10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

82 Devon grinned bleakly. “Sergeant Honeyman presents visiting news re- porter with keys of city,” he mur- mured. “Sorry, sergeant, but Oldham City killings aren’t important enough to rate even a couple of sticks in my paper. Sheer boredom and a morbid curiosity dragged me here.” “I’ve heard plenty about your curi- osity,”” Honeyman growled. ‘We don’t tolerate amateur newspaper sleuths sticking their noses in police affairs. See him back to the corner, Laird!” Devon shrugged and turned away. “The sergeant has a sweet disposi- tion,” he murmured to the grinning detective flanking him. “Yeah,” Laird admitted. “It’s part- ly his lumbago. He’s feeling sore to- night.” He glanced keenly at the blond giant. “I’ve read about you, Devon, admired your work on some of the cases you’ve busted. Stick around, an’ maybe you'll get a story.” Devon smiled. “Thanks, but I meant it when I said curiosity dragged me along. We get ali the stick-up killings we can use in my own village without infringing.” “Confidentially,” Laird said, “the dead man back there happens to be a detective sergeant from Brulon. We don’t know what business brought him here until we long-distance Bru- lon. Maybe you'll understand now why the sergeant wasn’t feeling friendly. A visiting brother sergeant killed in Oldham City is a black mark against the force, he figures.” ‘Sure. I just happened to be handy to work it out on.’”’ Devon nodded sym- pathetically. “I hope you get the kill- er.” : “We will,” Laird predicted confi- dently. ““He’s bottled up. One of our boys heard the shot, glimpsed a crook named Joe Tupper beating it out of the street. They’re hot on his heels, a cordon thrown around the district.” He shook his head. “Damn queer. Tup- per’s well known, but it’s the first time I’ve heard of him carrying a gun.” “Thanks for the depe, even though I won’t be using it.” Devon grinned 10-STORY DETECTIVE again. “Give my love to the sergeant.” Laird answered his grin and turned back. They had reached the corner and a clanging gong cleared a path for a black wagon as Devon worked through the crowd still there. It took him a few seconds to reach the side street where his sedan was parked. Speculating idly on the mo- tive behind the killing, he slipped un- der the wheel, pushed home the igni- tion key. Something round and thin- edged bored into the nape of his neck at the moment, froze him rigid. “Take it easy, Mister, an’ you won’t get hurt!” The low voice carried an undercurrent of urgency. ‘“‘We’re go- in’ places, see?” Devon lifted bleak eyes to the wind- shield mirror, studied the face in the shadows behind him. A chalky. white face, long and gaunt, with the lips flat- tened against large teeth and pale eyes that held a desperate gleam of fear. A whimsical light replaced the bleakness in Devon’s gray eyes. He turned slowly, ignoring the pressure at the top of his spine. His left hand jerked out, clamped hard over a thick wrist. A cynical grin on his harsh fea- tures, he said softly: “You underrate my intelligence—Tupper! The only guns I reckon dangerous have metal rims, not wooden ones. Stick the stem back in your pipe bowl and relax.” EVON’S thrust flung the man against the cushions. He swiv- eled and inched under the wheel, an overwhelming desire to put one over on Sergeant Honeyman mAstering his natural impulse to turn the wanted man in to the police. There was another reason. Curiosi- ty to learn why Tupper, after just shooting a man, had resorted to such a flimsy make-belief weapon instead of using his gun? “Better keep low,” he admonished over his shoulder. “The police are prowling Fourth and your classic fea- tures are as inconspicuous as a neon sign on a dark night.” comiclooolk C©