10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

-Satan’s Showdown By Paul Adams Belden was in love with another woman—wanted his wife out of the way. His scheme of freedom looked clever and simple enough to be faultless. newspaper he had been reading into his lap and glanced up im- patiently at the sound of his wife’s hurrying footsteps on the floor above. For the hundredth time since dinner he glanced at his wrist watch, mum- bled something that sounded like a curse, and picked up his paper again. Hell, wouldn’t she ever get started? His eyes bored into the print before him but the news of the world at this particular moment interested him not in the least. The cigar held tightly between his teeth had gone cold. At length he threw the newspaper to the table, rose from his chair and began to pace the fioor. He was standing in front of the fireplace, staring blank- ly into the glowing embers, when Alice Belden came hur- rying down the stairs. There came a retching of brakes in the street outside, then the raucous shriek of an automobile horn. “Thank heavens,” said Alice Belden as she wrapped a Spanish shawl around her slim figure, “for once I am on time.” “Or is it that the Grigsbys are late?” commented her husband peev- ishly, again looking at his watch. “Huh, nine o’eiock! You’ve been just an hour and a half fixing yourself.” Alice Belden laughed. “Of course,” she replied, her fingers imparting lichtning swift finishing touches to her auburn hair, “you wouldn’t want your little wife to look a fright iy VERETT BELDEN dropped the 52 P amongst the lionesses of Haynesville society. Mrs. Garner—Mrs. Theodore Garner if you please—is one of the hostesses. Mrs. George Calder and the portly Mrs.—oh!” The horn outside shrieked again. Mrs. Belden snatched up her bag, blew a farewell kiss to her husband, and hurried as fast as her high, point- ed heels would allow for the front door. As she swung it open she turned. “Don’t wait up for me, dear,” she said and then was gone. Everett Belden hurried to the window. Drawing a cur- tain aside he looked out into the night for several mo- ments until the little red light at the rear of the Grigsby’s car had disap- peared around a_ corner. Then he hurried out into the hall and picked up the tele- phone. A low curse broke the silence as Belden waited impatiently for the operator to answer the signal. A vigorous attack on the hook, how- ever, soon brought results. “Hello, Ted,” he said finally as a familiar voice seeped into his ear from the other end of the wire. “Locust and State in half an hour. All right?” “Okay.” Belden smiled, hung up the receiver and fairly ran up the stairs to his room. Twenty minutes later he came down dressed in dinner clothes and humming a lilting tune. A hasty nip from a bottle procured from the cabi- net of the radiola and then he was struggling into a topcoat. (E(@) chook (eo