10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

TSD came in and quietly shut the door be- hind him, McKenna gasped. “You don’t have to ask me, I’ll tell you,” Logan shut him up grimly. “I’m in love with Betty Dunbar. You dog, you—” McKenna stepped toward him. “And she loves you?” “I love her, and you tried to kill her. To see you, I took a room and hid down the corridor half an hour till the detective took a chance and sneaked away. I picked the lock, and here I am.” “What do you want?” “T want a showdown. How long do you think you can get away with mur- der?” Logan was nearly berserk. “We’re getting out of here.” Logan produced a gun, and his mouth turned down nastily at the corners. “You!” McKenna said it quietly, but it came out with all the breath of his body behind it. ‘‘You’re the killer!” “T ought to kill you, right here!” Logan cursed. “But I don’t feel like doing it that way. Get out!” McKenna got out, without even time to take his hat. The freight ele- vator stood at the back of the hall. Logan ran it to the bottom. They came up a flight of stone steps, at the back of the hotel, into a badly lighted al- ley. The air was cold, and so dry it prickled the face. There was an auto- mobile, and Logan ordered him into it. Briefly, McKenna hesitated. Except for the gun, he could have broken Logan in two. But Logan stayed too far away to be reached, yet close enough that a bullet could not have missed. As McKenna turned toward the car, someone shouted from the depths of the alley. “Stop! Stop, McKenna, shoot!” or IT’ ik CKENNA turned as Logan tried Vv. to shove him into the car and at the same time club him with the gun. Knocking the gun aside, McKen- na struck Logan in the face, and dove BULLETS ON BLUE MONDAY —I7 down the stone steps back into the cellar. He ran down a rabbit warren of dark and partially lighted passage- ways, all dusty smelling and seeming to lead nowhere. In one particularly dark alley, he tripped over a bundle of laundry or trash, and pitched against a padlocked door. Fitting together the part of a jimmy from his pocket kit, McKenna broke the lock off. He went in, and stumbled against a ledge. His hand touched a hanging cord, and he pulled, putting on a light. He was in an electrician’s shop! Wheeling, McKenna ran to the door. He paused, turned back and grabbed up all the light wire he could find, stuffing it into his pockets. A minute later he located another door in an- other passageway. Drawing the bolt, he plunged out, up some steps, and found himself in the street at the cor- ner of the building. He ran. To her house. The door was opened by Beity, wearing a black silk robe over pa- jamas. She faltered for a moment at the shock of seeing McKenna, then clutched his arm and whisked him into the apartment. “T hope your mother got home all right from the movies,” he blurted in embarrassment. “She did,” Betty told him. “But there was a telephone call—her sister is dangerously ill. Mother was so up- set when she heard it that I managed to keep her from learning what had happened here. I knew she would want to go to Aunt Kate.” The girl paused, then asked: “Steve, what have you done? How did you escape from them ?”’ “First, put out the light,” McKen- na ordered. “Put on a small one that can’t be seen from the outside.” Hesitantly, she obeyed him, first turning on a little lamp with a blue silk shade. Deeply thoughtful, McKenna drew a large jackknife and opened the blade. CORNICGLOOLKK (E@