10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

Beige Sie Se IS Se ag ne SE I Rg Oe a ie oe = eb EE. Op ge 2 —— ke Pane ag i? a ee ri Pm xt Fh oo Soars nS ~ > i ; om «= - * SS me . = =e -_ —_ — a a Ie THE MASKED ALIBI-———————_43 TSD features of a young man wearing the leather coat and goggles of a flyer. “That’s Co-pilot Monroe, all right,” Robberts muttered. “Must have been thrown clear and struck his head on the ice. See, there’s a bad wound there.” “And the pilot himself?’ asked Dor- gan. Robberts pointed to the ghasily little heap of bones, charred leather, and cloth that he had salvaged from the débris. “Let’s hope the crash killed him,” Dorgan mumbled nervously. ‘Let’s get away from here, corporal. This mess gives me the creeps!” “You’ve forgotten something,” Robberts retorted. “There’s supposed to be a box of currency around here somewhere!” At the end of fifteen minutes’ futile search Corporal Robberts gazed. at Dorgan with a queer light in his steel- gray eyes. “Maybe it burned with the plane,” Dorgan ventured. “Impossible,” snapped the trooper. “The box was fire-proof. Dorgan, there’s dirty work here. Some one’s salvaged $75,000 from this crash and made off with it!” Dorgan said nothing, but his lips slowly framed a name, Robberts nod- ded, strapped the snowshoes again on his feet. “We’re making a little call right now on your friend, Amos Norton!” Sun danced blindingly on dazzling white snow as the trooper and Dor- gan cautiously approached Norton’s ramshackle cabin, A tenuous thread of smoke eddying from the crazy chimney was the only sign of life about the place. Hand on holstered Colt ready for instant action, Robberts boldly ap- proached the cabin. A hard shove of his shoulder sent the rickety door fly- ing wide open. Gun in hand, the state trooper lunged through the doorway, Dorgan at his heels, One brief look showed that the single-room cabin was empty. But a can of water sim- mered on the stove, and supplies and equipment were scattered carelessly every where. “Looks as if he’s coming back, any- way,” remarked Robberts. “Watch for him, Dorgan, while I take a look for that money.” THOROUGH search of the cabin revealed no trace of the missing currency, Robberts stepped outside and glanced keenly around the cabin walls. A sizable pile of firewood was stacked neatly against one end of the shack. The next moment the trooper began a systematic dismantling of the piled wood. Suddenly he straightened, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. In his hand was a shiny metal box. The missing money container! Eagerly he opened it, peered inside, Crisp green bank notes, neatly packed in a small bundle, partially filled the box. Carefully Robberts counted them, whistling softly in satisfaction. Though only a small portion of the lost cash was in the box the tall man in uniform seemed hugely content as he hurried back into the cabin. “Found part of it,”’ he jerked at the watching Dorgan. “Enough to convict the old fox, anyway. He’d hid it in the woodpile.” “Good!” “Took out! Norton’s coming!” Robberts ducked down, then cau- tiously peered through the dirty win- dow. A lanky old man was shuffling through the snow toward the cabin, rifle swinging from one hand. Dan- gling over one shoulder were the furry carcasses of a fox and several mink, As the trapper came closer Robberts stared with interest at the crafty, lined face and small, glittering eyes. Amos Norton suddenly stopped, his eyes falling to the trampled tracks in the snow. At the same moment Rob- berts leaped through the doorway, his Colt swung up. “Put ’em up, Norton!” Dorgan smiled, then— seats ~ comicboot