10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

THE HEIST MASTER ing Pearlman Street, he swung to the curb. He parked the coupé and walked into the corner drug store. After the stinging cold, the air inside was stifling. He opened his overcoat and drew out some change. “Three for fifty.” He pointed to the after-dinner size. Then he walked nonchalantly the full length of the store and stepped into a phone booth. He left the door partly ajar and lifted the receiver. Watching the side door, he yanked off the trick mustache and carefully wiped off the black penciled eyebrows. Three quick steps and he emerged on Pearlman. UST use the old brains, he thought triumphantly, walking alongside the noisy traffic. Everything was planned. In five minutes he’d be safe in his apartment. Those dumb punks! He swung along jauntily. Just lke Nugent to shoot. Thinks with his trig- ger finger! Better be smart and let the brain do the work. The wind off the river snarled along the street. Besson shivered. That store had been uncomfortably hot and he felt the cold now that the excitement was over. He should have worn a scarf, still— Again he shivered. It was bitterly cold and the wind stung his exposed throat. Abruptly he turned up the overcoat collar until the lapels fitted snugly under his chin. That was better! He’d have a couple of quick ones from the bottle of Scotch. Thirty feet from the next intersec- tion, a policeman stepped from a door- way and watched the teeming traffic flowing toward the bridge. Besson slowed momentarily, a sudden fear tightening his muscles. “‘There’s noth- —39 ing to fear,” he reassured himself, and strode on. Besson was ten feet away when the policeman turned. Besson saw his eyes widen and caught the full impact of the surprised stare. The cop tensed and his hand dropped to his side as he swung around to block the side- walk. 3 Every nerve in Besson’s frame jumped. Somewhere he had slipped up! Perhaps his description had been broadcast. That was it! He should have ditched the overcoat and hat. The cop’s hand moved toward his holster. In that split second Besson acted. He plunged straight across Pearlman dodging the roaring traffic. No dumb cop would arrest him— A cabby glimpsed him and jammed on the brakes. The swerving taxi nar- rowly missed Besson, but he side- stepped and raced on. A sedan coming up fast struck him a glancing blow that shoved him headlong toward the curb. A truck rushing three tons of aluminum from Edgewater to the Continental Aeronautics Corporation plant at Long Island City shot through on the inside lane. The driver never saw Besson’s sprawling figure... . “I seen him coming down Pearl- man,” the policeman explained under his breath to the cabby, “‘and my eyes pop. I just stepped from Healy’s where I’d had a couple of nips, it was that cold, and the whisky was strong on me lips. He’s got his coat collar turned up and on the lapel is this badge staring me in the face. IN- SPECTOR! Caught drinkin’ on duty! I’m that scared I just stand there and stare at him. Then he ducks across the street!’ COMIC OO® (©