10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

RETURN FROM HELL—————71 another lick. He’ll be coming around soon.” “Oke,” said another hoodlum, the one holding Gardner’s legs. He let Gardner’s feet drop and reached into his overcoat. The man at his head shifted his grip and in that instant Gardner twisted free like a spring uncoiling. He rolled over once, scram- bled up, slipped in the snow and butted “husky voice” in the stomach. The man clutched at him as they went down in a tangle. Gardner went on over in a somersault; was on his feet before the other two could grab him. But his bound arms impeded his movements. Ed, unseen, raced across the snow and bore him down before he could get clear. The others jumped on him with crushing animosity. The blackjack rose—fell. Gardner was dimly conscious of warm air fanning his cheek when he again opened his eyes. Gaseous air. - He promptly closed his eyes to slits and tried to make out in that murky light what was going on. He was stiff and sore and his head throbbed ter- rifically from that last brutal blow on the temple. He thought a rib was broken where some one had kicked him. He lay in the snow. With hands and feet tied he had no chance to run this time. His only chance was to play ‘possum. He listened, fighting an almost irresisti- ering metallic noises came from near- by, noises whose import he did not at once grasp. But a vague terror gripped him. Cautiously, he rolled over a little and began working with desperate frenzy at his bonds. “Hurry it up, you birds,” Husky Voice growled, just above him. “That fresh stuff is coming.” “Ab-h, keep your shirt on! This stuff is hard digging,” snarled a man whose voice was also vaguely familiar. This concrete was soft at five.” Then Gardner knew, and his blood ran like ice water. They were digging out the top of the cupola foundation. Into that hole they would thrust him and cover him with fresh concrete! A cold sweat leaped to his forehead. A hand prodded him suddenly, shook him. He forced himself to lie limply. “Like a rag,” said husky voice. A truck chugged up, swung around and backed up. “Ain’t yuh guys ready yet,” asked the driver with an oath. “Shut up,” said Husky Voice. “All right men, grab him!” “Drive a pick into his brain first,. boss!’ said the deep-voiced man. A hateful pause followed, a rustling of clothes as some one bent over him, ~ Gardner almost yelled. “Hm-m .... Blood would show,” the boss decided. “Dump the meddling fool in. He can’t get away. If the conerete doesn’t smother him, the gas’'ll get im!” Gardner lay in an agony of inde- cision. They had probably killed or stunned Old Jonas. There would be no one else in this deserted area. In desperation he tried to plan. Even if that slimy mass of concrete did not suffocate him, these murderers would replace the tarp. Jf he got his head above the concrete, he would breathe in that deadly coke gas. He would die as had young Thorpe! — Only a superhuman effort of will about three feet deep. He slumped to his knees, listening to the wood ramp protesting under the weight of the truck. The worm gear whined as the truck body came up. Ata faint thump, Gardner-cautious- ly twisted his head. He could see the lower part of a man’s overalls on the edge of the form. His flesh crawled in momentary expectation of the mur- derous pick. It was an anxious mo- ment. The man gave.a jeering laugh. “All right, Mister Inspector. There's - plenty of cement in this batch to suit even you. You won’t kick about this foundation !” His laughter was lost in the sud- den slump of conerete. It flattened