10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

7-_-eo-roro- HIEF of Detectives Egan snort- ed. “But damme, Biff, we can’t go butting into cases like that!’ “Veh, but she was framed, chief.” “How do you know she was framed? How do you know she isn’t stringing you?” Biff looked at his chief in a mildly reproachful way. “You know Patty O’Reilly, don’t you?” he asked. “Yes,” Egan admitted, and it be- came promptly evident that he also _ knew Patty was not the sort who’d lie about things. He swore. Then: “But who’d want to frame her, Biff? Why, that little kid hasn’t got an enemy in the world!” “Maybe Sirro got her framed. so he could get her out of it and show her what a big shot he is,’ Duryea suggested. Egan laughed shortly. “Listen, Biff, those coats were worth over two grand each. Does it sound like Muffy Sirro to blow ten grand away on a kid like Patty? Do you really think he’d swipe those furs and then hand ’em back just to get Patty in bad? That’s pretty dumb rea- soning!” Duryea seratched his head. Then he helped himself to one of Egan’s cigarettes. He said: “I’d like to see what I can see, chief.” Egan swore again. “Sometimes,” he growled. “I don’t know who’s running this office—you or I! Well, there’s nothing else hot I can put you on, so go ahead. But keep low. Mustn’t let the chief of police know you’re kind of checking up on his gang.’ He stopped, went on: “And no strong-arm stuff! No busting into places and socking everybody with your hams of fists! Be gentlemanly! Talk and don’t hit, for a change!” “Swell,” said Duryea doubtfully. “C’by,”’ He took another of Egan’s ciga- rettes which he put in his volumi- ———— RAP FOR A RAT— — 101 nous pocket, ambled through Egan’s door, through the squad room where Marshall and Tinner were playing pinochle, and out into the street. IFF DURYEA was no master de- tective. To the contrary, he was generally credited with being the dumbest dick in captivity. Certainly he was no collar-ad model. Rugged, tall and broad, his clothes ill-fitting, his manner abrupt, his movements awkward, he would hardly be set up as a paragon. But Duryea had a peculiar knack of delivering the goods. Criminals were afraid of him. He was so dumb he never knew when he was licked. More, there wasn’t a crooked tinge in him. He couldn’t be bought. And criminals always fear those they can- not buy. A Main Street car slowed in front of the building. Duryea had just left. He hopped the car, went in and took a seat. He thought: There isn’t a person Patty can turn to for help. Her folks are all dead and all she’s got is a hall bedroom. Funny Crain would think of making her open that bundle. He knows Patty. Why did he think the coats were in the bundle? Somebody took care of him like they took care of Golio. And maybe Egan don’t think Sirro would toss away five fur coats to make a splash with Patty, but he’s the kind of guy who thinks he’s a sheik with the women. And Patty’s one girl who told him where he could head in— He went to the front of the ear, said, “’Lo”’ to the motorman and hopped off. He walked two blocks from Main into the East Side district. Then, slow- ing to a leisurely strolling pace, he approached a fruit stand in the mid- dle of the third block. In front of the stand stood a policeman eating an apple. “Howdy, Duryea,” the officer greet- ed him when he had drawn near. EComicbooks. com