10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

4—_—__—_——_—__—__—_——___10.-STORY DETECTIVE in turn led to the notion of running up to the training quarters. Another fifteen minutes of swift easy riding before the wind brought Keating to the gleaming white farm- house. There was a big barn out back to match. House and barn had freshly painted light green roofs. Only the cook was in the house. Keating opened the screen door, and the fat-faced cook, thoughtfully cleaning carrots, managed a turnipy grin, started to say something, then just waved to the barn and sighed. Keating shut the door and turned towards the barn. He rubbed the frown out of his wide, low forehead with massaging fingertips, his clean- shaven tan face turning thoughtful. Though he only sensed it as yet, his extremely short-lived holiday had al- ready thumped to the first clod dropped on its casket. In jumping at the idea of this trip as just an excursion, he hadn’t stopped to reflect that fighters are prima donnas. Jake was sending Plummer into an important fight to- morrow night. This was a bad day for a visit, if the cook’s face was any guide; the cook sure had more on his mind than his biscuits. EATING pushed into the barn and stood watching, unseen, un- noticed. It was no longer a barn, of course; it was a gym, and fitted with everything from a slightly off-center ring to a chinning bar. Light gloves on his hands, Plummer, an ox of a man, was punching the heavy bag as though he had a grudge against it, but not exerting himself, Plummer’s sparring partner was stretched out on the rubbing table, reading a magazine. A colored boy sat moodily in the corner, staring out the window at the blue sky, the slant- ing shaft of sunlight, full of diamond dust motes, just grazing the side of his milk-chocolate face. Apparently the only reason it wasn’t Plummer reading the maga- zine was that Plummer’s brain was troubling him. Keating figured Plum- mer had a thought, and Plummer didn’t like being aware of his brain any more than another man did of his teeth; it meant pain, that’s all. Keating bit his thumb. It was a einch that Jake Frey wasn’t here. Plummer stood there with a scowl that was almost too big for his face. Keating had long ago sized Plummer up as a natural strong-man with a temper that made him a fighting men- ace. The big body was smooth and hard, but training had done the smoothening and hardening. Keating sensed a conflict between Plummer’s inclinations and this perfection. it was written all over Plummer that he’d prefer to put on a little fat, strut his huge physique and poison- ously ugly face about town, demon- strating his dangerous strength for the amusement of his cronies by dashing his immense fist into what- ever face was handy at proper mo- ments. To put it plainly, Keating had an idea the guy was lazy as hell, and wondered if Jake knew it too. Keating’s sole creaked as he adad- vanced towards Plummer. The colored boy jumped into the air. The sparring partner fell off the table with a thud. He tried to roll over to see who it was, attempting in the same movement to conceal the magazine, he was so sure it was Jake. Plummer’s face creased up like a gorilla’s sensing attack. Relaxing, Plummer stepped to the light bag, and started some fancy rat-a-tatting. “Hello, Keating.” Plummer stuck his jaw out and narowed his-eyes on the bag. “Jake send for you?” Keating shook his head. “Well, he shoulda.” Plummer punched viciously with the right, then the left. ““He needs some guy like you, a dick that can find his way around.” Keating had surmised it. Just as a doctor has an eye for patients and a lawyer a nose for clients, Keating was always aware of it when he had COmICMOOOKS (C©@)