10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

JAILBIRD JUSTICE—————————————59 up a big camera. The revolver was brought in, carried gingerly by a pen- cil thrust into the barrel. Jeanne grasped Gore’s sleeve and drew him down beside her. Her lovely face was pale as wax but her tears had stopped. “Are you sure Leslie did it?’ she asked. Gore avoided a direct answer. “It looks bad for him.” “T’m not,” she told him. “I don’t know why—maybe it’s intuition or maybe I just don’t want to think he did it. Leslie was weak and dishonest, but he was never the type to kill a man, especially his own father. Even if he’d wanted to, he’d have known he couldn’t get away with it.” He patted her hand. His own feel- ings were too mixed for him to know certainly whether he agreed with her, but he had to admit there was reason in what she said. Young Madden had slumped into a chair by the closed windows, his face buried in his hands, his whole appear- ance wretched and abject. A cop hovered close to him, watchfully. The fingerprint man straightened from his litter of paraphernalia, very self-satisfied. “Leslie Madden’s fingerprints are on the gun,” he announced. “No one else’s.” Link chuckled. ‘‘There’s no ques- tion but what it’s the right gun, Same caliber—” The sergeant stopped speaking, startled into momentary paralysis. Everyone in the room was shocked for an instant, unable to move, by the furious reaction of Madden. He sprang erect, eyes blazing madly with desperation. His voice was a nerve-tearing shriek. “Damn you, I won't burn! I won't go back to prison!” He spun and leaped at the nearest window, elbows upraised. His body struck the heavy glass, shattering it. Gore acted more swiftly than the others, snatching his pistol from its clip and aiming it. For a fractional second the sights rested upon Mad-. den’s figure. Then Jeanne tugged at Gore’s arm, pulling it downward, while the fugi- tive dropped into the night. They could hear the thud of his feet strik- ing the earth. There was a bedlam of shouts. Flashlights raked white fingers over the lawal. Cops sprinted for the door- way and crowded the windows. Two or three guns barked. Jeanne said: ‘I couldn’t let you do it, Pete. I couldn’t.” He smiled thinly. “It’s just as well.” Link returned to the study, his face beaded with sweat and purpled with anger. He glowered balefully. “Gone,” he rumbled. “You could of plugged him, Gore. You could of chased him. Damned if I don’t think you're glad.” The investigator’s smile bright- ened. “Why, sergeant!” he said. “I was sure I heard you say you had everything under control.” ALKING with Gore and Jeanne Madden outside the house, Den- ning waved an arm, indicating the thick bushes and hedges and the edge of the woods at the rear. “The cops think Les tried for dis- tance,’ Denning said, “but he’d have been a fool to do it. The smart thing would be to hide somewhere and wait for a chance to sneak out. A hundred men could hunt all night and not find him here.” Gore grunted. “That goes. for Spain, too. If he hadn’t finished his business with Madden when you seared him, he’d hang around. Any- way, I doubt if he had time to get clear before you called the cops. His best bet would be to sit still.” “Let’s look for Leslie,” Jeanne pleaded. “If the police find him, he’ll fight again and they’ll kill him. May- be if we treat him like a human be ing—don’t condemn him without a hearing—he’ll help us to learn the truth.” Gomicvookssxeom