10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

=. - MURDER 1 —— ton. Who said there was no such thing as a perfect murder? He looked up, addressed Ingham: “You’ve known Pendleton just eleven years, is that right?” Ingham started out of his reverie, blinked. “Eh? What’s that?’ Breckton repeated his question. Ingham’s brow clouded darkly. ‘Damn you!” he cried. “Do you think I’m going to help you fill in death- loss papers at a time like this? Why, Pen and I have been—” His voice broke suddenly. He recovered him- self and stared queerly at Brockton. “Why—why, if you hadn’t been right here in this room when we heard that noise, I’d almost think you—” Brockton sneered. “Well, I was right here, as it happens. And as far as these papers are concerned, you forget I’m a representative of the in- surance company. I was going to use these papers for Mrs. Denton’s death claim, but I’m doing you the favor of using them for Pendleton. You see, I want—” he lowered his voice— “to get quick action up in the claim department.” He did not add that he was momentarily expecting a visit from the home office auditor and wanted to cover his shortage. as quickly as possible, There was a slight sound at the doorway. Doctor Blake came in, “What have we here?” he inquired. Brockton looked down at the pa- pers, selected one of them and handed it to the doctor. “This is your end of it, doetor. The attending physician’s certificate. As soon as you fill this paper out we’ll have all the papers necessary for my company except the transcript of death. That is, the pho- tostatic copy of the county bureau of vital statisties.” Doctor Blake took the paper without a word, looked it over care- fully. “Pardon me, I want to get my fountain pen.” He stepped eut into the hall, returning in a moment. Brockton notieed that his pocket bulged slightly, but thought nothing of it beyond assuming that the doc- tor had carelessly shoved his stetho- scope into it. “Transcript of death, I believe you said?” Doctor Blake had taken up a position seme ten feet from where Broekton sat, He held up the paper Brockton had given him. He eon- tinued quietly, “I think you’re mis- taken, Brockton. Transcript of murder would be more like it.” Chill fingers of fear poked around Brockton’s heart. Had Blake found out something after all? For breath- less seconds he stared at Blake. Then his alert bram. drove the panic from his mind. His fingers, clutching the papers in front of him, quiekly re- laxed. This canny old doctor imagined himself a sleuth. He was testing some fool theory. But he wasn’t catching Broekton in any hasty admission. For Brockton knew he had a perfect alibi. “In other words,” continued Blake, “this is a case for the police.’ “What the devil are you driving at, Blake?’ inquired Ingham. “If this is a joke, I'd say it’s in mighty poor taste.” “Blake would like to imagine him- self a detective,” suggested Brockton, grinning derisively, ‘““He’s rambling on now, to hear himself talk.” OCTOR BLAKE waved the pa- per in his hand. “Pendleton was murdered,” he stated. “T’ll tell you how. The murderer placed an ice cube in a strategic position, so that it would topple furniture te make a noise, fixing the time of the murder at the moment when the murderer was safely alibied.” He pointed a steady finger at Brockton. “You killed Pendleton!” Ingham sprang up. “Breckton! You did kill him, after all!” Brockton snarled, half rose. ““Non- sense! Blake hasn’t a thing on me. Can’t you see, he’s worked out some fool schente and is bluffing us both along.” Blake continued, unruffied: “You made one mistake, Brockton, when you worked in the dark. The dark- ae Are ey bo Lae py ni ot : VA RELVE SE AY A REY ee “comicbooks.com