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toward him and scribbled out his report to his chief in Washington:
    There was no dope on the Cubana. (Signed) Robert W. Clark

Killer Ape

Killer Ape
    B ILL LACY was the kind of newspaperman who would go to a nice murder and come back with a lead story about a run-over dog.
    But human interest and animals were the things which brought Bill Lacy low the night the corpse was found on Forest Road.
    All unsuspecting, he swung down the dingy corridor of the precinct station, whistling to himself and at peace with the world.
    He bumped squarely into Captain O’Connor who scowled like an evil genie. O’Connor had not much use for tall, brown-haired men of handsome visage, as O’Connor was quite the reverse.
    â€œWatch where you’re goin’,” snapped O’Connor.
    â€œOh, beg pardon,” said Bill with a wicked grin. “You startled me for a moment. I thought it was King Kong.”
    â€œBlah!” snarled O’Connor. “You still harpin’ on apes!”
    Sergeant Morris had come along, waddling sourly. “Apes? Is this sap still talkin’ about apes? Still protectin’ your relatives, Lacy?”
    â€œLook,” said Bill, “you guys lay off me about that ape stuff. All I did was sock that guy Hartman for …”
    â€œFor being crooel to a pore little monkey,” said O’Connor.
    â€œOrangutan,” corrected Bill. “And I still think it’s a damned shame the way Para Rubber Company and Hartman, just for the sake of outselling Greyson, put poor Joe …”
    â€œIn a cage,” said Sergeant Morris. “Poor Joe, the orangutan! He ought to be wearin’ a silk hat and swingin’ a cane. Aw, we read the papers, Bill. We read what you wrote about poor old Joe, hardly able to stand up in his cage.…”
    â€œAnd we locked you up when you socked Hartman,” said O’Connor. “And if you don’t stop pannin’ the police every time something happens, you’re going to be locked up again—plenty of times. Get that?”
    â€œKeep your badge on,” said Bill. “If I want to write a sob story about an abused ape …”
    A radio operator came out of his stall like Punch . “Hey, Cap, I heard you. That ape was let out about an hour ago. Hartman just phoned and I’m sending Car Eighteen up to escort him out of the building. He’s scared. Yah,” he added to Bill and vanished.
    O’Connor looked at Bill. “Say, Mr. Lacy, it wouldn’t be that you let yourself go on this idea, would you? Where you been?”
    â€œMe?” gaped Bill. “Why, walkin’ around in the snow …”
    â€œHuh,” said O’Connor. “Pretty thin! What’s the idea stealin’ an ape? It didn’t belong to you! Even if Hartman was abusin’ it, it was his ape! Now you come along and …”
    â€œCap!” said the operator, popping out again. “Woman out on Forest Road reports that she seen an ape running down in the woods.”
    â€œIn the snow?” said Bill. “Nuts. Joe wouldn’t go out in the snow. He’s from Sumatra .…”
    â€œCall Car Twenty and tell them to watch for him,” said Captain O’Connor. “Say, how could he get from Para Rubber to Forest Road in an hour? That’s miles! And through the downtown traffic and somebody would have spotted him. Say, Lacy, what is this? You tryin’ to …”
    â€œCap!” yelped the operator, popping out again. “He’s done it! He’s gone and murdered somebody. A motorist just phoned in to say that he seen a corpse alongside Forest Road in the ditch. Get Homicide Squad here and which medical examiner …”
    O’Connor grabbed too late. Bill was already vanishing in wild flight down the front steps. But before the door banged shut, O’Connor bawled, “Come back here, damn you! You’re an accessory to