10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

14———__———————_——- 110-STORY DETECTIVE wouldn’t be conclusive evidence if you could. It’s no good!”’ The girl said: “I tried to pull his mask down, but that was when he hit me.” Webster smiled tightly. “Thanks for trying. You’re aces.” He was re- warded with a quick smile, and it had the effect of cooling his temper. Aces,” he declared again with the ut- most assurance. “As a secretary and as yourself.” Mae Gary said very quietly: “Thanks, boss.” There was a quick step in the outer office, and again it was Mayton. Web- ster’s assistant was breathless and bewildered. “He must have gotten away clean. Nobody noticed him, He took the evi- dence on Natto? Good Lord! Well, we’re not going to need it. Judge Chee- ver’s going to pronounce sentence on Natto right now.” “There’s a damn’ good reason,” Webster asserted as he strode to the door, “why that evidence was taken— in spite of the verdict.” “Funny the way Judge Crawford dropped, wasn’t it?’ Mayton asked as he followed. “Of course he’s had angina for years, but it’s damned strange that—” “Too strange!’’ Webster paused, looking baek at Mae Gary. “Mae, I want you to go to Judge Crawford’s home in a hurry, You may have a tough time getting in because they’ll be upset, but I want information. Crawford was at home while the jury was out. I want to know what he did —everything about his heart ailment. I'll be along.” Mayton exclaimed: “Good Lord, do you think that girl’s a machine that never eats or sleeps? She was here all last night and all today, living on sandwiches and coffee. Ul go to Craw- ford’s place instead and—” “IT like Mae’s methods,” Webster smiled through the open door, “Do you mind, Mae? Can you make it?” “Certainly I can make it,” the girl answered. “Do you think I’m a sissy?” HE was slipping into a woolly coat, pulling a pert felt hat on her head, even as she spoke. Webster’s eyes reflected the admiration and es- teem he felt for her as he hurried from the door. He pushed into the courtroom to find it still buzzing, the attend- ants and counsel still stunned by the shock of Judge Crawford’s death. A gavel in the lean hand of Judge Joseph Cheever was rapping on the desk. Into the hush that followed, the sharp-eyed juryman declared: “The jury has returned a verdict of guilty against the accused. The unfortunate death of Judge Crawford turns upon me the duty of sentencing the defend- ant. Under the laws of this state it is mandatory that—” “Your honor.” Herbert Knox, tow- ering tall, with eyes that surveyed the world from the eminence of his height with the cold sharpness of an eagle’s, stepped to the bench briskly. “T move for a mistrial.” Judge Cheever’s gesture was sharp, impatient. “To attempt to take advan- tage of the catastrophe of Judge Craw- ford’s death, Mr: Knox, is, in my opin- ion—” “T move for a mistrial, your honor,” Knox persisted in his strident voice, “on the grounds that the present court has no jurisdiction to pronounce sen- tence upon the defendant. The trial is incomplete. Only the judge who pre- sided thus far has the right to impose sentence. Under the laws of this state, a new trial must be granted.” Jack Webster studied the puzzled face of the jurist on the bench. Again his easily stirred temper sent surges of heat through his veins. His hand closed hot and hard, as he waited for the court to deliberate—hot and hard on a ball of naphthalene. ‘Counsel for the defense and the Attorney fer the State,” Judge Chee- ver pronounced firmly, “will submit briefs on the motion for a mistrial. The hearing is set for December 8th. Court is adjourned.” comicbooks com J a ne a pnt. pe UN eee Re