10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

DISASTER SNARE and Hart knew that she must be dead, “She jumped,” said the sergeant hoarsely. “She got so scared she bumped herself off. She shouldn’t have been left alone.” Hart turned away from the win- dow. “Where does that door lead?” he asked, pointing across the room. Then, without waiting for an an- swer, he strode forward and flung the door open. He found himself in the corridor again. Just as he stepped out another door down the hall opened, He’looked into the eyes of a tall, somber-faced man; aman with thin lips, a hawkish nose and features that held a bizarre mixture of power and cruelty. Hart had the feeling that the man had started to step back, then shown himself when he realized he’d been seen, The two girls were coming out into the hall, too. The redhead was sob- bing hysterically, but the platinum blonde was still calm. “It’s only Marko,” she said, seeing the intent look on Hart’s face as he stared at the man down the hall. “Marko?” Hart’s voice was ques- tioning. 3 “Yes—Marko Durer, the magician. A swell guy. I did a disappearing bathing beauty act with him at the New Century last winter.” Hart nodded and went on down the hall. His eyes rested on the tall man speculatively. The magician came for- ward as he reached the stairway. “What’s the trouble?” he asked softly. “Miss Tashman saw the Tarantu- la,” said Hart. “Now she’s fallen out of her window and is down in the street—dead.” He looked sharply at Marko Durer and saw the muscles in the man’s leathery face go taut. “Dead!” The word came like a gasp. “She must be,” Hart said. “It’s three stories to the sidewalk.” ey He turned and ran down the stairs. Sergeant Stix was beside him when he reached the huddled body on the pavement, A policeman, the same one who had helped her out of the square, was bending over her. “She’s finished this time,” he said soberly. “The scare must have got her in the head—made her jump.” Hart bent down and stared at the face of the dead girl. He reached for- ward and brushed a strand of loose hair away from her neck, then he gave a stifled exclamation. “Good heav—look!”’ The others saw what he was star- ing at. Sergeant Stix began cursing hoarsely. On the girl’s white neck, close to her throat, were two terrible wounds, crimson holes where gigantic fangs seemed to have penetrated. “She would have died even if she hadn’t fallen,” said Hart. “This is murder, Stix—the Tarantula has claimed his victim. Better question everybody in the house.” “But how did he get to her room? Some guy’s doing this—but who? And why ?” “You’ve got me, Stix. I feel as if I’d had a shot too many myself. Miss Tashman was three stories up. She was alone only two minutes or so —but there was that door leading into the corridor!” Brakes shrilled as an expensive sports roadster roared around the side of the square and drew up at the curb. The door opened and an excited man stepped out. “What’s this I hear? What’s hap- pened to Faith?” The man came forward, then re- coiled in sudden horror as he saw the figure on the sidewalk. His finely chis- eled but dissipated face went ashen. Hart turned and stared at the new- eomer. “It’s Jack Baron, Jr.,” whispered the cop. “Lives across the square and spends his old man’s dough on radio . and high-stepping dames.” COMMICLOOOKS (C@