10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

“Get up,” he ordered. “Lift your = _ hands and keep them there.” Some one climbed into the cab of = the truck. “Are you all right, cap- tain?” It was a patrolman with a rifle gripped in his hand. “Right enough,” Stone answered. “Keep this man quiet while I use this radio again.” Swiftly Stone adjusted the dials and picked up the microphone. “Captain Stone calling,” he spoke distinctly. “I am no longer in any danger. Those crooks in that theatre = bee? : lobby must have heard their pal giv- ing his orders over the radio. They ean’t hear me talking now. Begin pulling away as though you were fol- lowing out his orders. Let them start ae Se away from the theatre and then close in on them from every side. They know you won’t fire while they are in that lobby. Too many people in there HE radio and riot cars began to back away,. leaving an opening =~ through which the gang could make their escape. Stone, peering through asmaill glass window in the back door Of the truck, watched it all, micro- = phone in hand. The crooks emerged from the theatre lobby slowly, guns ready. They were sure of themselves. “Now,” he spoke into the micro- a. 7 phone, “Puncture every tire. Fill the gas tank full of holes. Stop them. They = won't fight once they see it’s hopeless.” Guns barked grim messages. All three bandit cars swerved over the road. Vainly the drivers tried to right them. Guns protruded from each car. Stone raised the amplification of the radio and spoke again. “Drop those guns. This is Captain Stone speaking. I’m not a prisoner any longer. If your men fire a single-shot, _ Murtha, they’ll be blown off the earth. 7 hands ay - but he shook off its dazing effect and - glammed home blow after blow. Come out of those cars with your a aie - . : : = - e~< > S . ~ “ = * OS in Rm ot ian ae Damen ee fs ee The men in the last ear emerged, hands stretched high above their heads. Murtha was in the first car. A shotgun barked. Instantly the din of a hundred guns split the air. The first car was riddled with lead. Men crawled from it, bleeding and helpless. Only one man stayed behind. It was Murtha. He was dead. Stone opened the back door of the truck and leaped out. Commissioner Halliday ran up to him. “Fine work, captain,” he said, “‘fine work. But for a moment I thought they had us. At first we thought you had gone crazy. But we seon got the trend of your conversation. How in the world did you do it?” -“T was on a pretty spot,” Stone con- fessed, “until that thug told me to tune him in. I turned on every ounce of power this set had, and every whis- per he made went out over the air like a blast of thunder. I knew you’d get wise and ambush this truck. You got the driver just in time.” “And I said you were an office cop,” Halliday berated himself. ‘“You’ve done what all my detectives couldn’t do. We’ve got the entire gang, thanks to you.” Stone mopped his brow. ‘‘Maybe I am an Office cop, but hell, there’s still a thrill left in life, I’ve found that out. Now shoot a car up to Foster Street and pick up the landlady there. She’s one of this mob. The crook O’Keefe shot through the head was brought to her rooming house and left there, pre- sumably a suicide. I was sure they couldn’t get rid of the body quickly and they might pull some stunt like that. They used every means they could think of to draw radio cars away from certain areas when they were ready to strike, so I figured they might use this body of their own pal to do the same thing. “We must get one of these portable radio transmitters,” he went on. “I borrowed this one from the ee scp It's oie volume. 2 Se