10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

92-—________—____—-10-STORY DETECTIVE “Oh, heavens, don’t stand here talk- ing.” Virginia Trace interrupted, and there was a trace of hysteria in her voice. “Something terrible has hap- pened to Mr. Bushner!” She turned and led the way swiftly down the hall. MacFarlane and Steele had to force their way past a crowding group of frightened and curious servants to reach the door of Bushner’s study. That door was heavy and massive, and evidently secure. MacFarlane gave one swift glance at a dark, unmis- takable stain that was spreading into the hallway, and his voice took on an incisive quality. “Where’s the keys to this door?” he asked sharply. “Who’s the chief flunky around here?” A middle-aged, rather fleshy man stepped forward. He was very digni- fied, very much the proper servant, in spite of the worried expression on his stolid face. “I’m Hawkins, the but- ler, sir,” he announced importantly. “There are no keys to that door, sir. It is secured by magnetic bolts.” “Well, how do you work ’em?” the ranger demanded. “That’s just it, sir,” Hawkins said uneasily. “The bolts are controlled by an electric switch from inside, sir. We would have opened the door otherwise. Do you think Mr. Bushner is—” He hesitated. MacFarlane threw his bony bulk against the hard wood, but it did not even give a trifle. “I’m not thinking,” he snapped, “I’m finding out!” “T seareely think that it is necessary to be so violent about it,” Speer de- clared harshly. ‘Why not ask Miss Trace to slip the bolts for you? I am sure that she is familiar with the mechanism that works the lock, and it can be operated from this hallway!” *“You—you,” Virginia Trace’s voice was choked. “Oh, I know nothing about it! I swear I don’t!’ Robert Speer laughed nastily. “No? Then you are the first of Bushner’s lady friends to be kept out of the se- eret!” His intimation was unmistak- able. Virginia Trace gasped. Roland Steele’s face flushed angrily. He stepped toward Speer, fists clenched. “You dirty-mouthed cur!” he grated through clenched teeth. “I— “Steele!” MacFarlane’s voice cracked like a whip. “Help me smash in this door!” Steele turned reluctantly. Virginia Trace was standing with one hand pressed tight against her breast. She was very pale, and her eyes reflected intense nerve strain. Steele felt a sud- den uneasiness, a chill doubt. Mac- Farlane tapped him on the shoulder. “Watch yourself, son,” the ranger whispered swiftly. “Can’t you see that Speer is tryin’ to pin something on the girl?” e two men threw themselves against the door. It shook but did not give. Hawkins added his weight to the next attempt, and there was the shriek of screws ripping clear of splintering wood, The door tore from its hinges, and the three men stumbled into the dark interior of the room. Just inside the threshold lay a crumpled body. “Lights!” MacFarlane barked. AWKINS’ finger found a button, and the soft brilliance of con- cealed lamps fiashed on. Here and there that light reflected gently from the metal of strange and ancient weapons hung on the walls. Rich rugs littered the polished floor, and the dull shine of well rubbed varnish marked expensive furniture. The room was typically the retreat of an eccentric man to whom money was no object. But no one had a thought for the — room at that moment. Instead, every eye was fixed on that slumped figure near the door. It was clad in a silk lounging robe, yet it was not the ugly stain on that robe, nor the horrible motionlessness of the wearer that brought the shocked gasp from those crowding about the doorway... It was the sight of a carved knife hilt pro- truding from the body. Strangely enough, no one doubted that Bushner was dead, but the man-_ comicbook: s.com :