10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

3g3——____—___———-—_10-STORY DETECTIVE————————————_- arrive. Have you had any further word from the kidnapers?”’ “Yes,” said Lindsey, and produced a yellow envelope. “This came half an hour ago. It was delivered by a reguiar messenger. I called the tele- graph company and they said they didn’t know who sent it. It was found on the counter with a dollar bill.” Martin took the envelope, slid a finger under the flap, and unfolded the message. It was Driok, Just the address, and: PHONE AMSTERDAM 2368 ONE TONIGHT: It was not signed. Hoke Martin memorized the number and handed the message back to Lindsey. “That’s something to work on, any- how,” he said. “Give me a few hours and I may find your son.” “You think—” Yes, I think I’ll have him, or know where he is, before dawn. But before { go, I want to ask you a few ques- tions.” “Sure. eager. “Has your son been in any trouble lately?” the detective inquired husk- ily. “Say, over a woman, or anything like that?” ‘“‘No-o,”’ Lindsey answered hesitant- ly. “What does he do?” “Do se “Yes. Does he work?” “He has a position with a radio broadeasting company as a sort of technical assistant, but it doesn’t take up much of his time. He spends most of his time here at the house. There is a laboratory here which he uses for experiments.” Lindsey passed a hand nervously over his forehead. “Where is this laboratory ?” “Tt’s right under this room, in the basement. Do you want to see it?” “No. Is your son engaged to be “married ?”’ “Engaged? Er—no. He goes out with girls now and then, but not with any particular one.” “Good enough,” Martin said, gazing Anything.” Lindsey was speculatively at the body on the floor. “I’m leaving. When the police arrive, stall them off. Tell them you don’t have any idea how your butler could have been shot. It’s a risk—withhold- ing information—and you’ll have to do it on your own responsibility. You'll” “That’s all right,” Lindsey agreed quickly. “I’ll do it. Anything to save my son.” Giving a final glance to the body on the floor, Hoke Martin pushed back a shock of his red hair, donned his hat, and went out. As he hurried down the pathway to the side street, he saw the headlights of the police car coming up the drive- way. CHECK-UP of the telephone number proved that it was a pay booth in an all-night drug store on Hampton Drive. Hoke Martin parked his battered but speedy coupé in front and went in. The only attendant in the store was a thin, sallow man who wore a green eye shade and no coat. His sleeves were rolled half up to his elbows and his vest was unbuttoned. Martin strolled up to the counter, glancing at a clock on the wall. It was 12:30. “What can I do for you?” the clerk said. The way Martin doped it, there were two possibilities. Either the kidnapers would call this store a few minutes before one o’clock and leave another number for the clerk to give to the person who called at one, or they had already provided the second number. If the scheme was to call a minute or two before one, then the detective figured he was out of luck. But if the clerk was already in on it to a cer- tain degree, it might be possible to get the number from him. “Somebody is going to call this store at exactly one o’clock,” Martin Said as an opener. | The clerk frowned with one corner Gomichbooksrecom