10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

i We bai\ yA tes ‘ hI ah) SECOND-HAND SUICIDE————————————69 Willy tensed, his fingers bunching into fists— The third man stepped around the detective and came into the room, closing the door. It was Mike Dogra! Immaculate in starched linen and tuxedo, the gang chief leaned back on his silver-topped cane. He smelled the fragile gardenia in his lapel, then smiled at the bewildered girl. “Hello, Lola dear,” his tone was soft and purring. “I met these two men in the elevator. It—er—seems we were both calling on you—dear.”’ Looking at Willy, Dogra pointed his stick. “And who is this strange young man?” Lola’s crafty brain was working swiftly. She rushed up to the first de- tective. “Oh, ’'m so glad you came. This person—” she indicated Willy with a well-feigned look of fright— “he broke in my apartment to rob me! I was telling him to get out just as you came in. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.” A hurt look came into Willy’s eyes. “Ho, ho!” guffawed Martin, the big detective. “So you’re turning on your boy friend now, tryin’ to save your own skin?” Lola’s rouged lips curled contempt- uously. ‘“Boy friend? How the hell do you get that way? He’s a thief in my home, I demand that you arrest him!” Martin, still holding his gun on Willy, drew a pair of handcuffs with his left hand. “‘He’ll get arrested all right—for the murder of Milton Reynolds!” Willy saw the handcuffs and a wave of just fury swept over him. He shook his fist at the gang chief. “You killed that man tonight, Dogra. I saw you do it! You can’t get away with this. I'll tell the jury everything!” Martin snapped the handcuffs on the boy and sheathed his gun. Look- ing over his shoulder, he half grinned. “Of course, you have an alibi, Mister Dogra?” Dogra looked up from smelling his gardenia. “Of course.” Martin gave a satisfied nod. Again he turned to the handcuffed boy. “Now we'll take you down to the sta- tion house and check them finger- prints on the gun.” He snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “And the captain has a nice hat he wants to try on you.” Lola laughed lightly, “And you can book him on an attempted burglary charge, too.” The big detective jerked his thumb toward her evening wrap on the chair. ‘You come along, too, sister.” Lola took a startled step backwards. “You’ve got nothing on me, you flat- footed bum!” That pet name was Martin’s sore spot. He grabbed the gir] roughly, his thick fingers sinking into her soft white arm, “‘Lay off them names, you little twist. We’ve got you good.” Martin motioned for his aide to take charge of Willy. Then with a great flourish he took a package of news- paper clippings and a brass key from his pocket, “See these?” he waved the articles under the girl’s nose, “We found ’em in the kid’s room after tracin’ his hat. Let’s see now, here’s a flock of press notices about the last show you were in. Hmmm. You don’t look so bad wearin’ a string of beads and a smile, Nope, not at all. Can’t blame the kid’s taste nohow.” Then he held up the key. ‘‘And this little trinket just opened your door for us.” Martin replaced the evidence in his pocket. “Naw—you never saw him before, did you, sister? Ho, ho!” Lola was fit to be tied. Her eyes fairly blazed, “It’s a dirty frame-up!”’ she yelled. “You, Dogra—you damn—” “Shut up!” Martin raised his beefy hand as if to clout her in the mouth. Lola shrank back, eyes flaming red hatred. LLY felt his knees grow weak, The steel trap of blind justice was closing in a death clamp. He knew those clippings and key were planted in his room, but he was too DEPT Ny lob lay comicbooks.com Mat Bi) jalat