10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

36 tle crook bounced out of the car and gripped his arm. Following quickly, Devon saw the printer stiffen, his thin face ashen gray. Lines of worry were etched deeply about the corners of his mouth and networked his eyes, eyes that held a hunted look. “Take it easy, Prost,’”’ Devon mur- mured. “We’re not police. We want a talk with you.” A slight color washed the man’s hollow cheeks. His tired eyes fastened on Tupper’s gaunt face. He released a slow breath. “You—aren’t you the chap that started to run,” he said shakily, “‘after some one shot Sansen from across the street?” The little squat man prodded Dev- on’s ribs with a stubby finger and grinned. “Jest like I told you, Mister,” he said. Devon nodded, said: “We'll be saf- er in the car.” He took Prost’s arm, guided him across to the sedan. A puzzled look on his face, Prost took the seat beside Devon while Tupper crawled to cov- er in the back. “The police are after Joey, here, for sansen’s killing,’”’ Devon said abrupt- ly when the car was moving slowly along the street. “You can clear him, Prost.” | Prost flung a startled glance at the little man on the rear seat, licked thin lips furtively. “I—I’m getting out,” he muttered and reached for the door handle. “I know nothing about it.” Devon’s right hand flashed out, jerked him back from the door. “You know plenty,” he snapped. “You don’t want to fall into the hands of the po- lice yourself! What was Sansen ar- resting you for?” He kept the car crawling while he studied Prost out of one eye. He went on relentlessly when the printer didn’t answer : “All right, I’m turning you over to the police! You'll talk at headquar- ters. You can’t let an innocent man be condemned to die while the real killer 10-STORY DETECTIVE goes free—free to get you next, per- haps!” “Wait!” Prost cried desperately. “If you turn me in, [ll swear I saw him fire the shot. Oh, you don’t under- stand. I’m on my way home now to pick up a few belongings and get out of town before the police learn about me. You see, I—I’m wanted for mur- der myself! And like this chap, I’m in- nocent. But—I can’t prove it, yet!” CHAPTER III WO men wanted for murder! Devon whistled softly. And one, he knew, was innocent. The other— if he, too, had been framed, the other man had to be proved innocent before he would clear Joe Tupper. The Blood- hound Reporter’s nose quivered. ‘Suppose you spill your story,” he said softly. “It might throw some light on why Sansen was killed tonight just as he was about to arrest you. I’ve a hunch that crinre was due to be added to your account.” Prost stirred restlessly, stared dull- eyed through the windshield. “Re- member the Bracker killing in Brulon, four years. ago?” he asked tonelessly. Devon nodded, the story vaguely familiar in his mind. Bracker, owner and managing editor of a prominent Brulon newspaper, had been found dead in his study, stabbed through the heart. The murderer had never been caught. “My name was Charles Austin in those days,” Prost went on, talking fast now. “I was Bracker’s confiden- tial secretary. He was the big man be- hind the political setup in Brulon, and a grafter. My work had to do with that side of his business. We’d an ar- gument in his office on the afternoon of the night he was murdered. “A dozen people heard him threat- en to fire me. He was quick tempered, but it rarely lasted. That night he phoned me to come to the house, clean up some important work. He admitted me himself, took me into the study and gave me a cigar.” comuicbdook (©