10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

96 eS] STORY DETECTIVE self onto the bulwark. His keen eyes searched the yard. No one was there. And then, as if to mock him, the voice came once more, “Stay out.” The words had an unearthly qual- ity. They did not seem to come from any definite direction, yet Martin felt that they had been uttered only a few feet away. He looked up. A towering maple tree reared its arms to the sky, but it was leafless and there was no place in its branches a man could hide. Dropping back to the sidewalk, he stood for a moment trying to guess the answer to the riddle. No answer came. A voice—a human voice had simply come out of thin air. Gripping his gun, Martin started toward the gate. If this. was a chal- lenge, he’d see it out. He pulled up short once more as he elimpsed a figure which staggered out of the shadows and into the gate ahead of him. This man walked as if he were drunk. There was something about him which led Martin to be- lieve he was a servant, returning from a night’s revelry. Quickly the detective followed. As he reached the gate and turned in, he heard two crashing shots. Echoes clattered up and down in the blackness. Two livid streaks of flame split the night. Martin tugged trigger, aiming at the flashes. Three times his gun roared. Then he plunged forward, to- ward the spot at which he had shot. A bush was in his path and he stum- bled over it, regained. his balance, and lunged on. Moonlight drifted down through the trees and he saw that the space was clear. Only maple leaves littered the ground. There was no sign of any. killer. Barely halting at the spot, he ran _on for fifty yards, but still there was no one to be seen, Puzzled, Martm returned, and looked around on the ground. No visi- ble trace remained of any assailant. Grimly he set his teeth and wished for a flesh-and-blood target. This will-o’-the-wisp fighting in the dark- ness did not suit him. The gunman, like the voice, had simply vanished. With a shrug, the detective started back to the path which led to the side door of the house, Even before he saw that huddled form, the thought struck him that the killer, whoever he was, must have mistaken the servant for him, The body lay in the middle of the path. It had pitched forward on its face. It was perfectly still, and in such an unnatural position that Hoke Martin sensed the man was dead. He turned the limp form over on its back. Two holes gaped in the breast. The servant—if he was a servant, and closer inspection strengthened Martin’s guess—was thin, with pale skin and a reddish nose. Probably had been passing the eve- ning in some drinking place, Martin guessed. Keeping his gun in his right fist, the detective managed to lift the body by one arm and get it across a shoul- der. It was difficult, keeping his gun hand free for instant shooting if nec- essary, but he made it. Then, with the head and arms of the dead man dangling over his back and with the legs hanging in front of him, Martin strode up the path to the house. He made a curiously sinister figure in the ghostly moonlight. His hat was askew, and a shock of his red hair protruded, A DIM light revealed a porte cochére. Hoke Martin stalked under it, up three steps, and onto a porch. Suddenly he halted, every nerve in his lithe frame on fire. There, before the door, towering in his path, was a blond giant who point- ed a gun. He was at least six and a half feet tall. His stolid face was broad and flat but his eyes gave it a certain cunning intelligence. For a moment they faced each other Eomichbooks com