10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

Nee a ee tion him. Beat it down there, go in the back way—the doc will be looking for you—and pick that bird up. Let the doce dress the wound if he thinks it’s necessary, and then bring him back here. I’ve just got a hunch he’s the bird that was shot at the jewelry store break.” Gerry Evans nodded and hastened for the car that was waiting at the curb. He gave his orders to the driver with an added word to step on it, and in ten minutes the car pulled up to the curb just south of Dr. Lasher’s of- fice. Evans vaulted out of the car, skirted the outside of Lasher’s of- fice and made his way into the back yard. Dr. Lasher had his office in his home. There was a side entrance for his patients and a rear exit. It was at this rear door that Evans saw the doctor. He was clad in a regulation labora- tory cloak and he was plainly nerv- ous. “You—are the police?” he whis- pered. “Yes,” Gerry answered. “Is he still inside?” . 3 “He is there. I shall call him into my office now and when he comes the rest is up to you.” | Gerry entered the elaborately fur- nished office. He looked about inquir- ingly at the two doors in the room. “He is out there,” Lasher told him and indicated the further door. “He thinks I have a patient in here now. Shall I call him?” “Go ahead,” Gerry said and he took up a position where the opening door would conceal him. His right hand was tightened about the butt of his gun. Dr. Lasher opened the door hesi- tatingly and stuck his head into the waiting room. “All right,” he called. Gerry stiff- ened, his gun was half drawn and he held his breath. MINUTE passed and he heard nothing more. He could see the doctor gazing into the waiting room SLAUGHTER EPIDEMIC--—_———————————_77 and then he heard a grunt. He stepped from his hiding place, gun in hand now, and stepped into the other room. The doctor was bent over a man who sat stiffly in the center of a bench that formed part of the doctor’s wait- ing room furniture. A smoking ciga- rette dangled from between his fin- gers and Gerry could smell the odor of singed flesh. He stepped to the doc- tor’s side. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did he pass out?” “J—I don’t know,” Lasher gulped. “Something has happened to him. Wait!” He ran an expert hand beneath the man’s shirt. An instant he held it there and when he removed it, he ut- tered an exclamation. He held the hand so that Gerry could see the crim- son that stained it. “This man is dead,” Lasher told him in a strained voice. ‘‘He—he has been stabbed—somehow.” But Gerry hadn’t waited for the words. His keen eyes had observed the strange position of the body. It flashed through his mind instantly that dead men do not sit in a sagging position. Something held this man up. It took Gerry a second to find it. Dr. Lasher’s bench was of wood. Its back was composed of carved pieces set about two inches apart. Through one of these spaces the handle of a knife gleamed dully. “Look!” The detective said. ‘‘He was stabbed through the back and the knife is holding the body up. Makes him look as if he was asleep or sick. How long has he been here?” “About,” Lasher consulted his wrist watch, “half an hour. I tele- phoned you just after he came in.” “Were any other patients in the room with him?” Gerry persisted. “Why, yes, Mrs. Fisher was there, and a man whose name I don’t know. It was his first visit.” “Don’t know him, eh?” Gerry said. “Is he coming again?” “Why, no,” Lasher seemed to be thinking. “As a matter of fact there EOMMIE OOOKS . COM