10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

tan i! bet og ny her to share the danger with him. His hand gripped the knob hotly ; but sud- denly it went cold. He remembered—saw as clearly as though they were staring at him now —the black, ominous eyes of Inspector CHAPTER Iil THE UNDERCOVER AIDE ACK WEBSTER snapped lights, strode to the rear of the little house that was his home. He lived here alone, with a motherly old housekeeper to tidy the rooms with Webster’s never catching a glimpse of her. He stepped into a closet in the hallway, and lifted the receiver of a little independent telephone, and touched a red button. This line was less than a hundred feet long; it trailed into a room lo- cated above the garage at the rear of the grounds. There, Webster knew, Ted Brown was hidden. Brown was a hard-muscled, ruddy faced young man who had become Webster’s assistant in matters of extra-legal justice. The room above the garage was a haven in which he lived in secret, always ready to obey Webster’s slightest command with dogged loyal zeal. His voice answered on the line: “Okay, skipper.” Webster said quietly: “Teddy, I want Nat Brock watched.” “Brock!” the hushed voice an- swered. “There ain’t any guy I’d rath- er spot—you know that, skipper. What do you want him for?” “No legal charge can cover the case at this point, Teddy,’’ Webster ex- plained. ‘‘Perhaps I can find proof enough to charge him with murder— but I doubt it. Legally or not, we’ve got to get him somehow. Your job’s to keep an eye on him. When you spot him, call me, either here or at the of- fice.” “Right, skipper !” Webster stepped from the closet and went into the living-room, to the tele- phone connected with the city system. He waited, listening to the hum of a 10-STORY¥ DETECTIVE motor from the garage. He heard Ted Brown drive away along the alley flanking the rear of the house, and smiled with cold satisfaction, know- ing that Brown would stick to the trail with dogged persistence. As the sound of the car vanished, Webster dialed the number of police headquarters and asked for Inspector Mattison. “Would I be rushing things,” he asked wryly, “if I asked whether you’ve got any lead on the man who’s trailing me around with a silenced gun, inspector?” Mattison drawled over the line: “Take your time, Webster. We’ll get him. Just leave it to me. What makes you think he’s still trying to get you?” “A feeling,’ Webster answered, “that I’m being watehed. There’s no legal proof, of course, inspector, but that would-be killer is a rod man for Natto. Natto is taking desperate measures to beat a life rap. Being shot at, inspector, is something that makes me mad.” “Sure, sure,” Mattison drawled. “T’ll take care of this. You’re a better state’s attorney alive than dead. I told you that before you ever started out to get Natto. Have you got any evti- dence that one of his mob shot at you —evidence enough so’s I can swear eut a warrant to arrest him?” Webster answered: “No evidence, inspector — except common sense, which is not admissible in a court of law. There are not,” he added wryly, “any eye-witnesses.” Mattison drawled: “Well, Pll assign a man to guard you.” “No, thanks, inspector,” Webster answered with a tight smile. “He’d only cramp my style.” “Hmpff!” Mattison said. “If one of Natto’s rod men puis a bullet into you, there probably won’t be evidence enough to arrest him. How easily will you rest in your grave knowing that? Don’t be a damned fool!” “Being a damned fool,” Webster ob- served, “is evidently my greatest tal- ent.” Ss co ~ €omicbook = Se > i . Bt es oe i a > ——~ ~ Sst a pe: — - and Nn LF EI ae SS. > ae ee ’ Pe ge