10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

hab EA eb Wat's) IPENS - bY aaa FA iat aa ta Ay AG RVA Na Deu Bt ANY fs ia Wat PY Hel} the ( TAR AL res yt hey Ay | bobbed ; -~ —_ - = Pix ~ Lat gg __10-sTORY DETECTIVE “Get him!’ Webster snapped. The command sent Brown diving to- ward the door, and Brock boundirg toward the alley. Webster heard the cracking of knuckles against flesh as he leaped to block Brock’s path. He saw Brown staggering against the wall, Brock again leaping off. Web- ster bounded, Webley in hand, straight at Brock. A driving fist smashed along Webster’s chin as he straight-armed with his left. The skin of his knuckles split on the joint of Brock’s jaw. Breck sprawled back, arms flinging wildly, and crunched on the gravel walk. Brown, scrambling, plunged on him. Webster straddled, automatic leveled, his temper a raging heat. Brown dragged the struggling man up and Webster’s voice crackled. “Stop that!” Brock peered, and the glint of the Webley forced him to sub- side. His breath beat fast as he peered into Brown’s face, then into Web- ster’s. Webster commanded evenly: “Go ~ back up, Brock. You’re just the man I want to see. If I’m not mistaken, there’s an odor of naphthalene about you.” Brock gasped: “I know him! He’s Brown! Brown!” Brown’s big hands grabbed at Brock’s shoulders and he shook him viciously. “Shut up!’ he ordered, ““You heard that. Go back up!” Webster’s heart speeded as Brown hurled Brock against the garage wall. The glimmer of the Webley forced Brock through the door, back up the stairs. Brown kept close behind him; Webster stepped last into the little room under the roof. Brock whirled to face them, his ratty eyes flashing with fear and triumph. . “Turning Brown in, Webster?” he asked in a snarl. “Tellin’ the cops there’s an escaped convict here?” Brown snapped: “Shut up, rat!” Brock blurted: “He’s been livin’ here—I’ve found that out! Livin’ here on the D.A.’s place! That’s goin’ to be good! The D.A,. harborin’ a fugi- tive!” Brown snapped again, savagely: “Shut up!” “T’ll spread it! The D.A. with a convict in his place! How’ll you like that, Webster? How’ll you like goin’ — up the river for it? You’re goin’ to get the works for it— the—” Ted Brown’s hand slapped resound- ingly across Brock’s evil mouth. Brock staggered, dazed, terror shining in his eyes. Brown took dogged steps after him, fists clenched. “You framed me, Brock—that’s the ~ reason I’m a convict. You drilled Cling and fixed it on me! I’ve been waiting for a chance to get my hands on you! Brock, you dirty—!” Brown’s fingers closed on Brock’s throat. Brock’s face fiashed white as he clawed at the ex-cop’s tendoned wrists. Cold fury tightened Brown’s muscles as Webster seized his arm, “Hasy, Teddy!” Brown looked up, lips drawn, thumbs crushing upon Brock’s wind- pipe. “Tf you kill him, Teddy,” Webster said slowly, “you’ll never have a chance to clear yourself of the charge of murder.” Brown’s hands loosened. He stepped back and left Brock cringing against the wall. He began: “Him finding out about you and me, skipper—” Brock cut in vehemently: “You'll have to kill me to keep it quiet! Mur- der! That’s the only way you can keep me from tellin’ the whole—”’ Again Brown’s hard hand slapped stinging pain across Brock’s mouth. Brock sagged, lips bleeding. Webster, looking into Brown’s anxious eyes, said quietly: “Tie him up, Teddy. Make a good job_of it.” Brock pushed for the wall, began a mad scramble toward the door. Web- ster sprang after him desperately; his arm hooked under Brock’s chin and Brock squirmed helplessly. - €omicbooks.co on ;