10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

8 However, there was one thing Grubb did not know. Snapper Lund was a double-crosser. FLASH of lightning lighted up the street. The rain was still falling in sheets. Snapper Lund leaped out of the doorway when darkness again enveloped everything. Above the fury of the storm sound- ed a steely voice. “Stop where you are, you—” A gun boomed. The bullet whined close to Snapper Lund’s head and pinged off a lamp post. Snapper whirled, a gun in his fist. Lightning flashed again. Bathed in its glare was a man in the gray uniform of a pro- tective association. He was crouched against the side of the building the robbers had left. Snapper fired. The man jerked, crumpled onto the wet concrete and lay still. “Damn you!” Grubb ripped out. “Shut your trap an’ run, Grubb,” the murderer lashed out. “Once we grab that ear nothin’ stops us.” He threw the gun he had fired into an ashean standing at the curb. The two men dashed into the alley, leaped into the car waiting for them. The ear tore out into the street a block away from where the policeman lay sprawled. The gray-clad man pulled himself to his hands and knees. His eyes, dim- ming, just made out the rear of the car as it swung out of the alley and raced down the street. He swung his gun up, fired until his fingers became nerveless. On the other side of town Snapper Lund drove the car into a small gal- vanized-iron garage in the rear of the house where he kept his quarters. He got out and shut the garage doors. : “We stay here, Grubb,” he began. “T got it all fig@ered out. I got another set of license plates to put on this bus.” “Tt’s a good thing you have, Snap- per,” growled the safe-cracker. “That cop was shootin’ at us when we got out 10-STORY DETECTIVE of the alley. If he seen them plates we got on—” “We stay here for an hour or so,” Lund said. “Like I planned. Then we head for the main highway to Brans- ford. This bus is black. In a night like this nobody could be sure whether it was blue or not, see? We stay hid out in Bransford in some hick farmhouse that takes tourists until the next morn- in’. Then we start for Chi, grab a rat- tler there and head for the Coast, may- be South America.” Snapper Lund laughed icily and reached into the back seat of the ear. He drew out a bottle. “Have a drink, Grubb,” he said. “You said it!” grinned his compan- ion and tipped the bottle to his lips. Snapper said, “Put it down on the runnin’ board. Ili take a hooker in a minute. I want to git a look at that dough.” “Seventy grand, huh?” breathed Grubb, eyes glistening. ‘Thirty-five grand split. What a haul!” “Yeah,” Snapper gritted. “Sure.” He ripped open the canvas bag and pulled out a big bunch of bills. ‘““Ain’t new stuff neither,” he declared. “‘Can’t betraced. Have another drink, Grubb.” Despite their comparative security Grubb seemed shaken. Time lagged. Finally Grubb clutched at the bottle and gulped more fiery liquor. “If you killed that copper,” he said, passing a hand over his eyes. “Boy, that stuff’s got a kick!” Losin’ your nerve, Grubb?” “Huh?” Grubb retorted. “I-I-ll show you, Snapper! Losin’ my—nerve— huh? For thirty-five grand—” Snapper Lund laughed mockingly as Grubb’s head dropped suddenly. The man straightened with an effort, looked at Lund dully. In the leaden hue of his deep-set eyes was a suspi- cious gleam. “Y-you rat!” he screamed. “That whisky — you —” His head dropped, Chin on his chest, he tried to grope for Lund. From a long distance away, it seemed to Grubb, came Lund’s taunting voice; Eomichooks.com