10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

PRISON-PROOF PAYOFF— “vou’re not foolin’ us. Next time, the smartest mouthpiece in the world won’t spring you. You’re going to register up at the Big House—perma- nent.” “Sez you, Inspector ?” Slick grinned derisively. “Sez me,” roared Hale. “‘Call your- self slhick—-a dumb hood like you! Get this, Valetti. You’re just a gat plus an empty noodle. The only thing slick about you is that greased hair. And the only way for you to come out on top is to grow bald-headed. Hah- ha-ha!” The inspector threw back his. big head and laughed offensively. Fat hippo! Even now at the mem- ory of that insulting guffaw, the crook’s face paled and his small. eyes glinted. Well, tonight Hale would laugh out the other side of his mouth. Slick had been plenty smart when he selected Pierre Baudet as his next victim. The senior partner of Baudet and Company, Gem Importers, was old, rich and a bachelor. Instead, however, of enjoying his money and life, Pierre Baudet had but one passion—dia- monds! The old gent insisted on ex- amining all sparklers shipped his firm, from abroad, personally. And, what was more to the point, he select- ed the best stones from each new consignment and carried them home to study and grade. Soft, eh? While the world at large believed all Baudet gems to be secure- ly locked in their burglar-proof vaults, this poor sap had paraded around, for years, with a fortune in his pockets. Well, those promenading days were over for jeweler Baudet. Slick Valetti would see to that. Only this morning, the crook had received his long awaited tip: a fresh shipment of diamonds newly arrived from Amsterdam. Even now Pierre - Baudet was sorting the rocks in his office, and tonight, according to his custom, he would drag home the cream of the lot. Slick’s tongue darted avidly over dry lips. Complacently, he settled the 67 pinch-tailored lavender coat upon his narrow shoulders and fluffed a re- splendent purple tie. Here was ripe fruit begging to be picked. T nine-thirty that night Slick Va- letti dropped unobtrusively from a trolley car, and stared with approval at the slumbering residen- tial district in which he found him- self. The old-fashioned house in which Pierre Baudet and his lone man-serv- ant had lived for thirty years, lay but two blocks away. Slick lit a cigarette, fanned his lungs, and sauntered slowly down a tree-shaded street. In five minutes the beat cop would have made his round past the jeweler’s place. Time enough after that to force entrance -and. wait the arrival of his man. As - for the old gent’s butler, he was only a doddering wreck in his seventies— any guy could handle him. | Slick stepped into action when the illuminated dial of his wrist watch showed 9:35. Eagerly he yanked his gray cap down over his nose and turned his ulster up close about his -ears. Then, with swift, feline steps he streaked toward the Baudet home. The big house lay in the center of a spacious lawn, the terminus of an hedge-lined driveway. Slick had studied the place too often to hesitate now. He darted furtively along the lines of shrubbery until he gained a broad veranda and cat-footed up its steps to a pair of long French win- dows. Before these he crouched and peered stealthily within. Cripes, what a layout! Sheen of russet velvet and mel- low glow of bronze lamps. Firelight dancing on soft rugs and silver can- delabra. Rows of red-brown books; a carved desk, its polished surface reflecting the graceful lines of a Chi- nese bowl. From within, a clock, chiming the quarter hour, warned Slick to hurry. At ten sharp old Bau- det was due to arrive. Hastily, the crook removed the jim- my from his pocket and pried at the COPNICLOOOKS (C@