Pulp Fiction, 1939 · page 102 of 116
10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 102: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis: "10-Story Detective" This is a **story prose page** from a pulp detective magazine. The narrative follows Inspector Gilmardy and Keith as they conclude a failed investigation involving a criminal called "the Ghost." After losing their quarry despite an elaborate trap, the frustrated Gilmardy briefs his subordinates Harder and Svenson, then departs with Keith in a car toward London. The page depicts the detectives' disappointment at their inability to capture the elusive criminal, who escaped despite their efforts. The tone is one of resigned frustration mixed with dark humor.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
id ’ ieee growled under his breath. Keith caught some- thing that sounded like anything but a compliment to the Ghost. Then, as briefly as possible, Gilmardy re- counted the happenings since Keith had fallen victim to the superior clev- erness of their intended quarry. There was little enough to tell. All had happened with such dramatic swiftness that it was practically over before it started. Keith managed a rueful smile as the inspector finished the recital. “H’mm, I jolly well owe the beggar a score for tonight’s work, what?” Keith fingered a tiny blue lump on his forehead. Gilmardy only muttered deep in his -throat and strode towards the library door. “I’m going up and break the news to Mrs. Cranther, Keith,” he snapped. “You might get our coats and wait for me in the vestibule.” And with that the inspector disappeared into the darkened hallway. Keith smiled with amusement as he recalled Mrs. Cranther’s appearance when they first arrived. A low chuckle escaped him as he thought of Gil- mardy explaining the Ghost’s success. He did not relish the inspector his “ job. Keith’s train of humorous thought was interrupted by the arrival of his friend. Gilmardy was mopping at his brow with a much needed hand- kerchief, and about his lips was a cer- tain hint of grimness as he greeted Keith shortly. “C’mon,” he growled, “let’s get away from here, We’ve missed him and there’ll be hell to pay at the Yard.” Keith slipped into his burberry and helped Gilmardy into his, then he turned back to the inspector, holding out his hat and stick. “Hold these a moment, Martyn, while I light up.” Keith selected a long, black cigar from his case. Of- fering the inspector one, he lit it and puffed with evident enjoyment, 10-STORY DETECTIVE “Oh, damn the cigar.” Gilmardy snapped irritably as he stamped down the steps with Keith’s hat and stick in his hands. Keith grinned, and hur- ried forward. Retrieving his _ be- longings, he donned them and fell in step with his friend. The two de- feated “Ghost trappers” strode si- lently down the drive—one scowling, the other curiously smiling. ILMARDY paused and blew his police whistle. It was answered by two echoing blasts and a few min- utes later Harder, with Svenson close on his heels, stepped out of the shad- ows of the trees and approached. “Hither of you two see anything ?” queried Gilmardy shortly as _ he scrutinized them with a dubious eye. “No, sir,’ rumbled Svenson, ‘‘noth- ing got by us, eh, Harder?” “Nope,” echoed that worthy, “there wasn’t anything that got by us to- night.” Inspector Gilmardy looked at his two aids witheringly. The Ghost’s words about police dumbness danced tauntingly before his eyes, and he half agreed. At last, however, he spat in disgust and sighed. “No, no, of course not,” he drawled sarcastically, “nothing ever does. Well, the Ghost arrived, accomplished his purpose and departed, and it’s a damn sure thing he didn’t fly away. —Oh, hell.” Inspector Gilmardy was very much disgusted. He turned on his heel and strode away in the direction of the waiting car. “C’mon, Keith, and you two, I’m going to get some sleep if I don’t get anything else.” It was a very silent quartet that climbed into the car a few moments later. The inspector grunted something to the driver and the machine purred smoothly away from the curb. Swing- ing about adroitly, the driver sent it hurtling towards the heart of Lon- don. Not a sound, save the diapasonic roar of the powerful motor, disturbed COMMICLOOOKS (C@)