Тэлмидж Пауэлл: The Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 Classic Mysteries!

“Crime Gets a Head” was originally published in Ten Detective Aces , September 1943, under the pseudonym “Milton T. Lamb”. Copyright © 1949 by Talmage Powell.

“Your Crime Is My Crime” was originally published in New Detective Magazine , May 1946. Copyright © 1946 by Popular Publications. No record of copyright renewal.

“Killer Be Good” was originally published in New Detective Magazine , December 1952. Copyright © 1952 by Popular Publications. No record of copyright renewal.

“Dear Mr. Lonelyheart” was originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine , Nov. 1958. Copyright © 1958, renewed 1985 by Davis Publications.

“Rivals” was originally published in Manhunt , October 1958. Copyright © 1958 by Talmage Powell.

“Salesmanship” was originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine , November 1958. Copyright © 1958, renewed 1985 by Davis Publications.

“Jury Of One” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , October 1959. Copyright © 1959, renewed 1986 by Davis Publications.

“Life Sentence” was originally published in Manhunt , April 1960.

“Money, Murder, or Love” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , June 1961. Copyright © 1961, renewed 1989 by Davis Publications.

“Old Man Emmons” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , February 1962. Copyright © 1962, renewed 1990 by Davis Publications.

“Precious Pigeon” was originally published in Manhunt , April 1963. Copyright © 1963, renewed 1991 by Talmage Powell.

“False Start” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , October 1964. Copyright © 1964 by Talmage Powell.

“A Head Off Her Shoulders” was originally published in Dime Mystery Magazine , August 1949. Copyright © 1949 by Popular Publications, Inc. No record of copyright renewal found.

“Heist in Pianissimo” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , May 1964. Copyright © 1964 by Talmage Powell.

“Reward for Genius” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , Nov. 1965. Copyright © 1965 by Talmage Powell.

“Mind the Posies” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , June 1965. Copyright © 1965 by Talmage Powell.

“The Five Year Caper” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , August 1965. Copyright © 1965 by Talmage Powell.

“Lone Witness” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , January 1966. Copyright © 1966 by Talmage Powell.

“Proxy” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , June 1966. Copyright © 1966 by Talmage Powell.

“The Confident Killer” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , October 1967. Copyright © 1967 by Talmage Powell.

Talmage Powell (1920–2000) was one of the all-time great mystery writers of the pulps (and later the digest mystery magazines). He claimed to have written more than 500 short stories (and I have no reason to doubt him — I am working on a bibliography of his work, and so far I can document 373 magazine stories... and who knows how many are out there under pseudonyms or buried in obscure magazines!) His pen names included Robert Hart Davis, Robert Henry, Milton T. Lamb, Milton T. Land, Jack McCready, Anne Talmage, and Dave Sands. Some (like Robert Hart Davis) were “house names” shared by many different authors. (Bill Pronzini also wrote as “Robert Hart Davis,” for example.) His work appeared in Dime Mystery, Black Mask, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Magazine, Manhunt , and many, many more

He wrote his first novel, The Smasher , in 1959. He went on to pen 11 more novels under his own name, 4 as “Ellery Queen,” and 2 novelizations of the TV series Mission: Impossible . Clearly, though short stories were his first love.

Enjoy!

— John Betancourt

Originally published in Ten Detective Aces , September 1943, under the pseudonym “Milton T. Lamb”.

Percival Smith, my boss, was reading a book written by some guy named Freud when the phone rang. He didn’t look up from the book. He said, with a nod, “Answer it, Willie.”

I was glad to, glad of the chance to do something. Percival Smith has long periods of silence when’s he not very good company. I’d been twiddling my thumbs and trying to doze for the last hour.

I got out of my chair, walked to his desk, and picked the phone up. I said, “Yeah?” A torchy voice asked, “The Smith Agency?”

“None other,” I said, thinking that the female who owned the voice must be plenty easy on the eyes.

“Is Mr. Smith in?”

The boss kept reading. I nudged him with my elbow and pointed to the phone. He frowned at me, shook his head, and looked back at his book.

I said, “I’m sorry, but he’s not here. Can I help you? This is Aberstein. I’m his assistant.”

“I’m Alicia Droyster,” the voice said. “I...”

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand. “The Droyster dame, boss!”

He sat up at that, closed his book with a pop. He reached out a hand which the little blonde dish at Central Barber Shop manicures twice every week.

The Droyster dame was saying something about a calling card and a Great Dane dog, when I broke in. “Just a minute. The boss has just blew in.”

I handed him the phone, stepped back to watch him. He began asking Alicia Droyster a lot of questions. His eyes sort of got warm-looking and I could see his hand get tight on the phone. Well, I been with him long enough to know the signs. I wondered what in hell it would be this time.

Smith can get into more messes in five minutes than you or me could in ten years. He began to smile and it made my stomach nearly do a flip over. I wished he would tell the Droyster dame good-by and hang up. But I knew from the way he was grinning that he wouldn’t do that. Smith is a private shamus because he wants to be. And that kind of guy always hunts trouble.

I moved around the desk and sat down. I was already betting myself three to one that Smith would find what he was hunting — if Alicia Droyster hired him.

Two days ago, Mark Droyster, Alicia’s loving hubby, had gone home late in the afternoon, gone in his bedroom, and rigged up a contraption with coat hangers and a sawed-off shotgun. I thought it was a very messy way for a guy to kill himself. When they found Droyster there hadn’t been anything left of his head.

The bulls had marked it up as suicide without thinking about it much, and Droyster had been put six feet under late yesterday. It had been a very private funeral. Alicia Droyster, a sawbones named Lawrence Jordan, the preacher and pallbearers were all the people the Droyster dame would let come into the cemetery.

As usual, the boys on the news sheets made a big splash with it. This Mark Droyster had been as tough as a bulldog. He’d started as a kid selling papers, muscled his way up in a rough and ready style until he was a big shot. But when he cashed in his chips, the newshounds hinted that he was busted. It was odds around town that losing his dough had put him in such a funk that he killed himself.