10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

poor man checked in last night and now he’s dead.” “Who shot him?” Stone demanded as: he hurried in. “Why, he shot himself, Leastwise I think he did. There wasn’t a soul in the room with him.” “This report came in as being a murder.” Stone faced her and watched the woman closely. “Oh, them kids I sent to telephone just heard me say he was dead, and with their wild ideas I suppose they thought it was murder. Come along, officer. Ill show you where he is, And here come some more cops. Glory be, T never saw things happen so fast in 21] my life.” Half a dozen radio patrolmen were ronning up the steps. Stone stopped them at the door. “You won’t be needed, boys. The report came in wrong. It’s suicide— not murder. Get back on your regular beats, One of you call headquarters from a call box and tell ’em to send the coroner.” Stone’s car and driver waited in front of the house while the others sped away. “Take me up,” Stone ordered the woman. - He followed her up squeaking stairs to a dark hallway. She mo- tioned toward a closed door. “One of the boarders is in there with him, officer. I—I don’t want to see the poor lad, He came in last night and paid me a week’s rent in advance, He said he was goin’ to look for a job today.” Stone left her talking. He walked into the room.. A sharp-featured man rose hastily from a chair. “Cripes,” he snorted, “it’s about time you guys showed up. I don’t like being alone with a stiff like this.” Stone walked to the bed and looked down at the dead-man. There was a bullet wound in the side of his head. The body was cold. “He done it early last night,” the roomer explained, “I thought I heard a shot, but, heil, with all the cars backfirin’ an’ everythin’, I didn’t pay much attention. The old lady that runs this dump hollered when she went into the room, so I came in, I ain’t touched nuthin’, Joe Welton’s my name.” “It’s suicide, all right,” Stone com- mented, He saw a cheap nickel-plated revolver lying an inch from the hand of the body. “We'll have to wait for the coroner.” “Sure,” the roomer agreed. “I got nuthin’ to do. The poor guy couldn’t take it, I guess. He was tellin’ me last night he was broke.” Stone glanced about the cheaply furnished room. The shade over the single window was raised high. Di- rectly opposite was another rooming house. Something glittered just a little from one of the windows. He. turned back to the roomer, but his face betrayed nothing of what he had seen. Some one was watching him from the other house through binocu- lars, and Stone also had a momentary glimpse of polished steel. There was a rifle ready for action in that other house, too, A siren howled dismally once. The roomer leaped to his feet. “What's that?” he.asked quickly. Stone shrugged. “It’s only the radio ear Icamein. The driver must have touched the siren accidentally. The coroner ought to be here pretty soon. We'll get this over right away.” But that wail had meant something far more important than that. Stone knew. that a message had come over the radio that the Shotgun Gang had struck again, So far Stone’s plans were working to perfection. Heavy steps and the babbling of the landlady announced the arrival of the coroner. He bustled into the room, glanced at Stone and went to work. Stone led the roomer to the door. “Better not stay here,” he said. “It’s not pleasant. Stick around out- side.” The roomer left, but his steps comicbooks.com —