10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

JAILBIRD JUSTICE————————.—__¢3 say something about remembering me in his will. But I was upstairs in my - room when he was killed. You must have heard me calling Leslie just be- fore the shot.” “That’s true,” Gore admitted. ‘‘And Madden’s fingerprints were on the re- volver—” Madden broke in: “Denning and I were alone in the study this afternoon, and he asked me to load dad’s gun. That explains my prints. I kept my mouth shut about it because I couldn’t figure out why there weren’t other prints, too.” “There must be an explanation,” Jeanne said. ROBISON Denning’s tone was heavy with dis- dain. “There would be—if it was true. But Les is just trying to lie his way out of it at my expense. Do you think the cops will believe a jailbird? They won’t be fooled by any fire- works—” “Fireworks!” The ‘exclamation burst involuntarily from Gore’s lips. The sudden illumination in his mind was like a burst of rockets, showing him the significance of clues that had been meaningless, making the whole puzzle clear. He made for Denning ee Set “You’re right. The cops won’t be fooled by fireworks—not any longer, When you killed the judge, the study i a pu | gma Carre Es Sa doors and windows were shut, and you probably had the gun muffled in cloth. Nobody heard the shot. “You see, you overheard Jeanne’s phone conversation with me, and knew I was about due. When you'd killed him, you opened the doors and went upstairs to call Leslie. But first you set a Fourth of July firecracker in the fireplace, with a long fuse attached to it, knowing it would explode just after Leslie had gone into the house. When the firecracker went off, we all thought it was the murder shot. “That shred of red paper on the hearth was a part of the wrapping of the firecracker—” a Ss “You’re dreaming, Gore!” “Madden got to the study just in time to hear the bang and see his father’s body. He knew he’d be blamed. All he could think of was to get away. He ran through the back door. “Meanwhile, you ran downstairs, as anyone would have, and slipped out to take that pot shot at me. Probably you didn’t care whether you hit me or not—the main thing was to have the gun found, with Madden’s finger- prints—” “But not my fingerprints!’ “We'll produce yours, too, when the time comes. You must have wrapped the butt of the revolver in that twisted CONNIE DOOKS. COM ~ 4