10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

. oe BIG-HOUSE BAIT———_———_8 eS on the locked door. And he knew that -—they could trace him by that bag. a he couldn’t wait. He stepped back out Joe leaned forward, touched the = to the hallway. The street door was driver on the shoulder. ES still open. He paused a brief moment, “Stop!” he yelled. then, as calmly as he could, walked out. The taxi skidded to a stop. The = Just outside he was brought to a driver turned and stared at him. 3 full stop; standing on the sidewalk “What the—” was a uniformed policeman. The pa- trolman eyed him dubiously. “Well,” Joe said, rapidly, “they got him all right.” “Yeah?” said the patrolman. “Sure,” said Joe, lightly. “My pal, Stacker, left me to take care of him. It was a cinch—just a little guy, no bigger than me. They got him now. Sent me down to ask you to come up and help him.” The patrolman ran up the steps to the house, not waiting for Joe. Joe walked away, trying not to appear to be hurrying. He reached the next corner, was just turning it, when he thought he heard a commotion back at the front door of the rooming- house. He was out of sight now. He felt the urge to race away. But he knew that would be difficult. They would be after him at once. | He stopped suddenly. There, at the curb, was a taxi, Joe yanked open the door, jumped in. “Hey,” yelled the driver. “You can’t do that. I got a fare. I’m waiting—”’ “There’s an alley right across the eA i bs OS RON HW Be Hee ML OTHE Ti ACM NT UA Te hice y? Ft indo sh Jabal ata a Kia slid » . i) dough. I’m getting away from a tough guy. You go like hell!” He had pulled his wallet from his pocket, was displaying it. The driver grinned, started the taxi, shot across the street and up the alley. “Don’t stop until I tell you,” Joe shouted at him. Joe was elated. It had been unex- pectedly easy. The taxi was sliding away at top speed, skidding around corners, vanishing completely away Sei from the scene of the murder. Suddenly, Joe sat up taut. His lips went dry. Sweat dampened his fore- head. The handbag! He had left the handbag up there in Stacker’s room 17 ¥ ‘ Pork ray Vv -! in 3 ' igs rats?) ‘ ab BA Wat ali: ed : - street,” Joe cut in. “And I got plenty . “Go back!’ Joe said wearily. “Take me back to where you picked me up!” HE driver muttered his astonish- ment, swung the cab about and headed back. He was taking his time now. “Go fast!” urged Joe. “Fast as you can!” In less than ten minutes from the time he had left, Joe was stepping out of the taxi. He paid the driver, stood on the sidewalk, thinking rapidly. He was thinking of what he had heard Stacker tell Post out there in the cor- ridor—that some one named Carson would call him if there was any trouble. Down on the next corner, away from the rooming house, was a drug store. Joe speeded in that direction, en- tered the store, spoke to the clerk: “Who runs the rooming house down in the next block?” “Mrs. Buzzel,’ the clerk said promptly. “But I don’t think you’d like it there — she’s a crabby old witch.” “Okay,” said Joe. “That’s all I need to know.” — He stepped to the phone booth, thumbed the directory, found the number, dialed it. A lady’s voice an- swered presently, rather irritably. Joe had torn a sheet from the back of the directory, held it over the mouthpiece, lowered his voice. “Let me speak to Stacker,” he said. “And tell him to make it snappy.” “Oh, all right,” said the woman, grudgingly. Joe waited, Soon came the sound of Stacker’s voice: “Hello.” “Carson talking,” said Joe. “Trouble. Come right over.” Sst nn” - — 2 a ae neon ¥. - Roe = : co nN (e @ OS LI aS -- 3 i me . | J J) | [ | i oo < — a eA _ ae ae saree’ Ne i os ae Sere oe . = SS eT Ss Pm a =e eS, eee — =. SS ett le - —— 3 v re aE >