10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

PN RPE CS 8 AL ERY thst Rs eee ay COCA NRIC RECA Aen SY ay, “ vee : i 4 y wii’) ~ ; AY PS A Bet hy day AN 4 Pf a) ADU Sa Nai A Wa ab ai ’ HS aa! * » d ti A y ye Pint ODS IM tics a ore SM Oe NOW NA Dao 3 AY a, a ae = Fas ‘He had chosen Pendleton as his victim for very good reasons. First, Pendleton carried a twenty thousand dollar policy with Independent Mu- tual. Second, the beneficiary was Roger Ingham, a man over whom Brockton. had sufficient hold to make him pay off when the time came. And third, Pendleton was an old man, which made him easier to handle when it came to wielding the death blow. The pounding on the door was re- sumed. A woman’s irate voice vi- brated through the thin panel. “Mr. Brockton,” bawled the voice, ‘I’m tellin’ ye to open up. Have done with yer stallin’, man. I know ye’re behind that door.” Brockton’s thin lips curled and his black eyes blazed. He hated her for a snooping witch. She was always prowling through the halls, hawklike beak to the wind for some bit of scan- dal about one of her roomers. Was it possible that she had spied on him when he sneaked into the kitchen a few minutes ago and ex- tracted the cube from the ice tray? He stood rooted to the spot while his brain drove this thought ruthlessly through the sieve of logic. “Just. a minute, Mrs. Forman,” he found himself calling out, amazed at the ease with which he threw a tired, yawning sound into his voice, “T’ll be with you as soon as I a into my pants.” That would hold her for a minute, until he could— A sudden, faint cracking sound drove Brockton to action. He glanced hurriedly at the second hand of his watch, then leaped toward the pile of books and furniture. He’d have to undo that tangle with nimble fingers, for the ice eube had almost melted away. In another few seconds the whole mess would come toppling down and make an awful noise. There was no time to survey the __ cleverness of the arrangement by _ which he oboe not = alibi him- eee ; Re wag 3 SS See TO as << < wee ate ae av y) - a a a "= =. — =" « ‘ al ~ mal * ~~ “1 ee ~~ —= 2 —— — atin a a a self but make cold-blooded murder look as if a tragic accident had over- taken a kindly, monklike old man. The straight-back chair was care- fully balanced on the trunk, one leg extending over the edge, so that the least pressure forward would send it toppling to the floor. A pile of heavy books stood on its seat. The ice cube was resting under the forward edge of the lowest book, thus tilting the pile against the back of the chair. The melting cube had caused the pile of books to lean forward gradually. At the moment Brockton seized them, their center of gravity had moved forward to the point where the chair was already toppling. “Phew!” he muttered. “That was close.” With a few deft movements, he set the room in order. He mussed his hair and twisted one strap of his suspenders. As he pulled open the door to admit Mrs. Forman, he was lazily occupied with straightening the strap over his shoulder. He tried to look sleep-dazed. RS. FORMAN stomped into the room, her eyes darting to right and left, her jaw quivering angrily. “Mr. Brockton,” she stated, eyeing him accusingly, “I think I’ll be ap- plying to your company for insurance on me pantry, that’s what!’ Brockton suddenly felt himself suf- focating. She had seen him go to the refrigerator ! “You forget I’m cashier for a life insurance company, Mrs. Forman,” he was startled to find the words dropping so smoothly from his tongue. “We don’t handle that kind of insurance.” “Ye’re a brazen young man, that y’are,” continued ‘Mrs. Forman, brushing a straggling wisp of lead- gray hair from her eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see ye sneak into the kitchen. And there’s a cold leg of ~ ehicken missing. What have ye done with the hones? Come now, own up, man!” oe The relief of it made rockin