10-Story Detective, September 1941 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

-HOT SEAT DOUBLE-CROSSER ond faster. The killer’s arm flopped useless to his side, the weapon falling to the carpeted floor. Bradley’s gun followed an instant later. YNDELL’S big frame seemed suddenly to shrink inside the heavy gown. His thick lips twitched and his eyes bulged with quick desper- ate fear, staring at the small group of men behind Honeyman, The hand holding his gun dropped to his side. “So you were behind this, Smiley?” With a gleam lighting his faded eyes, the man Wyndell singled out de- ‘tached himself from the group. He had been tall once, but stooped shoul- ders had robbed him of inches. He smiled thinly. 7 “Only as a spectator,” he said quiet- ly. “Four years ago you finished ruin- ing what Bracker had left of my life, only you were more thorough, Wyn- dell. It has been worth it all for this moment. At this gentleman’s re- quest—” he nodded at Devon—“I was present along with the Brulon com- missioner of police when your safe was opened. I identified papers found there as some Bracker had had in his safe the night he died.” “That can all wait,” Honeyman growled. “Drop your gun, Wyndell. The game’s up. Half a dozen witnesses heard you admit to killing Bracker. That and the papers and Smiley’s evi- _ dence will convict you! Take him, boys.” | } A couple of plain-clothes men stepped forward. . Wyndell’s gun-hand moved, but not downwards. It jerked up to his tem- ple. A distorted grin twisted his lips. “You’re wrong,” he snarled: “You'll never convict me in court!” He pulled the trigger. '. & FTER the two killers, Bradley | and Ed, were taken away, Ser- geant Honeyman joined the Blood- hound Reporter. Devon stood staring down at Wyndell’s dead body, a curi- ous smile twisting his thin lips. The sergeant cleared his throat | 95 noisily, “Umm-m! Nice work, Devon,” he muttered awkwardly. “I—I guess I owe you those thanks.” He touched Wyndell’s limp arm with his toe. “Funny, these big guys can’t.face the publicity of a trial. Well, maybe he did the best thing.” “More than you realize, sergeant,” Devon said quietly. “A good lawyer would have put up a stiff fight, with the issue in grave doubt.” Sergeant Honeyman shook his head emphatically. ‘““With those papers, he hadn’t a chance!” “But—there aren’t any papers,” Devon told him blandly. “When I read what was contained in them, I turned them over to Smiley, supplied the match that destroyed them. The poor devil had suffered enough on account of the blackmail dope.” The scar on Honeyman’s face turned a deep purple. “Blast you, Devon,” he rasped. “That’s tampering with evidence, I—l’ll—” “I wasn’t working for the police, Honeyman.” Devon’s harsh face tight- ened. “I went out to clear Joe Tupper and Prost, and grab me a story.” His gray eyes suddenly twinkled. He tapped Honeyman’s arm. ‘“‘Head- lines, sergeant. Headlines! Like this: ‘Working with Detective Sergeant Honeyman, the Bloodhound Reporter exposes—’ ” He broke off, shrugged wide shoulders and grinned cynically. “You should worry. Wyndell’s admis- sion will stand now he’s dead. And you’ve still got the other two killers.” Honeyman’s hard eyes abruptly lost their anger and a slow smile crawled over his lips. “You’re damned clever, Devon,” he admitted. “You guessed he’d take this way out. That’s why you insisted we didn’t show up until you’d tricked him into a confession. A setup with Death ?’’ Devon rubbed his chin thoughtful- ly. “I must remember to send you a sure cure for lumbago when I get back to a real town, sergeant,” he mur CORMMICLO© SS (© im