10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

THE MASKED ALIBI——————————51 den, the pilot of that Douglas? You’re crazy! Your own description of Ams- den says he was a slender man with brown hair. Well, take a look at me!” “I’m looking at you,” Robberts said quietly. “You were pretty clever, Amsden, but you slipped up on two or three little things. I first became suspicious when I looked around while you were supposed to be mak- ing the rounds of your trap lines and found that there wasn’t a sign of extra clothing about the place. A slender man, who’d dyed his hair, might put on a lot of additional clothes to make himself look bigger. So I kept my eyes open. This morn- ing I found a marten in a trap marked with Dorgan’s initials. That meant you didn’t know the location of Dor- gan’s traps!” “A fine lot of rot.” “Oh, that isn’t all,” Robberts said placidly, “you interrupted me. You planned this ‘crash,’ Amsden, for some time, marking the location of both Dorgan’s and Norton’s cabins. You even had the dye to change the color of your hair with you. You simply landed on that lake, probably already having killed the co-pilot in his seat. You came to Dorgan, got all the information about him and Nor- ton you could. Then you killed him, changed clothes with him, and after placing him in the plane and leaving Monroe clear for future identification, you burned the ship. “But just to make sure, you planted a small part of the money at Norton’s cabin. When he took a shot at me last night, he was playing right into your hands.” Dorgan, or Amsden, shifted his feet nervously. “But here’s what’s going to send you to the chair, Amsden!” Robberts eried suddenly, pointing to the shiny money box. “Your big mistake was in leaving the money you planted on Norton still in the box. For the paint on that box wasn’t even scorched, showing it was taken from the plane, before the burning, not after!” S the words fell upon the silence like a bombshell, the room erupted into violent action. With a lightning swing of his arm Amsden seized the pan of scalding dish water from the stove and flung it straight at Robberts’ face. As the trooper at- tempted to duck his foot slipped and he went half to his knees. Half of tHe contents of the pan splashed agoniz- ingly into his face, blinding him. In- stinctively his finger contacted upon the trigger of the Colt. The bullet smashed through the flimsy stove, scattermg a shower of flaming coals upon the floor. Sintul- taneously the roaring form of Ams- den crashed into the trooper, rocking him with flailing, vicious blows. He groped, once, for the gun dan- gling from its lanyard. Instantly Amsden’s fist closed on his wrist, while the pilot’s other muscular hand gripped the trooper’s throat. With a mighty effort Robberts brought his right knee up to Ams- den’s stomach, shoved with all his strength. The murderer staggered, mouthing maniacal curses, suddenly whirled and lunged toward the rifle standing in a corner. Fraritically Rob- berts fumbled for his .45. Amsden’s rifle came up, leveled, just as the trooper’s hand closed over the butt of the Colt. Red murder stared from Amsden’s glaring eyes as Robberts squeezed the trigger. Two thundering reports filled the cabin, pounded on Robberts’ ears through a fog of pain and powder smoke. Amsden slumped, completely cowed, in a corner, nursing a shat- tered shoulder. On the bunk old Amos Norton regarded the trooper with admiring eyes. “By cracky, you state cops kin fight, at that,” he said excitedly. “I ain’t goin’ to crack down on a state policeman agin! I had you figured for a bunch of nosey snoopers, but any- body that kin figure out a mess like this is okay!’ comicbooks (ee)