10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

PHANTOM LOOTER his spectator friend behind the divan in the study, And then, as the Ghost’s voice faded in a haunting, derisive laugh, Inspector Gilmardy’s reeling senses slipped away in a gorgeous pan- oply of kaleidoscopic colors. HE Gray Ghost had long been gone when Gilmardy emerged from his involuntary trance. He looked about him in a daze. His head felt very light and he still had that whirring feeling in his mind, that feeling that had accompanied his so- journ into oblivion. Then the memory of things came back with a rush as he glimpsed the open safe, and a corner of a white en- velope sticking from its yawning mouth. Mute testimony of the Ghost’s triumphant visit. Gilmardy groaned miserably as he struggled to his feet. He dreaded tell- ing Mrs. Cranther that her jewels were missing. He dreaded reporting failure to his chief at the “Yard,” yet he knew there was nothing else to do. He smiled a bit ruefully as he stag- gered unsteadily on his feet, weaving an uncertain course to the safe. Reaching up, he extracted the envelope and ripped it open as he glimpsed his name on the front. His face took on a suffused glow of anger at what he read. : To Inspector Gilmardy: Many thanks, and with the compli- ments of—The Gray Ghost, There could be no doubt in Gilmar- dy’s mind, for he had received all too many notes upon similar occasions in the past, and each note had been iden- tically worded with the one he now stuffed in his poeket. A souvenir—a souvenir of another bitter failure, and the Gray Ghost was still as elusive as ever. The angry red slowly drained from Gilmardy’s taut features, leaving them grim and white as he hurried into the study to find and release his friend. Inspector Gilmardy pulled the mas- sive divan away from the corner of ee the room, and for an instant he stood there, almost tempted to laugh. Mr. Winston Keith was all doubled up in the corner like a fowl trussed up for the market. On his forehead was a tiny blue lump where he had been hit, and his hands and feet were bound with a running slip-knot in such a manner that even though he had been conscious it would have been some time before he could have accom- plished much in the way of move- ment. All in all, Gilmardy thought, Mr. Keith looked like anything but a suc- cessful amateur criminologist. In fact he looked as though he had been rather roughly manhandled. His . usuaily immaculate clothes were much rumpled and twisted, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Humph,” grunted the inspector. Then he remarked mentally that he would, at least, have the laugh on Keith when that gentleman again started to dwell at length on the proper procedure for catching a criminal. And, with that thought in mind, Gilmardy lifted Keith out of the corner and deposited him on the divan while he released his bonds and chafed his wrists. After forcing a bit of brandy, pro- cured from a liquor cabinet in the library, down Keith’s throat, the in- spector stood back and awaited Keith’s returning senses. A troubled moan escaped the lips of the unconscious man, accompanied by the fluttering of eyelids. Then Keith’s faculties appeared to return to him with a rush. He looked up into the grinning face of his friend, and es- sayed a feeble grin of his own. “IT say, Martyn,’ Keith mumbled thickly, “did you get the beggar? He must have been camped right on my tail. I never even saw him.” Keith struggled to his feet, sway- ing uncertainly and looking at his friend inquiringly. He seemed to sense from the inspector’s look that all did not go well. ECOMMICLOOOKS (C@)