Glass Dime

the Whistler and I know many things for I walked by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak of. And now the Whistler's strange stories, the glass dimes. Wally Layton stepped out of his office on the third floor of the Drake building

and it moved with anything to cheer for. Walking the door behind him he stopped for a moment, gave the deletering on the glass panel. Walter Layton, theatrical agency, a frown crossed his features. And then shaking his head sadly, sighed, and started down the corridor toward the elevator.

You whirl at the sound loss, and then see a tall, heavy set man rush out of an office an office at the end of the hall and come running toward you. Hey, what's the idea?

What's going on? The way you? Tatch you on the point of the jaw, then just falling. The man as you manage to get to your feet again, you see that he's reached the head of the stairs. He turns and levels the gun at you. The bullet whistles past you as you drop to

the floor. An instant later, the man disappears down the stairway. Mr. Lake, are you hurt? No, no, I guess not, Doc. What happened? I hurt the shop for my office. Well, it beats me. I hurt some shops.

Then a guy came charging out of the coin dealers' office down there. Who read word? Yeah, I tried to stop him, but he told me out of the way. Took off. Come on. We'd better see if we're at all right.