10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

14—_—___—_—_—_—_———_——-10-STORY DETECTIVE O’Hare, watching closely, hurled himself suddenly forward. Several. things happened at once. Molly’s hand grabbed Redford’s ankle and jerked. O’Hare got a handful of Irene’s golden hair and pulled her head away from the menacing knife. The knife jabbed forward, but sunk into Irene’s shoulder instead of her neck. O’Hare removed the knife with a terrific jerk that sent her spinning across the room, closed with the killer. A white-hot pain stabbed through him as a sudden slash of the long knife raked a gash from his elbow to his wrist. Then O’Hare felt the knuckles of his other hand explode against the killer’s jaw with a numbing force. He had everything he owned in that blow—and it was plenty! Redford staggered back against the wall, his eyes suddenly glassy. The knife dropped from his nerveless fingers and he slid down the wall into a sitting position, then bent all the way over at the floor. O’Hara kicked the knife across the room, then kicked Redford in the jaw for insurance. O’Hare’s wound turned out to be more serious than Irene’s, but the doctor told him a few stitches and a little time would fix it up. Later, talking it over with Molly, O’Hare said: “Didn’t it occur to you Redford’s hair might have been blond in the first place and that he had it dyed when Saunders knew him, then let it grow out?” She shook her head. “Well, it didn’t to me, either, until I saw him comb his fingers through it. When he did that he exposed some blond hairs underneath which had black tips. “That game leg was something else again. The doc who examined him said he had broken it some time ago. The doc explained that with certain types of breaks people are lame for quite a while, but they usually grow out of it. Occasionally, even when there is no more necessity for them to limp, they’ll find themselves doing it from force of habit. That’s what happened to Redford when you saw him limp.” “But how did you know I hadn’t fainted?” Molly asked. “I was scared to death, so I know there wasn’t any color in my face. And I had to lie quiet. I didn’t dare move a muscle, even to give you a signal, for fear he would hear me. And you must have known. You wouldn’t have been able to move so fast if you hadn’t.” O’Hare grinned at her. “Sure I knew. You were gripping your purse so tight your knuckles were white. When people faint, they relax. They can’t hold anything!” Putting both arms around his neck, Molly drew his head down. “Don’t tell — anyone,” she whispered in his ear, “but I think I'll give up fainting. I want to hold my man!” Conn NOOK (©