10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

7.4————————_10-STORY DETECTIVE Cranfield felt a chill go through him now as he walked across the ramplike streets headed for the lone-. ly shack occupied by Duke Morgan. His only object for being in the vicin- ity was to see if he could possibly get something on the Duke that would give him a chance to exercise his authority and pitch the parasitic racketeer out of town. He moved away from the boarded ramps and cut across the wind-swept beach, In the gray murk he could see the lonely shack that housed the man called Duke Morgan. Before it lay a tempestuous sea, raging and swelling high preparatory to flood-tide which would be mounting inwardly as soon as night set in. Cranfield’s sharp eyes swept the angry waters as they seethed and tumbled with immeasurable strength. The fascinating sight held him en- tranced as it had many times before. A spark of emotion flickered in his eyes. These waters had been his play- ground ever since he was a kid. In the years since his childhood, he had come to develop that peculiar love for the sea, These waters, fearful as they seemed, were an open book to him. Close relationship had yielded many secrets to him, Suddenly he was shaken out of his moment of reverie. At the edge of the shore, knee-deep in the swirling wa- ters, loomed the figure of a man. Indistinct as the picture was, Cran- field nevertheless saw the figure hurl something into the waters. The officer stood still in his tracks, focussing intently on the dark figure. He saw the figure’s arms fling up- ward; then he saw outlined against the crest of a wave a limp bundle. The water seemed to throw it back to the shore; then the running back- wash sucked it back. In a moment the thundering seas had pulled the object backward into its depths and black- ness. | Cranfield ran across the sand. Something within him made his pulse quicken. He thought he had seen a body thrown into those turbulent wa- . ters. The thunder of the sea was strong now as he came to the edge of the shore. Spray smacked his face, sting- ing it like ice. The figure that had been struggling knee-deep in the surf had ploughed back to the hard sand. He stood there unperturbed, defiant, water dripping from his trouser legs. It was Duke Morgan. “What the hell do you want?” he snarled. ‘““You ten-cent-a-dozen dick.” Cranfield’s jaws clamped hard, The constable whipped his glance to the sea, Nothing but the beating waves was visible. He turned to Duke. “What did you throw into the sea just now?” UKE’S mocking laughter rose high above the pound of the wa- ter. When he finished, he spat: “Garbage, brother, garbage!” With that he wheeled around and began trekking back to his shack. But the officer grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around hard. “The hell you did. I saw you—” Duke’s face twisted evilly. The cruel smirk that had made him a feared piece of humanity clouded his face. The thin lips curled upward wolfishly, In the darkness his eyes held that strange, menacing fire of the tiger. “Listen,” he snarled. “Some of these days you’re going to wake up and find yourself holding a lily in your hand, get me? You scram outta here quick. I’m entitled to my rights as a citizen, ain’t I? I threw a load of gar- bage in the sea instead of letting it hang around the beach. That’s civic pride, mister.” . Cranfield’s blood boiled. The arro- gance of the man had long since irked him beyond endurance, Yet he too realized there was little he could do. Nevertheless he voiced his suspicions. “Duke Morgan, I saw you throw a body into the sea!” : (ele) comicbook