10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

78—_—————_—_———_——_]0-STORY DETECTIVE Somewhere in the floor lodged the bullet. “Now there’s two missing, you lit- tle squirt, what you gonna do about that, eh? An’ I’ve got a mind to make it three missing by puttin’ one where ill do the most good, only by this time I’m beginning to get a big kick out of you as a murder sleuth. Regu- lar detective hero, aincha? So you find a bullet missing in my gat, eh? So what the hell does that prove? Got 2 body to go with it?” His tone of voice was derisive. Cranfield left the shack with the mocking laughter of the gunman ringing in his ears. STRANGE gathering huddled by the shore the following night. There were leathery-faced sea dogs, villagers, the county sheriff and Cranfield. In the officer’s eyes there was excitement. In the eyes of the others lurked unmistakable signs of distrust. The wind blew strong tonight. The sea raged, sending huge swells pound- ing landwardly. It was the beginning of floodtide, the sight of which is awing under normal circumstances. Tonight it was terrifying in its power for there was a full moon, though dark clouds shut off its light. The sheriff had motioned Crandall away from the gathering. “This is madness,” he said. “You have got us all down here on a wild dream. Where in thunder do you ex- pect to produce the body? Do you suppose you can say ‘hocus-pocus’ and bring it forth? I tell you, Cranfield, this is going to cook your goose un- less—”’ Cranfield’s face was hard. The crowd grew restless. They were standing about a hundred feet from the spot where Cranfield had spied Duke throwing something’ into the sea. Duke Morgan himself came down the beach to the gathering. He searched for Cranfield. “Yer sent fer me. What do yer want?” “I’ve got the motive. I’ve seen the lethal weapon. And now I’m going to produce the corpus delicti,” Cranfield told him, a strained nervousness tinging his voice. “I thought you might want to be in on it.” The man scoffed. ‘‘A fine cop you guys have. He bulldozes you in pull- ing a Barnum like this—and from the looks of it yer are falling hook, line and sinker. Well, come on, the act ‘is on. Produce the corpus.” It sounded grisly, this queer humor of the city dweller with his pasty com- plexion. There was no answer to his words. Cranfield was looking outward to the sea. Slowly all faces peered the same way and talking ceased. RANFIELD’S body was arched forward. His eyes were focussed hard ahead. There was little dalliance in his stance. It was straight ahead. Like the true mariner his course had been charted long ago. Nothing could stop it now. It was enough to give anyone the jitters. Just that alone. But suddenly a cry went up from one of the men. His arm shot forward. It pointed to- ward the sea. Eyes strained to see. “Look ad Cranfield remained calm. He too had seen, The chil] that ran up his back was. uncontrollable. Something rode the combers. A dark object, as yet indistinct. It might be only a sack from a liner. It might be a dead dog. It might be— The sea was relentless. Inch by inch it threw the hulk inwardly. The waves caught it, turned it over and over, and pushed it further to shore. For a moment the moon broke through the dark clouds. A strip of silver light fell on the turbid waters. It caught in its glare the hulk that was coming in awash. A screech came up from the crowd as the waves lifted the hulk and flung 13) Data aha i a (e(e) ~comicbooks Afi 4) iit Wis ; WA 7 RY