10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

* ie - TRIGGER TRIBUNAL———————————_99 leaned back in his swivel chair and reached for a cigar. “Parole Boards,’’ he muttered, “can be confounded nuisances sometimes.” T was a week later that Tom Fargo visited the metropolis not many miles from the great gray walls of the prison. He drove his coupe to the address Bob Reade had given him and two minutes after he parked, Tom was tapping at a well worn door panel! of a cheap rooming house. A tall, well knit young man with the pallor of prison still perceptible on his face, opened the door. He stared in astonishment and just the slightest semblance of fear crossed his coun- tenance. “Mr. Fargo!” He stepped back. “T —[—nothing is wrong, is there?” “Not a thing,” Tom grinned, “and forget the formalities, Bob. I’m Tom to you—as [ am to any of my friends.” “Thanks—Tom.” Bob Reade leaned against the rickety bureau while he motioned Tom into a chair. “I thought for a moment the Parole Board had changed its mind or that f’d pulled a boner or something.” “T’m here to see that you don’t, Bob. You got my letter a week ago?” “About Tony Balch?” Reade shrugged. “Hell, I’m not afraid of that rat—but thanks for the tip anyway. I’m not a squealer, Tom. You know that better than anyone else. I wrecked that armory Balch had be- cause—oh, hell, guards have wives and kids. Balch would have gone to the chair if he went through with his scheme to escape. But I never squealed —except to you, and that was months later.” “Sure, I know. But listen, Bob. I’ve been in this business a long time, al- most too long, it seems, sometimes. I know these rats and I know good guys, like you. Tony Balch is lower than a rat. He’s the type of a man who would never face you unless half a dozen of his gorillas had you pinned to the floor. Watch him! He boasted he’d kill you and he’ll try to make good his threat.” Bob Reade frowned. “I didn’t know it was as bad as that. But don’t worry, Tom. I can take care of myself. It’s damned decent of you to come all the way down here to give me the tip-off. I won’t forget it. ’m beginning to understand why some of the men up there at the prison would give their right arm for you.” Tom brushed aside the thanks with a sweep of his hand. “That wasn’t the only reason I came to town. I have to address a bunch of women who think we ought to install bridle paths for some of the boys to go horse- back riding on. Those dames mean well, but they can get your goat. “Just be careful. I didn’t get you by the Parole Board to have some- body kill you. You’ve the makings of a damned good engineer under that skull of yours.” He shook hands with the younger man, hurried down the narrow, ill- lighted steps and drove quickly to the downtown section. He was puffing slightly as he dropped into the speak- er’s chair at the long banquet table. Tom fumbled with his collar, looked around at the two score of sedate women until his eyes fastened on the doorway of the big restaurant. “You seem startled, Mr. Fargo,” the hostess at his right whispered. “Is there anything wrong?” “Do you know that man in the tuxedo standing at the door?’ Tom asked. Mrs. Smithwick looked up, swept the faultlessly dressed figure with her lorgnette and nodded. “Yes, indeed. He is Mr. Anthony Balch and he owns this restaurant. In fact, he actually came to us and offered to allow us to use his place at a very low figure.” | “He did, huh?”’Tom snorted. “I thought that my eyes were deceiving me, Mrs. Smithwick. You see, Tony graduated from my little college just a few days ago. It’s rather a shock to find him working. I knew he bought a restaurant, but I never figured that ‘comicbooks. Seo sg ae