10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 86: what you’re looking at

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

eee “See what I found!” said Stacker. “Who the hell is he?’ asked Post. Stacker laughed. “Why, he’s the punk that drilled poor old Slausen!” Joe was still silent. He noted that this Stacker knew the murdered man —noted it vaguely, still driven by the thought that he had to get away, some- how. “T didn’t kill anyone!” he said sud- denly. Stacker laughed again. ‘Post,’ he said, sharply, “you frisk this lug!” Post, a short, strongly-built man with a block for a head, approached Joe carefully, ran a hand over him. “He ain’t got a thing,” he said finally. “Not a thing that looks like a gat.” He grinned at Joe. “Guess he only had one on him,” said Stacker. “That’s the one he used on Slausen—and he threw that down on the sidewalk.’ He was looking at Post queerly. “You hang onto him, Post. I’ll go get the law!” Joe looked anxious. “But I tell you—” . “Aw, shut up!” Post pushed him back, and he sud- denly sat on the edge of the bed. Stacker looked at him once more, in his queer way, then turned and went out. Joe could hear him hurrying along the corridor, then down the stairs. Post was standing over him. Joe could see that he was very powerful, in spite of his shortness. Post grinned. “You look like a hell of a killer to me,” he said. “Still you never can tell by a guy’s looks. What did you plug him for?” “I didn’t,” said Joe. “I—I just happened to be around when it hap- pened.” “Yeah? Then why did you beat it?” Joe couldn’t answer that. It was be- cause of Mary. It came to him again, with sudden force, that he had to get away. But Stacker would be back soon—in a minute or two—with the cops. Instinctively, he started to his feet. Post. pushed him in the face, forced him down again. Joe looked up at the 10-STORY DETECTIVE man. There was no question that Post was much stronger than he. But Joe was quick—very quick. “I climbed in a back window,” he announced, suddenly. “Yeah?” said Post, not very much interested. “And I hurt my foot,” Joe went on. He bent down quickly, as if to rub his foot. His hands reached out, caught Post by the ankles. He jerked sharply. — spun in the air, crashed to the oor. Joe snatched the clothes off the bed, flung them over Post — sheets and blankets. He was on his feet now, took the table and pushed it over on Post, now struggling in the bedding. Joe ran for the door, slipped the key out of the lock on the inside, stepped out to the corridor just as Post was emerging from the bedding. Joe slammed the door shut and locked it, while inside Post was roaring like a bull. Joe ran down the corridor, skipped down the stairs, light feet hitting the steps softly, reached the main floor hallway. He had almost reached the front door, which was partly open, when he heard steps and voices on the sidewalk outside. Just beside him, to the left, was an open doorway. The room inside was lighted—one standing lamp. Instant- ly, Joe guessed that this was the land- lady’s room, that perhaps she had gone out to get the police with Stacker. He stepped into the room, stood be- hind the door. The front door was being pushed open. He could hear Stacker’s voice, talking to the others: “I got a pal of mine watching him.” Then a woman’s voice—probably, Joe thought, the landlady’s — said: “The nerve of the fellow, coming up into my place like that!” HEY all hurried past the open door, then up the stairs. There was a terrific clatter from upstairs. Joe knew that was Post hammering Almost before Post hit=the floor, ~comicbooks.com — ee