10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

DISASTER SNARE TSD erouched and crept forward. A low brick wall separated the roof of the building he was on from the next one. He stared over it and saw the light again. Some one with a small flash in his hand was moving over the roofs along the edge of the square. Hart followed silently, then stopped as the flashlight ceased its flickering and a dim form loomed ahead. He moved to the rear of the roof and crouched down, feeling a prickle of excitement along his spine. Then he drew in his breath sharply. A figure came opposite and was sil- houetted for an instant against the glow coming up from the street. It was Marko Diirer, the magician, prowling along the dark roof, and his right hand was deep in his right coat pocket. What was he up to? Did he suspect some one, or had he some more sin- ister reason for being there? Hart remembered the door leading into the corridor from Miss Tash- man’s room, and the strange look on Marko Diirer’s face as he had come out. He saw Diirer quicken his pace, then disappear through a _ skylight door in the building where he lived. Hart at once left the roof, went down into the street again, and strolled back into the square. His eyes were alert now, his atti- tude tense. In a moment he saw Diirer come out. The man lighted a cigarette, tossed the match away, then crossed the street and entered the square also, following one of the asphalt paths, Hart eased into the shadows near his bench till Diirer had passed. Then ne came out and followed, sticking to the grass plot beside the path, moving silently as a shadow. The magician walked with an air of determination, heading straight across the square toward the south side where the more expensive apart- ments were situated; where Baron had his place. He reached the exact center of the 49 square and stepped into the little open space where a small fountain played. A thick-branched maple made mottled shadows close to the foun- tain. For a moment Diirer’s form blend- ed with these, then he emerged again. But Hart bent forward, every muscle taut, hardly believing his eyes. The shadow behind Diirer seemed to spread; seemed to enlarge and creep forward. Then there came a hideous, choking cry. Hart saw Diirer go down on his face, saw the thing that had seemed a shadow leap upon him, saw a hor- rible; black something lift up and reach down for Diirer’s throat. For a moment the body of the ma- gician was blotted out by the dark- er thing crouching on his back. Hart sprang forward, breath hiss- ing through clenched teeth, his hand reaching for the gun in his armpit holster. The shadow on Diirer’s back twist- ed for an instant. Hart got a sec- ond’s glimpse of two red eyes, bale- ful and devilish in their inhuman in- tensity. Then he saw the horrible black hairy legs, and he knew he was looking at the Tarantula; knew he had seen it strike another victim down. He raised his automatic to fire; but the black, ghastly shadow was gone. It had disappeared as mysteriously as it had come, seeming to blend with and vanish into the larger shadows of the trees. All that was left to prove it had been there was Marko Diirer’s sprawled form. Hart fired two shots as a signal to the detectives patrol- ling the edges of the square. Then he went up to Direr. The first glimmer of his flashlight showed the telltale throat wounds. A stream of crimson was running from them, glis- tening and spreading on the asphalt. The Tarantula had struck for Diirer’s jugular vein. Even in that moment of horror . Hart’s lips curled in a faint, grim smile. He was smiling at himself, at CORMMICLOOokKs (C@)