10 Story Detective, July 1942 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

10—_______—__—__—_———10-STORY DETECTIVE———— out of revenge and was trying to establish an alibi by calling the police.” Fat-faced Albert Meredith seemed to have been thinking along those same lines. | “Yes, that’s it. We figured they were dead, but we couldn’t be sure. In that terrible storm any man who returned to the peak would either have been swept over, or—or he’d have died because no man could have breathed. The wind was too terrific. Cold—ice—snow-——”’ Meredith stopped suddenly and eocked his head to one side, like a puppy hearing a strange sound. Bveryone froze in his tracks. Stuart heard a soft whooshing sound outside the window. It began to grow until it became a howling wind. A wailing, eerie shriek with every high-pitched note signifying doom. The lights all over the house flickered. Rain began to beat heavily against the windows of the living room. It sounded as though they’d cave in under the impact. The wind grew stronger, Then the lights went out altogether. But an instant before that happened, Albert Meredith’s red face had turned a strange blue and both hands were fumbling with his throat. Stuart rushed over beside him. Meredith was trying to say some- thing, but only strangled gibberish came from his lips. Then there was a series of choking sounds. Finally his voice came, weak and barely dis- cernible above the now raging storm. “Can’t breathe! Wind—my throat —can’t breathe—” Stuart felt him sag, grabbed him, but it was too late. Meredith’s weight pulled him free of Stuart’s grip and the. body hit the floor with a thump that shook the house. Aimost as though that had been a signal, the lights flashed on and an utter, painful silence held everyone in its grip. The storm had stopped in a matter of a split second. CHAPTER II DEAD MAN WALKS TUART was the first to recover his wits. He knelt beside Mere- dith and turned him over. The man’s face was still blue. There was no > heartbeat. He’d died almost instantly. The detective arose and faced the three stupefied men. “It looks as though John Alexander knew what he was talking about,” he said slow- ly. “Meredith told me, just before he died, that he was unable to breathe. That the wind was stran- gling him. But the storm was out- side the room, not in it. I think Mere- dith was murdered.” “But good heavens,” Kerrigan cried, “why? And by whom was he killed? Not by one of us, sergeant, We’re partners—and friends. There wasn’t a nicer chap than Meredith.” “I’m only expressing my opinion,” Stuart put in curtly. “By some very strange coincidence, Meredith might have died of a heart attack at the height of the storm. I don’t know. All of you help me search the estate. We might ‘ind that your old, deceased friend John Alexander paid us a visit.” They all started toward the front door except the frightened Doug Terry. He was staring at the body of Meredith as if it fascinated him. He saw Stuart and the others waiting. “T—I’d rather not go out—there,” he gulped. “It—it’s bad enough to be in the same room with a dead man, S-somebody stay here with me, please.” Nobody did. Stuart stepped off the porch and grunted in amazement. The cement walk was perfectly dry. He thrust a hand into a heavy bush. The leaves contained no moisture. “Rut it did rain,” he said in a chal- lenging voice. “All of us couldn’t have been crazy.” Stuart hurried to the side of the house where the living room win- dows gave ferth yellow light. They MIGoOo (C(O) S (C(O) im