10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

‘ - : \ of'the fools try to get up here, they’ll roast along with you. Sprinkle the gas, boys. We’ve got to get going.” Before they had all departed from the room, Stone was straining at his bonds. He rocked the chair and fell over with it. Grimly, he pushed him- self across the floor. It was a mass of flames, and the fire was greedily clos- ing in on him. Smoke poured out of the windows in which the glass had long since been broken, Stone heard shouts, The fire had been seen. With a blaze such as this would eventually be, almost all radio cars would he called to it. The Shotgun Gang would have an easy time at the theatre. “T must get out of here,” Stone groaned, “I’ve got to.” He was nearing the door. A sheet of flame swept over him, but he could do nothing except keep on pushing himself and the chair toward the door. He reached it. The room behind him was a raging inferno. Beams were al- ready beginning to sag and crackle. — Ten feet before him Stone saw the straight and steep flight of stairs. If he-could only get to those steps! He set his teeth and went on. His hair was singed and there were seared marks on the flesh of his hands, but @ desperate courage showed in the outward thrust of his jaw. E reached the top of the stairs. For a moment he teetered on the edge. It looked like almost certain death to let himself fall down them, but that was better than burning to a crisp on the upper floor. Stone let himself go. The chair struck the first step and shattered. Mingled with the wreckage Stone went hurtling down the steps. Dazed and shaken, he picked himself up at the bottom. He shook off the now loosened ropes, flexed circulation back into his arms and legs and raced down the remaining steps to the first floor. A crowd had already gathered. He plunged through it and ran with all the speed he could muster toward - 4—_______—_—_———10-STORY DETECTIVE— Weymouth Street. Would the truck be there? Stone hardly dared think about it. He darted around the corner, saw the closed truck and headed for it. He climbed into the cab, opened the panel behind the seat and squirmed into the back of the truck. Before him was a small table upon which were set a series of radio tubes and coils. Stone threw a switch, and a small dynamo began to hum. He twisted dials, picked up a microphone and be- gan to speak. “All cars attention. All cars. Cap- tain Stone speaking. Special orders. Disregard the fire alarm on Logan Avenue, Cars sixty-one, seventy and thirty-four, block the north end of Camden Street. Cars thirty-five, twen- ty-nine and sixty-seven, take care of the south end, Cars fifty-five and six, proceed toward the Ambassador The- atre on cross streets. Cars sixteen and twenty, drive due east. Other cars eonverge on the theatre. The Shotgun Gang is holding it up. They are well armed, Take no chances!” “Drop that mike and stick ’em up,” a harsh voice rasped from the front seat of the truck. Stone turned his head slowly and looked into the yawning muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun. Welton’s leering face was behind it. Another man was at the wheel. “Thought you were wise, didn’t you?” he snarled. “Well we're a damned sight smarter than any cop. We stayed behind in the crowd just to be sure you didn’t get away.” Stone said nothing. He still clung to the microphone, but he knew only too well that the instant he raised it, his head would be blown off his shoulders. “Take the wheel of this bus, Mike,” Welton ordered. “Drive like hell to Camden Street and get as close as you ean to the theatre. Maybe those cops have Murtha and the boys blocked, but they won’t stop ’em when they leave, Not unless they want to find their dear Captain Stone lookin’ like P eS ae ee Sos a » 2 “ a... -. - ~~ ~ comicbooks