10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

102 Tom grinned. “Perhaps I don’t know so much about your work, Donovan, but I do know men. If I hadn’t spotted Tony with my own eyes, I’d have sworn he did this. It’s just the type of a job he’d perform. I’m going back to town. See you later!” On the way back, Tom tried to puz- zle it out. Tony might have hired some one to do the killing, but that wasn’t Tony’s method. He was a killer him- self, a cowardly, sniveling murderer who would torture to hear his victim scream. “Tf he didn’t do it himself,” Tom reasoned, “he hired somebody . Reade was lured out of his room right after I saw him. Maybe there’s a clue at his rooming house.” Tom flashed his badge to the woman who owned the place. “Perhaps you know your roomer, Robert Reade, was killed a little while ago,” Tom said. The woman nodded. “I know. They came here and searched his room, the poor lad. But he had nothin’. All the cops did was tear the room around so it will take me all day to fix it up again.” “Did Reade get a phone call—or did some one come after him ?” Tom asked her. “I was in his room at seven o’clock. When did he go out?” “He had a phone eall,” the woman admitted slowly. “I remember him sayin’ he didn’t expect any. I heard him say Carthy’s Inn, kind of sur- prised-like and he acted as if maybe he didn’t know if he ought to go or not. That’s all I know except he was a good lad.” “Thanks,” Tom told her. He had a clue anyway. A meager one that could hardly work out, but there was rugged determination in Tom’s character and he tossed no chances to the winds. Deep within him, he had determined to capture the murderer of Bob Reade. True, Reade had served time, but if anyone had reformed, Reade had. He was an en- gineer and with the right opportunity, would have made something of him- self. 10-STORY DETECTIVE It was this that caused Tom’s lips to compress tightly. He had believed in Reade; helped him that he might be of some benefit to the world, only to have him murdered in order that a cruel, sadistical taste for revenge might be appeased. This whole case was none of his business. Even if Tony had paid some professional killer to murder Reade, it was a police job and not a parole officer’s. “But Tll take him myself!” Tom muttered while he drove toward the shabbier sections of the city where Carthy’s Inn was located. “If only I 19? can prove it! ARTHY’S INN proved to be the disreputable place Tom expected he would find. A quick survey from his car told him he was putting his head into a hornet’s nest by entering. From where he sat, he recognized the lounging door guard as a three-timer at the prison and a man whose parole Tom had violently objected to. There would be others of his ilk within, but Tom didn’t hesitate a second. If a clue to the murderer of Bob Reade was in that place, he meant to get it if he had to combat every convict who had reason to hate him. Tom loosened the gun in his shoul- der holster, pulled his hat down tight and walked with slow steps toward the entrance. The man at the door straightened up. Tom saw his hand flash behind him, A signal was being given. “Whaddya want?” the guard queried hoarsely. “There ain’t no parole jumpers in here.” “No?” Tom replied easily. “Too bad, you mug. I hoped I might find a dozen of ’em. Get out of the way.” “Nothin’ doin’,” came the growled challenge. “You can’t get in here with- out a pass.” “So?” Tom grinned. His fist flashed quickly and collided with the guard’s jaw. Tom eased the half conscious form into the rickety old chair. “You asked to see my pass, mister. How do you like it?” comicbook (ele)