10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

KILLER OF THE CRAGLAND ner of his passing held stark terror. He had been struck down behind locked doors, doors that he thought secured him from all intrusion. There were no windows in the room. Steele leaned over and felt for a pulse that would never beat again, then straightened and shook his head. MacFarlane’s lips drew tight as he turned away. Robert Speer crowded past the ranger and made straight for an open wall safe. Mack arlane shot him a single narrowed glance, then turned his attention to the room. An ornate mantelpiece took up a large part of one wall. Above that mantelpiece, as indeed on practically every bit of available wall space, an- cient and modern weapons offered the only ornamentation. The dull gleam of an old mace vied with the nickeled glitter of a new hunting knife. No particular period or nationality was represented, the different objects hav- ing the appearance of being collected at random by someone who cared little for discriminate value. Near a large radio, a floor lamp had been overturned. Otherwise there was no sign that would indicate any kind of struggle. MacFarlane eyed the lamp closely for a brief moment, then looked at the radio. The pilot light of that radio was burning, but no sound came from the instrument. Steele, too, was examining the room thoroughly. Suddenly he picked up something that lay beneath a table, and started to pocket it with a most stealthy gesture, Bony fingers clamped about his wrist. MacFarlane’s voice spoke quietly for his ear alone. “Steady, boy,” the ranger warned. “You'll not help matters by holding out evidence. Use your eyes. See that knife? Chink, ain’t it? Suppose you go get that woman you got in the car. Maybe we better ask her a couple of questions! And don’t worry, the girl will come clear.” Steele’s hands opened reluctantly. It held a wadded kerchief of lace and linen. An embroidered V marked one corner. —93 A sharp exclamation came from Speer at this moment. “Something missing?” MacFarlane asked. “Yes, there’s something missing!’ Speer rasped harshly. “The plans of Bushner’s Anti-Aireraft Gun are gone!” He whirled and pointed an ac- cusing finger at Virginia Trace. “Ar- rest that woman!” he shouted. “She’s been trying to get her hands on those plans for weeks! She’s the only one who could get in here. And she did! Look at her! Look at the blood on her sleeve! She’s the one who is respon- sible for this!’ Steele’s eyes blazed. He started across the room toward Speer, but MacFarlane thrust out a restraining arm that had suddenly become a thing of steel and whipcord muscle. “Ym handling this!” the ranger snapped savagely. “Hawkins, you call the sheriff. Speer, you keep quiet un- til I ask for your opinion! There’s murder been done here, and we’re go- ing to get to th’ bottom of it before the coroner gets here!” Somehow, the lanky ranger no long- er seemed the least bit awkward or uncouth, Even his uniform suddenly appeared to fit his bony frame with almost tailored neatness. He was now every inch the alert, efficient officer. NCE under way, the investiga- tion of Bushner’s murder pro- ceeded with smoothness and dispatch. The occupants of the house were gath- ered in a single large room. Each eyed the other with uneasy suspicion, and MacFarlane left them alone, satisfied that their mutual distrust would serve as efficiently as an armed guard. Steele accompanied him back to Bush- ner’s study. MacFarlane regarded the younger man with sympathetic eyes. “Tough break, boy,’ he commented under- standingly. “You know Miss Trace pretty well, don’t you?” Steele shifted uncomfortably. “We were engaged once,” he confessed mis- Gomichbooksscom,