10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

28——____—___—__—_——_10-STORY DETECTIVE “It ought to be the next house,” he told Hammond. “But there’s a big limousine just ahead of me.” Hammond leaped out. He could see only a few feet in front of him, but through the mist he could hear a man and woman talking. Once more he recognized the voices. “In another twenty-four hours—” the man began. “S-s-s-sh, Danny—” A door slammed and the black limousine glided into the fog. Paul Hammond lunged after it, but collided with a pedestrian hurrying through the mists. The pedestrian grumbled an oath, and moved on his way. The race was lost. NCE more Hammond was alone, but the blood tingled through his veins as he realized that he was close to a discovery that might prove the climax of his case. He groped through the fog until he had found the warehouse. He went to the door, where a man answered his knock. “Inspector from the Building De- partment,” Hammond told him. ‘Have you a permit for this work?” The man grinned, and took an of- ficial-looking envelope from his pocket. “There you are,” he said. Hammond scanned the permit. It was issued in the name of Chester Harolds for the installation of new lighting fixtures. “May I inspect the work?” “Certainly. Right this way.” Harolds led the way in. Workmen were engaged in installing fixtures. The work was innocent—almost too innocent, Hammond reflected, but he could find no flaw in it. “Okay. Sorry to have bothered you,” he finally told Harolds. “Oh, that’s all right. Drop in any time. Glad to see the city inspectors. Have a cigar.” = Paul Hammond returned to the street and inspected the houses near the warehouse. Two doors down, an excited maid answered his summons -— — — an ae? Sasa : = pe ee ee le oe ee ee eee x and peered through a crack in the door when he announced himself as an inspector for the San Francisco Building Department. “‘Who’s there, Mathilda?’ a wom- an’s voice asked, as the servant stam- mered that no work was being done. “City inspector, Miss Langwell. He wants to—” Paul Hammond shoved his foot into the partially opened door. His hand slid to the automatic pistol he carried in an under-arm holster. He trans- ferred it to a side pocket with a sin- gle flashing movement, Bette Lang- well lived there! He had found what he was looking for, after all. The most dangerous woman in the world was not at the Hamilton Hotel, as she had told the police. “T should like to see your mistress,” Hammond told the maid. “She’s not well. She isn’t seeing anybody,” the woman quavered. “She’ll see me,” the man said stub- bornly. “Please tell her that Mr. Paul Hammond would like to talk to her.” “Then let me close the door, sir. This draft—” ~“Pm keeping it open,” Hammond broke in. The maid retired in confusion. He could hear her speaking in a high- pitched voice. There was a moment of silence, and then the door was thrown open. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Ham- mond ?”’ Hammond looked into hazel eyes flecked with gold. Curls of tawny shade half-circled the woman’s neck. “I’m sorry, Miss Langwell, but— really I haven’t had an opportunity to thank you for your kindness be- fore.”’ “Please don’t mention it.” Her smile widened. “And what was it you wanted to see me about?” “T think you know that,” he par- ried She shook her head. “Which side are you on, Miss Lang- well?’ he asked in a lowered tone. Eomichbooks (c(e)