10-Story Detective, March 1941 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

CASE OF THE LIVING CORPSE———_———————_83 under that same street light. It meant, perhaps, that he had reached here in time after all. He searched the sedan, hopeful of finding a weapon, but there was none. At least, he reflected as his fingers au- tomatically went to his chest, he was protected. Then his blood chilled when he felt the cloth of his shirt instead of the bullet-proof vest. He had inad- vertently left the armor in the taxi- cab! His sense of caution cried out as he slanted his eyes to the lighted shack. Unprotected like this, only a fool would go in there to face death. It made him feel a little sick. He wasn’t afraid of dying. Rather, it was the thought of failure that sick- ened him. He would be failing the Carthers kid, whom he had learned to love like a brother. He would be fail- ing Sweeny, who had given him his opportunity. Worse, Garvey’s exis- tence would still be unknown to the police. TT WAS a deep, compelling sense of justice that sent him creeping to- ward the shack. He stole up to where a window was a yellow square of light to the right of the door, and chanced a glance into the shack. Sweeny, he saw, lay unconscious on the floor, his skull bared by an ugly, bleeding head wound. Sheila Fox stood between Ed Garvey and the fallen man. Garvey had his bloody automatic reversed in his right hand. Sheila, her little hands to his expansive chest, was pleading with him. Her voice was a blurred mumble in Kendall’s ears. Kendall had come to hate this girl who was in league with her father’s murderer. Now he wasn’t so sure of that hate. She couldn’t be entirely bad if she was pleading for Sweeny’s life. And considering that she had Gar- ' vey’s attention— Kendall streaked to the door. The ill-fitting door showed a line of light along its edge, and he was able to see it was unbolted. He wrapped his fin- gers around the doorknob—then paused when the voice of Garvey, dis- torted with fury, came to aim. “Drop that rod, Sheila! Drop it! Have you gone batty?” “Not a move, Garvey!” she gritted, her voice heavy with emotion. “You shot dad down just like you did Carthers. I’ve been waiting for this chance—” A smacking sound, the roar of a discharged gun, and Ed Garvey shout- ed: “Okay, I did burn down your old man! I'll show you what—”’ Sheila’s terrified scream made Ken- dall forget all about his caution. The door banged against the inside wall as he lunged into the room. Eid Garvey was standing spraddle- legged above the fallen girl, turning his gun to rip vengeful slugs through her body. Garvey twisted his bulk as Kendall came hurtling at him, leering coldly as he whipped the weapon in the direction of the door. His feet practically off the floor in his plunge, Kendall’s racing brain was reminding him how fast Garvey was with that .45. If Garvey had more than a split second, he would be the only one who would leave this place alive. But a crack of steel to fat flesh halved that split second. Garvey roared in rage as his gun oddly thumped to the floor. Kendal] smashed into him then, knocking him over—and landing on Garvey felt like landing on a spongy mattress. He swept a haymaker from his heels, burying the fist in the flab- by folds of Garvey’s chin. Garvey’s head jerked from the impact. His mouth dribbled blood as unconscious- ness overwhelmed him. Kendal] picked up the .45 and crawled to his feet. He looked at Sheila, who was on her knees staring at him, a little nickel-plated revolver forgotten in her fingers. Kendall real- ized she had slugged Garvey’s gun hand with that revolver. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and grinned. “You came through, miss,” he said to her. “Thanks.” CORMICLOOOKS (E@)