10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

104———————__———__——-10-STORY DETECTIVE changed somewhat in appearance. And if I’m wrong, I’!] promise to re- tire gracefully from the field and buy Betty and you the handsomest wed- ding gift in—” _ “You’ve been retired from the field already,” snapped the visitor. “And as for this Leoni yarn—you’re crazy.” “Well, an innocent man always calls a bluff. If you prefer to discuss the matter with the police rather than with Betty—” Hewett turned and walked toward the desk. “Stay away from that phone!” Hewett, at the desk, his right hand near the telephone, turned and faced his visitor. The man’s manner was completely changed. His eyes were narrowed, his fists clenched, and his lips thinned and drawn back in an ugly grimace. He had followed Hewett belligerently. “So I am right!” said Hewett. He reached for the telephone. “Well, Val, old boy, here’s where I break up the best-looking team in vaud—” SNARL escaped the visitor. He lashed out his right fist. The blow struck Hewett on the side of the head and caused him to lose his bal- ance and fall heavily to the floor. En- raged, he cried: “Now I can thrash you before turning you over to the cops.” And then something unfortunate happened, something which may have caused the visitor to misinterpret the word “thrash.” In attempting to re- gain his feet, Hewett seized the top of the desk for support. Quite acci- dentally his fingers closed over a leaden paper weight which lay near the desk edge. The visitor cried out, a ery of frenzy and fear. His hand went to his hip pocket. He pointed the gun at Hewett and fired. The bullet caught Hewett in the left temple. He was hurled back as though by a kick and crumpled to the floor again without uttering a sound. For several moments the visitor stood stock still, like a man in a hyp- notice trance. Then a sob burst from him. Frightened by the sound of his own voice, he hastily pocketed his gun and then crept to the door and peered out into the hall. It was not until twenty minutes later that he left Hewett’s room. ... OCTOR ALEXANDER KETTLE ar- rived at Mrs. Steinhard’s Forty- fourth Street boarding house at eleven o’cleck on the morning of February twenty-first. The doctor, a tall, lean man with prominent cheekbones, mild blue eyes, enormous hands and a phleg- matic manner, was a medical exam- iner on the staff of the homicide bureau. “They pay him,” the boys at head- quarters said, “to perform autopsies on corpses, but he frequently performs them on the living and on the crime itself. He is as skillful in dissecting human motives and methods as he is dissecting human bodies.” When Ketile functioned as a detec- tive, he of course did so in an unof- ficial capacity. Officially, Inspector Baldock of the homicide squad re- ceived the newspaper men and the credit. This arrangement was alto- gether satisfactory to the publicity- shy doctor. ‘“Who’s the victim this time?” asked Kettle on entering the Steinhardt house. “Fellow by name of Hewett, Brax- ton Hewett, actor,” said the inspector, who had arrived about an hour and a half earlier, and who had already completed his routine preliminary in- vestigation. “Quite a varied career; started as a song plugger, went into legit and became somewhat of a mati- nee idol and finally drifted into the movies in a small way. Once won a prize contest for the best-dressed Thespian and has written three or four articles on what the gentleman will wear, for magazines. Posed for a clothing ad for a nationally known haberdasher.” “What’s it look like?” “Cinch. Straight case of murder, ~ COPMIEOOOKS (E@