10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

66 thrust up into his throat. Well, the poor old man would have his wish. He would have it, even if he were dead and couldn’t know it. Johnny licked his lips. “I’m not go- ing to use it. I was, but I changed my mind.” Heavy jaw tilted. Lips curled. “Yella. I mighta expected it.” Strange light shone in tense eyes. The big man looked front, backed into the booth alongside Johnny, pulling on a skin- tight glove. “Gimme the gun, you,” he ordered. Johnny shook his head. The man reached down, fastened a big fist on Johnny’s throat and pushed his head against the wall. Johnny struggled, felt the hard metal slipping from his pocket. The pressure released on his throat and he heard a voice call out, low enough to reach one pair of ears: “Hey, chief. Come here and see what I caught.” Feet. in the aisle. Satisfied, lum- bering feet. A voice rasping: “What is it, Mills? What’d Pete say?” “Here,” called Mills from the booth beside Johnny. The safety clicked. “Where the blinkin’ blazes you hid- ing, Mills?” blinked chief. “Damn it, I can’t see—” The gun exploded. Powder burned into Johnny’s eyes. Through the acrid haze he saw chief jerk around, meit into a lifeless heap. Dark liquid pooled slowly at his head. OMETHING clattered on the floor at Johnny’s frozen feet. Mills let out a yell. “He got him! He was hiding in the booth and shot the chief when he went to phone! He got him!” As he hollered, he was busy stripping off the filmlike rubber glove.... Dazed, Johnny sat beside the cap- tain’s desk at headquarters and told ‘his story. Captain Andrews had white hair, kindly eyes and a careworn brow. Now and then, as Johnny spoke halt- ingly, Captain Andrews looked across at Miss Hutch, the political science 10-STORY DETECTIVE teacher. Her thin, bloodless lips were tight. “T wanted to kill him,” Johnny was saying. “After what he did to my fath- er and then murdering Professor Crayfield in cold blood. But when I heard the way Mills. talked over the phone, I realized I’d never help clean up Maplewood just by shooting lousy guys like them. Why, I’d have to be shooting, shooting every day and still there’d be scum—” Captain Andrews cleared his throat. His eyes were moist. “Your story hangs together, son,’ he said gently. “All except the fact that yours and Crayfield’s will be the only prints on the gun. Mills was too smart. As you say, he wore a glove. The prosecu- tor was in with chief. He’ll send you to the chair—” “No!” cried Miss Hutch, springing up and throwing an arm around Johnny. “Captain, you mustn’t let it happen! This boy is the best potential citizen I have had in my classes in years. He really cares about public service. Why, if he could grow up and be our city manager—” Captain Andrews eyed her sadly. “That’s a dream, Miss Hutch. We'll never have a city manager in Maple- wood. Not while—” “But the chair!” cried Miss Hutch. “The electric chair for a boy.” “It was premeditated,” Captain Andrews said. “It’s on the record that he intended to kill chief.” Miss Hutch sat down weakly. “There is one element that is on his side,” Captain Andrews went on. “The short time between the shootins of Crayfield and the shooting of chief. If we could make it look as if chief was shot first, then the killer’s prints might easily be those of Crayfield, a dead man who—” “No!” shot out Johnny, his head springing erect. “You can’t do that! Professor Crayfield was a fine man. He realized killing scum was no way out. He asked me to put the gun in. the sewer so they wouldn’t find it on him and think he even intended—No! Gomichbooks (C@)