10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

= you go | on the payroll as an uapectic An inspector!” He eyed the young 3 = > fellow outside the window of the con- struction office. “What in hell are you gonna inspect? The job is lousy with the owner’s inspectors and, now, _ Emerson puts on one. He oughta have his head examined, No wonder he loses money.” Jimmy Gardner kicked off an ice- heel from a high-laced boot, and glared at the timekeeper. “Your job is to keep time and pay me my money on Saturdays and let Mr. Emerson hire the men he thinks he needs; fire those he doesn’t. You do your little job, fella, and I'll do mine. What I do on the job is none of your business.” “‘There’s twelve hundred men on this job under me and I make it my business to know what they do.” “Then,” Gardner sneered, inward- ~ ly chuckling at his goat-getting, “this will be the first job I ever saw run by a dumb clerk.” ‘Say-y!.... ¥ou’re too lippy for | your own health, guy!” With this, Drew yanked open the door beside the window and barged out. He was a thick-chested young fellow, a little taller than the detective. His eyes were a hard china blue, eyelashes and eyebrows sandy. “I’m gonna make a good dog outa you right now, fresh gny, I'll show you—” His open hand swung around in - &@ Savage sweep at Gardner’s cheek. But it never got there. Mid-air, his thick wrist was caught in a grip of steel, a twisting yank and he sat - down—hard. With a deep bellow, he scrambled to his feet. Crouched and lunged, fists flying. Gardner’s own hard fist started somewhere near his knees. In the last split second he pulled his arm slightly and his fist grazed along the Drew nose. Blood -_- spurted. “Damn you!” Oblivious to the gory _ stream flowing down his white shirt, the timekeeper rushed in. Men on the = _ near-by job flocked to the scene like Tim pee close behind, came e around the corner of the construction office. They saw the newcomer step lightly aside. His right fist moved up in a blur and exploded under Drew’s chin with an ominous whack. The chief timekeeper went over backward, gave a convulsive kick, and lay still. “Oboy, oboy! Can that fella hit!” exclaimed Tim Egan. “Um-m!” Emerson gripped the victor’s shoul- der. “Come back to my office, Gard- ner.” The operative nodded and accom- panied him in silence around the cor- ner of the shanty. Out of sight, the big fellow halted and_ grinned. “You’ve started something, young fella. Not that Aleck Drew didn’t have it coming to him. He’s a bull-dozer and I’ve itched at times to paste him a couple, myself. Had to keep peace in the family, though, and jobs are mighty scarce these days. He’s old Tom McGann’s nephew.” “Let’s take a little walk over the job,” Gardner said irrelevantly. “You can tell me more of what you want done. I want to see the spot where you found young Thorpe and get your version of what you saw and guessed.” They strode out together. “Since you mention it, I did know that our friend, Drew, was McGann’s nephew. I made him sore on purpose.” “Well,” said the super whimsically, “maybe you have a better drag with the Old Man.” His eyes narrowed. “You with the police, Gardner?” “No, I’m a private investigator.” He explained the circumstances. “Only three beside myself know what I’m here for. And three’s enough.” “Okay. Glad you told me, Jimmy. Maybe I can help. My costs smell to high heaven and I’m being made the goat. What I need is a live assistant to help me watch things. Well, we can go over those things later. Here’s where we found Johnny.” The detective asked a few questions after the super told what he knew, then stared a few seconds into the hole, glanced around at the immediate territory, and turned away. Emerson fi isi 4 Ah