10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

ad ol said. “I saw a guy named Welton _ body don’t go to the morgue. Were - -_ ~ e P oe = - <—. ee meee 10-STORY DETECTIVE- okay. Sure—we even fixed it so the the cops stalled long enough? My gosh, are they dumb! ,.. Yeah? Okay, I’li be right over.” He hung up, walked out of the booth and glanced suspiciously at Stone, but a uniform and drab civilian clothes make a world of difference in the appearance of a man. Welton didn’t recognize the dumb cop who had fallen for his little play. He hailed a taxi and was driven north. Stone followed in another cab. Welton got out far uptown, hurried across the street and strode confident- ly inte a tobacco store. Stone surveyed the neighborhoed. The place into which Weiton had van- ished wasn’t prepossessing. Directly behind it towered an old, abandoned factory. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes of eight. Nine-thirty, he knew, was the deadline for theatre holdups. Usually the box offices were closed soon after that hour. If the - $hotgun mob was planning another holdup, it would happen soon. Stone walked into a store half a block down the street. He entered a phone booth and called headquarters. “Stone, commissioner,” he said when the connection was completed. “Have that truck parked at the curb on Weymouth Street just around the cornér from Logan Avenue. Get it there as quickly as possible. No, I don’t need help yet, but expect to hear from me any time.” He hung up, slid his service re- volver out of its holster and made certain it was ready for action. He walked back to the store into which Welton had vanished. He went in, stepped up to the cigar counter and debated over a purchase. “I’m ready to close up, mister,” the proprietor said. “What’ll it be?” Stone looked up and into a cruel, scarred face that betrayed open sus- __ picion. “Never mind the smokes,” Stone walk in here a couple of minutes ago. I waited for him to come out, but he hasn’t showed up. That guy owes me a hundred bucks. Where'd he go?” “Get outta here,” the proprietor leaned over the counter. “Nobody eame in here and this ain’t no col- lection agency. Beat it!” Stone shrugged. He made as if to turn away, but instead his two hands shot out. He grabbed the proprietor by the throat and yanked him half- way across the counter. Muffled cries came from the bigger man, but Stone’s hands throttled him. He drew back his fist, aimed the blow and sent it home to the chin. The proprietor went limp. “There was no time to tie him up. Stone eased him gently behind the counter. He drew his gun and went carefully into the back room. It was dusty and barren. To his left he spot- ted the ring handle of a trapdoor. Gently he raised it and, using his flashlight, he saw a dozen steps lead- ing downward. The earthy smell of an underground tunnel greeted him. Grimly Stone went down the steps, making little noise. HE passage was small and he had to double himself up in order to creep along. It curved, and when he passed around the bend, he could see a closed door. Every nerve tensed and ready, he crawled to the door and pressed his ear against the panel. There were voices within and they came plainly to him. “Are you sure you wasn’t trailed, Welton?” some one asked. “Naw! I was careful, and those dumb cops wouldn’t think of tailing me, anyway. Say, the old dame at the boarding house wants five hundred bueks above the funeral expenses. We better give it to her quick before she opens her lip.” | “Tf she does, she’ll taste the insides of a shotgun,” the first voice prom- ised. “But five hundred is cheap.” “Sure it is,” Welton agreed. “We ee - » = a ax en = ae ptt Oe ee a on : ie gee ie - —- * “ = tial _— : ae a et a eR ee? —— en a eS ee et a 2 . . S. pea ; ae oa eo > = = es ties ae