goods, drops them in a bank’s drop slot while they are closed, which pissed Dereta off to no end. Then hands over the cash. Dereta verifies, then invites Bocca inside to have a drink with his palsies. Bad idea. He accepts. And gets his ass beaten up pretty bad. Thankfully, he had brought reinforcements in the form of Mulligan, his muscle. Patrick Kervin Mulligan (I swear! That’s literally the full name given on page 66) bashes in the glass and jumps through, gun drawn, and firmly states: “Hold it, the lot of you! Anyone’s moves gets a bellyful of lead beans!” The pair depart, Bocca bloodied, and Mulligan carrying slices of glass in his skin. They make quite the messy pair.

While at the office, Bocca phones Cora. He’s got the goods; she’s in the clear. Then his lovely secretary Mavis receives a call that Sol has been assaulted and left for dead. Bocca and Mulligan speed over, but too late. Sol was knifed and is dying. The bartender is in a fright but confesses some info to Bocca. Seems Sol had paid $10-grand for something in an envelope from an attorney. We eventually learn said attorney was the scumbag that represented Dereta at his trial. Word on the street suggests the attorney made a poor show of defending Dereta.

Tracking Dereta to his abode near the joint of the original predetermined meeting place, Mulligan guards the front while Bocca and his rod goes inside the room. He’s confident Dereta sliced up Sol, and he has a vengeance streak in him screaming for blood. But Dereta is dead, shot in the armpit region, eyes glazed and looking quite surprised. Who shot Dereta?

The attorney has the most to gain out of his death. With Sol removed, and Dereta dead, the attorney is…what? Crashing the attorney’s pad, Bocca and Mulligan harangue the attorney harshly, playing up being gangsters or something, but the attorney finally recognizes Bocca from a past case as a private dick. Bocca informs the law shark that Dereta is dead; this stuns him. Clearly the man isn’t acting. He didn’t murder Dereta, which means he’s not responsible for Sol, either. In fact, his luggage is packed for flight. He was scared to death of Dereta exacting revenge. Still, Bocca eventually garners enough information to take a flight to Las Vegas. He wants to learn some of Dereta’s past dealings.

There he discovers Dereta’s girlfriend was Cora (which we already knew) but…that while he was away in another city trying to make something crooked of himself, she hooked up with a wealthy man. Both men eventually learn of each other, but, what Dereta does not know is that Cora married him! She eventually sets the stage that they get into a heated argument. Her husband pulls a gun, but Dereta guns him down in defense. Only, the dead man’s gun was loaded with blanks! Cora had swapped out his live ammunition. The insurance company coughs up and she’s a rich, independent woman. Only one catch: Dereta.

She pays the attorney to represent Dereta, but ensures he does not get a properly handled trial. Dereta never learns of her marriage. What’s more, while Dereta is incarcerated for five years, she falls in true love with Charlie Penrose, a wealthy businessman that has shady dealings on the side, but nothing classified as illegal. Charlie likewise does not know Cora was previously married.

Bocca is now dead certain that Cora murdered Sol for the envelope the attorney sold him. She needed the evidence kept from potentially falling into Dereta’s hands. Once obtained, she then shot Dereta while he slept. Both driving to the estate, Bocca goes inside and hashes out all the lies and deceit to Cora. Then Charlie arrives home, only he isn’t pleased with Bocca manhandling his wife. What’s more, he already had discovered much of the troubles on his own. Walking in with him is a mysterious creep, whom we learn is Charlie’s own hired killer! He is responsible for Sol’s death, having stuck a shiv in him. And Charlie states Cora did in fact murder Dereta. What a combination! Charlie loves her to death, despite her evil depravities and is willing to do anything to protect her, including having had Sol silenced. And the only thing blocking his marital bliss is Bocca. Bocca laughs, and states that they won’t get away with anything, that they have the attorney. Charlie rejoins that indeed they do, dead, stuffed in the car’s trunk, and that the corpse and Bocca will take a long journey together off a high cliff.

Only one problem: Cora is insane. She is pissed from being manhandled, goes for her gun. And everyone suddenly moves in a split second, when decisions can change the outcome with drastic results. Mulligan comes crashing in, Bocca moves, the shiv-man fires his gun at Bocca, only Bocca is no longer THERE…and Cora is struck dead instead! Charlie Penrose is in shock and croons weepingly over his deceased beautiful wife. And Bocca gets the ripe opportunity to commit murder! He tells Mulligan he is about to commit a crime and shoots the shiv-man dead.

Then Bocca phones the police, with an altered story, leaving Charlie Penrose in the clear. After all, with his wife now dead, and the shiv-man iced, he’s a shell. He’ll go back to being a businessman, with no legal distractions. It’s a strange way to end the novel. Why leave Charlie in the clear? He was the shiv-man’s boss, after all. He is directly responsible for Sol’s death. To be honest, I was expecting Bocca to kill him, too.

The police come, collect the corpses and drag Bocca to the station for questioning. He’s released at 2am, and goes to bed…with Lena Dawlish.

This being the 13th of many more Bocca novels, I do wonder if he ever settles down with Mavis, his secretary, who clearly is in love with her boss. A bit cliché, but what story isn’t?

THE SPECTRE LIBRARY PRESENTS: The Pulp and Paperback Fiction Reader

Reading and reviewing rare vintage fiction stories