Evening star., 1940-12-15

IL WdS great technique, dlIloSl III
fahible because, following holdup,
the cops looked for somebody on the
run. They expected getaway, not an
easygoing pedestrian who might have
been bookkeeper or accountant or
any one of hundreds of young men on
the way home from work.
Johnny Smith always strolled into a
store near closing time, nice-looking
young fellow with hatbrim pulled
jauntily down to an eyebrow. He al
ways watched the place few days in
advance to check on the amount of
business. And he always made his
entrance after he was sure that only
one person, clerk or owner, was shut
ting up shop.
Johnny Smith had the advantage of
being his own boss. A lone eagle, he
liked to picture himself. When he was
a kid at play in the school yard, he
used to enjoy sneaking up on another
kid, kicking him in the small of the
back, leaving him fiat. He liked that
kind of game He had always been
soft-moving, soft-voiced. His parents
had sent him to high school for two
years, and his way of speaking invited
confidence Nothing of the tough
about him, nothing to indicate. as he
lounged close to the cash register, that
before the man back of the counter
could blink an eye, gun would be
thrust in his stomach. 1t worked like
a charm. 1t tickled him to read ac
counts Of the holdup man nobody
could trap He got thrill from descrip-
tions of this mystery figure given by
victims who thought they could iden-
tify him. No two of these tailed.
Until that freezing night last Decem-
ber, when he sauntered into grocery
store on Third Avenue, he had never
found himself in tight place. That
was the night he decided not to trust
making a getaway on foot. He had a
car at the curb, a cheap black con-
vertible, the duplicate of thousands
scurrying along the highways. Cross
ing the pavement, he saw only a few
people, their chins sunk in coat collars
and muff1ers, heads bent against the
biting wind. He opened the door and
glanced around beneath lids that we're
shutters over his eyes. The store was
empty. Trained to clear thinking and
cold caution, he instantly suspected a
trap. During the days of watching, he
had noted only the owner and an
undersi1ed clerk in charge of the pros
porous little place. Tonight door was
left unlocked and the lights we're on
without soul in sight. 1t didn't make
sense unless police were hidden some
where. His expert ears we're like
hounds, listening for sign of human
breathing.
HAND on the knob, he waited.
SdIllO AAollL q IOOEl uuCSlly
back of the store, the offkey warbling
of popular tune. A mans voice -
cracked, carefree. Noiselessly he
vaulted the counter. But he had to
strike a key to open the register. 1t had
the ring of an alarm in the silence
The clerk dashed from the rear room
with suspenders hanging over black
trousers and black string tie from his
collar Cater it was disclosed that he
had been changing to hired dress
suit to take his girl to dance).
The usual low command, Stick 'em
up," had no effect. Fury or reckless
ness made the clerk reach for the first
weapon at hand, ginger ale bottle.
He swung it like an Indian club and
let fly. He missed.
The roar of an Ell train drowned the
crash. 1t swamped the pistol shot that
hit the target of the clerks white face
and got him just above the right eye
That train might have been timed to
protect Johnny Smith.
On his way out, couple of girls
u,oVo v,,ce;r~ Ono of tha,,, cid ~, tho