10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

783——____—__—————-10-STORY DETECTIVE wasn’t anything I could do for him. He complained of stomach pains, but I couldn’t diagnose anything without extended observation so I told him to enter a hospital for a few days. He was in my office about five minutes. He came in right after Mrs. Fisher.” “You’d know him again if you saw him?” Gerry wanted to know. “Of course,” Lasher retorted. “A doctor looks at a patient closely, you know. Why? You—you don’t think—” “Who else could have killed him?’ Gerry said. ‘““Now where’s a phone? I’ve got plenty to do.” He left the doctor still examining the body and hurried into the inner office. He called headquarters, gave them a brief outline of what had hap- pened, and asked for help. He replaced the receiver and began to wipe his brow. Suddenly the bark of a heavy gun almost knocked him over. He whipped his own weapon into firing position and waited. “Are you there, doctor?” he called. A groan answered him and then a door slammed. Gerry raced for the waiting room. He saw the white-clad doctor lying in agony on the floor. Blood ran from a wound in his shoul- der. The dead man still sat stiffly, his head hanging so that his chin rested against his chest—a silent witness. “What happened?” Gerry asked as he knelt by the wounded man. “Some—some one, a man—lI think —opened the door while I was mak- ing my examination of—him,” he in- clined his head weakly toward the dead man. “I started to tell the man I couldn’t see him tonight when he suddenly raised a gun and shot me. He aimed for my heart and I moved just in time.” Lasher staggered to his feet. He seated himself in one of the chairs and nodded approvingly while Gerry began to rip away the white coat. The shirt lay beneath and Gerry tore this ruthlessly until he came to the wound. Doctor Lasher paled slightly at the blood and the pain. Then he shook himself. “In my office,” he said, “bottom drawer, there is a bottle of whiskey. Give me—a—little. I—feel—” he end- ed his words as he sagged forward in a faint. Gerry found the bottle and poured a generous quantity down the doc- tor’s throat. He held the bottle to the light a moment and then took a healthy swig himself. Lasher shud- dered as he began to come out of his faint. Gerry could hear the squeal of brakes outside now. He assisted Lash- er to his feet and half carried him into the office. “T—I’ll be all right now,’ Lasher said weakly, “foolish of me to go like that.” Gerry had no time to answer. The house was flooded with men in a mo- ment. Captain Hart strode into the room and sat down heavily. He had seen the body in the waiting room. Now he looked in surprise at the blood-soaked doctor. “Well ” he turned to “What happened ?” Gerry told him. Hart listened, then turned to Lasher. “What did the man with the sup- posed stomach trouble look like?” “He was quite ordinary in appear- ance. He had a slight scar over his left eye, and his nose seemed to have been broken but cleverly repaired. It would take a doctor to notice it. He was about five feet seven and was stocky. His hair, I think, was black. He looked like a foreigner, but he spoke good enough English.” “Mrs. Fisher, the woman that was in your waiting room, could identify him, too?” “T don’t know that, of course. Mrs. Fisher has been one of my patients for years, a sober, serious-minded woman. Very probably she did notice the man.” “Gerry,” Hart ordered, “go up to Mrs. Fisher’s. See how her descrip- tion tallies with Dr. Lasher’s.” | Gerry. Gomichbooks.com