10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

i i “than anyone I’ve ever met.” ‘ia ee dae th PE OD) A ; wpe ye 1 \ 63—_—_——_—_—_—_-—_—_—_10-STORY DETECTIVE “Have a drink, kid?” - Willy shook his head. “Don’t touch it, thanks.” She shrugged and poured a stiff ball of whisky from a cut-glass de- canter. Downing the drink in one gulp, she picked up a cigarette box. “Smoke ?” Willy took a long blue and gold cigarette and immediately wished he hadn’t. She ignited a modernistic lighter, got her cigarette going, then held it to Willy’s. “Sit down, kid,” she indicated a divan. Willy sat down and she nestled in the cushions a scant foot from him. For some moments she studied him with dark, brooding eyes. Then, “Tell me what Mike Dogra meant when he said you were framing him.” Willy laid the perfumed cigarette on an ash try, glad for the chance to get rid of it. “That was just a gag. He is the one who killed your swell boy friend.” OLA’S eyes became as hard as ice. “I know he did—the filthy murderer, And I liked that boy more She opened her handbag and showed Willy the butt of a snub-nosed automatic. “I was outside Mike’s place just about to go in and kill him—when I saw you come tumbling out. Then I thought we might be able to help each other— and send him to the chair! But tell me, how do you know he killed Milton?” Willy leaned forward, jaw squared. “T saw him do it!” “What?” she almost screeched the word. Impulsively grasping both of Willy’s wrists, she pulled him close to her. “Kid,” she said hoarsely, “have you got the guts to tell that on a witness stand?” Her fiercely glowing eyes held Willy fascinated. Then the full import of her words struck him like a thun- derbolt of doom, Her asking him to testify in court was impossible. The instant the police laid their hands on him he was as good as burned. He hastily rose from the divan. “Gee, Miss, if you can’t help me any more than that, I better be going fast.” Lola sat bolt upright. “What do you mean, me help you?” “Gee, Miss, you said in the cab that you might be able to help me.” The girl jumped to her feet. “Don’t be a sap, I want to get Mike Dogra— that’s all that matters.” Then she smiled and went around the divan. Laying her hands on Willy’s shoul- ders, she pressed herself elose to him. “T should think you would want- to please me.” Willy freed himself of her embrace. “Gee, Miss, you don’t understand. I can’t go anywhere near a court.” And he told her how Dogra got his fingerprints on the gun, and of his hat -being thrown from the car. For a full minute Lola stood braced as if warding off a physical blow. “Then,’ she cried huskily, “Mike knew I was in that taxi! He wanted me to pick you up and bring you here. He wanted us to be found together. I see it now. Oh, he’s a devil! A filthy devil !”’ Without the slightest warning she fiew at Willy, pushing him toward the door. “Get out, you fool! They'll find us here and accuse us both of killing Milton. They’ll say I had you kill him. Get out! Get out!” Suddenly the door of the apartment was flung open and three men loomed on the threshold. The foremost, a thick-set fellow with a straggly black mustache, held a revolver in his hand. “Quiet down!” he ordered gruffly. “Nobody’s gettin’ outa here.’ He flashed a badge and indicated the man beside him, “We’re from head- quarters.” ILLY crouched in the center of the room like an animal at bay. Even as he judged the distance to the next room, he knew that the gun in the man’s hand would bring him down before he could take two steps. Then (e(o} ~comicbooks,