10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

46 ART moved close and nodded at the sergeant, whose name was Stix. The girl’s eyelashes were heav- ily mascaraed. Her lips were a vivid erimson against the white oval of her face; but when she opened her eyes there was something wistful and ap- pealing about her. She sat up — clutched at her torn dress. “Don’t *ifnd: us,” said the sergeant. “Just tell us what you saw out there.” “The Tarantula,” she whispered. “T saw its hairy legs and its horrible red eyes. It grabbed at me with its claw. It was the most terrible thing I’ve ever seen—like a nightmare.” The girl shivered and half closed her eyes as though to blot out the memory. “It must have been a nightmare,” said the sergeant pointedly. “What’s your name, miss?” “Faith Tashman. Please take me re the apartment next door—where my © friends are.” The sergeant nodded. Cops held the curious crowd back while he and Hart escorted the girl along the sidewalk and into the next building. As soon as they got inside Hart verified what he had already guessed. The girl was an actress. A couple of other young women crowded around her, asking questions and trying to comfort her. One was a platinum blonde; the other a redhead. Hart could tell by their speech and ultra- sophisticated dress that they were stage people. “Faith and I were in the same troupe before the depression hit,” said the platinum blonde. Hart smiled. He wondered what Faith Tashman’s real name was. The combination sounded too stagey to be genuine. They ascended to the girls’ rooms, and from glimpses he got through half-opened doors Hart judged that the place was a hangout-for down-on- their-luck bohemians. The building was shabby and run-down, contrast- ing sharply with the expensive apart- 10-STORY DETECTIVE ments on the south side of the square. The platinum blonde spoke again. “T’ll make Faith lie down,” she said. “The poor kid’s got the jitters.” Hart watched Miss Tashman being . led away. He saw her pale face and the look of terror that still lingered in her eyes. Whatever had caused it, her shock was real enough. The sergeant began talking to the redhead. “You people who live here must be hitting the bottle to see things like that,” he said. “It'll be snakes next.” He laughed, jollying the red-headed girl along till the platinum blonde made her appearance again. She came out, closed the door quietly behind her and put her fingers to her lips. “I gave Faith a snifter,” she said. “She’s going to take a little nap. She was on her way to a party at Jack Baron’s across the square. But I don’t believe she’ll make it now.” “Well, we'll be going,” said Stix. “Don’t let this Tarantula business frighten you kids. It’s a lotta boloney. Some nut is—” He stopped speaking’ suddenly and leaned forward. A sound echoed through the apartment. The faces of the two girls went white as death. It was another shriek—a shriek of terror. It came from the door through which Faith Tashman had walked a few minutes before. From the room where she was supposedly lying, rest- ing after her scare. The scream end- ed in a choking, inarticulate cry. Phil Hart leaped to the door and threw it wide. The chamber was brightly lighted. There was a small bed with rumpled coverings. The win- dow was wide open—and Faith Tash- man was gone! HE sergeant was close behind him as he thrust his head over the window sill. “Look—there she is!” Hart’s eyes widened with horror as he glimpsed the crumpled form on the sidewalk three stories below. The girl lay there, pitifully sprawled out, COMmMicloooks (C@