10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

PARTY GIRL MURDER turned with a glass of water, which he dashed in the girl’s face. There came a moan from the trunk. In a little while, the girl lifted her head stared wildly at the others. “Geez!? muttered Algie. “What a beaut!” Felice Fancone was, indeed, a beau- ty; a frail, delicate beauty. But there was nothing fearful about her. She gazed at them in amazement. “What’s the meaning of this?’’ she demanded, in a steady voice. “Where am I? Who are you?” “Just a little party for you!” said Parsons. She glared at him scornfully. “Am I—kidnaped?” she said. Parsons’ laugh was a roar. “Call it that if you want to,” he said. “We’re just taking you out of circulation for a couple of days, until we can collect some dough.” “Very well,” she said quite calmly. “But you'll die for it!” Parsons grinned broadly. “Okay, baby. But we’ll die in the money.” He took Algie by the arm, led him into the kitchen. “I’m gonna leave you here with the two dames, Algie,” he said. ‘Lucky guy, ain’t you? Two dames.” “Me!” gasped Algie. “Sure. Me and the boys got business to take care of, so we got to go, see? We’re leaving you with Sophie and Felice—a brunette and a goldie! I'll be back later, maybe toward night. There’s grub here.” “Leave me here with them.” Algie couldn’t get over it. “But I—I ain’t never been mixed up with this kind of racket, If I was you, Parsons, I wouldn’t trust me—” “That’s why I took you in the deal, Parsons exclaimed. “Because I can trust you.” “T_T don’t get you.” Algie wagged his head sadly. “Why, I ain’t in on any deal.’’ “You’re in on this one,” Parsons told him, “Suppose you was to go to the cops right now and claim you was forced into this. They just wouldn’t 71 believe you, see? They’d figure you was just trying to alibi.” He chuckled. “You was seen coming up to my place with Sophie, see?’ “But I—geez, I ain’t never—” “Another thing,’ Parsons added, “there’s some stuff planted back in town now which ties you up with us, see?” “Well, it ain’t right,’’ mumbled Al- gie. “It just ain’t right!’ “And the way it works out,” Par- sons went on, “I got to leave Sophie here with the dame. I ain’t got no one else to handle that end. But I need some one with Sophie, and I had to get some one I could trust. Some one,” he added, his eyes narrowing, ‘“‘that I could trust—with Sophie!’ “Sure you can trust me with So- phie,” Algie asserted. “She’s yours. I don’t want her.” “That’s all,” snapped Parsons. He walked out to the living room. Algie followed. It all seemed to be very simple, Felice Fancone had al- ready been placed in the bedroom. The windows of the bedroom boarded and the door locked. Algie observed that the door was substantial. Felice was going to be easy to handle, imprisoned like that. Algie looked at Sophie, who was saying good-by, very affectionately, to Parsons. Sophie would be the boss now, and it would be simple for her. She was wearing a sort of suit, with a jacket. And Algie knew that under the jacket was a holster, and in the holster was an automatic. “Okay,” Parsons said breezily, as he got ready to leave with Frank and Armand. He grinned at Algie. “You don’t look happy, like you usually do,” he chided him. “Cheer up.” “Sure,” said Algie. “Sure.” He tried to smile. “It—it’s a great gag.” - HEN Algie was left alone with Sophie, he sat down in a chair at one end of the room. Sophie sat down at the other. Algie was looking at the ceiling. Sophie was looking at Algie. GoOmiGchbooks (C@