10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

——— a seventy-five hit him between the _ eyes. Keep that mike down, you. Just give one peep and you get it.” Without lowering the gun an inch Welton squirmed into the back of the truck. “Back up against the side of this bus,” he ordered Stone. “Gimme that mike. I’m gonna tell the cops some- thin’ that’ll make their eyes blink.” “Do you think that will save your murdering sidekicks?” Stone demand- ed. “Go ahead and shoot like the louse you are. You won’t get away, and if I die from the blast of a shotgun, you'll be dragged down a corridor to an electric chair if you live that long.” Welton paled, but he snarled a string of oaths. He lifted the micro- phone. “Ts this thing all set to talk into?” he asked. “Get it going, because it’s your only chance for life, copper.” “T’ll have to change the wave length,” Stone said quietly. ‘We're getting nearer to where the cars are gathering. The sound will be dis- torted.” “Then change it,” the crook snapped, “And be quick about it.” E still held the microphone near his lips. Stone twirled a dial, set the amplifier at its highest frequency and backed up a pace to lift his hands under the threat of that grim shotgun. “T tell you it’s impossible for you to get away with this,” he said loudly. .“Tmpossible, hell!” Welton averted his face from the microphone. “You’re here, ain’t you? I got you covered. We’re gonna park four blocks from where the fireworks are gonna start, and if anythin’ breaks, we can beat it. But you won’t come with us, Stone. We'll leave what’s left of you right here in this phony truck.” Stone wilted a little. “You’re going to drive south on Camden Street?’ he asked. “And park four blocks from the theatre? Hell, man, if there was an ambush of police, they could mow down your driver and kill you, too.” -HOARDER OF ambush. The cops don’t even know we're comin’. Soon as we get there, Pll tell em somethin’ over this radio.” The truck slowed, swerved a little and stopped. The driver turned his head, “We're here—and what an army of cops ahead of us. They’ve closed in on Murtha and the boys.” “Wateh this guy,” the crook or- dered. “I’m gonna go on the air.” The driver raised a shotgun and. rested it on the back of the seat. The other crook laid his weapon down, picked up the mike in both hands and held it-close to his lips. He -began to talk. “Listen, all you guys in radio cars. We got Captain Stone as our prisoner. Either you let that mob walk outta that theatre lobby or Stone gets blown apart. Every damned radio and riot car has gotta pull away and give ’em room to scram. You got two minutes to do it or Stone gets his.” “They won’t believe you.” Stone was perspiring freely, “They'll think you’re bluffing.” “Oh, yeah?” the crook snarled. “Well, you step up to this mike an’ tell ’em I’m not fooling.” Stone bent his head close to the microphone, “It’s true,” he said bitterly. “I’m helpless. There’s one man in back of the truck with me and one other with a shotgun sitting in the front seat.” “Wham !’’ A single shot crashed through the glass window next to the driver. His head jerked aside as if struck by a mighty invisible fist. At the same time Stone lifted a fist from the floor. It eonnected with Welton’s jaw and sent him reeling backward. He reached for his shotgun. Stone kicked it away. He twisted a dial before he leaped for him. In the narrow confines of the truck, the struggle was brief. Stone was a hard and quick hitter. Once he took a smashing fist full in the face, ae - . - . pean ¥ Ag ee * _ 4 ar v | WwW NLL Eboo A. Viti. ee an - ~_e™ << ot “Yeah, but there ain’t gonna be no 2 = Oe 52.