10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

—_—__—_—_—_—_—_—_—-BULLDOG OF JUSTICE—————————_—_——_35 “Natto’s rod man—is getting better with that gun, Teddy!” Brown was crouching at the door, police positive gripped, staring out. The rushing car had whirled around the corner and out of sight. He turned back in an agony of anxiety as Web- ster forced himself to stand erect. Webster’s hand, pressed hard to his side, was streaked with red. “Skipper, he got you! We can’t go through with it!” Webster took a deep, cold breath. “Go through with it? Nothing’s stop- ping me tonight, Teddy.” Webster painfully bundled Natto’s top-coat and hat; he went up the steps with Brown anxiously following. His body throbbed with growing pain as he slipped into his car. Brown watched liim in consternation as he pressed the motor hard. Webster brought the car to a stop in the alley behind the apartment building in which Natto lived. He stepped out, unrolling the coat, shaping the hat. As Brown watched, he assumed the appearance of Ray Natto in the dim light from the win- dows. He took a folded newspaper from the car and directed Brown tight- ly: “Come up a few seconds after me, Teddy.” “Sure, skipper !’ As he approached the entrance of the apartment house, he lowered his head, pretended to read the newspa- per, imitated Natto’s slouching walk. As he passed, the door man said: “Good evening, Mr. Natto.”’ In the ele- vator, the attendant remarked: “Nice evening, Mr. Natto.” Webster kept his face turned away, answered: “Fine evening” in Natto’s voice, and stepped to the door of Natto’s apartment. Natto’s keys admitted him. He walked slowly through silent rooms into that which Natto used as an office. He turned back as a rattle sounded; Ted Brown came in quietly. Webster took off the coat and hat; he opened a drawer of the desk, though hescarcely hoped to find incriminating evidence in it; and his examination was stopped by the ring of the tele- phone, Webster lifted the instrument. The voice that came over the line — breathy, hushed. “Perles calling, : y.”” “Well?” Webster asked, in Natto’s voice. “I got the D.A.! I trailed him into a store on Wharton Street and put a bullet in him when he was coming out.” : Grimly Webster answered: “Good work, Slick.” “I’m getting rid of the rod, then I’m clearing out of town. But first I need some coin, Ray. How about sending me over a roll? I’m at the Sunrise.” Wryly Webster answered, again in Natto’s voice: “Stay there, Slick, I’m sending something over.” “Fhanks, Ray. The D.A.’s not pin- ning anything on us or anybody else now!” EBSTER lowered the instru- ment with a tight smile, Swift decision again moved his hand toward it at once. Just as his fingertips touched, the hell shrilled with the signal of another incoming call. Webster tensed, and lifted the receiv- er, Immediately, before he could speak, a husky voice blurted: “Brock talkin’—Brock!”’ Brock! Webster had left him bound, in Brown’s secret room with Mae Gary. He had been hoping unti! this instant that fear would force Brock to talk. A bewilderment of consternation struck him and pain stabbed in his wound as he gripped the telephone. His mind sped te meet the surprise. Simulating Natto’s voice, he asked: “Where you been?’ “No time to tell you now, Ray! We've got the D.A.—that’s what I’m callin’ to say! Got him cold! I’m com- in’ straight over, but I got to tell you now—Mattison’s on his way to your place—Mattison !” With difficulty, in his cold dismay, Webster maintained the disguise of his ~comicbooks