10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

- oe gg eras behind it. He began to wish Yellow Gloves were miles away from there. He wasn’t any insurance dick. He was Nick Hartwell—killer! Steve had seen his face, not among the insurance operatives he’d met, but on a poster down at headquarters. Hartwell’s pistol crashed as Rinaldi pawed for his gun. The wiry little man jerked upright, his gun half out of his shoulder harness. Then he sagged. The others were suddenly behind chairs, throwing hurried shots at Hartwell. Someone got to the lights and the room plunged into darkness. Steve leaped to the spot where Rinaldi had fallen. There was a sudden sear- ing flame in his leg as a slug creased the fiesh. He flattened, tore the gun from the little man’s lifeless hand and crawled to Gail’s side. She was crouch- ing behind an overturned table hold- ing a gun she’d picked up. : “Steve, get down. They’ll kill you!” “No, they won’t,” he said* swiftly. “They won’t shoot me. Not to kill, any- way. I know where the diamond is.” “Know?” she questioned suddenly. He pulled her behind him without answering. ‘““We’ve got to rush the door while Hartwell’s busy with these guys. If anything happens, get into the fields outside. We’re only a few miles from your uncle’s home.” HEY moved toward the door, but Hartwell didn’t stay busy long enough. There was a sharp gasp of pain from one of the three Rinaldi men who were left—then running footsteps _toward the rear of the house. Steve didn’t wait any longer. On his feet; he headed for the doorway. For a moment it looked as if they were going to make it. Then a flash- light snapped on in their faces. Steve sent a shot into the heart of the light and leaped forward. A smothered curse came from behind the light; then Steve plowed*head-on into an un- yielding figure. _ Something burst inside his head. From far off he could hear Gail ery- ing his name and his own voice shout- 10-STORY DETECTIVE————— ing: “Run. Get away from here!” Then the soft rubbery blackness reached up for him. ..% He was lying on the ground outside — the house when he came to. Hartwell was bending over him, his jaws still working on a wad of gum. Steve’s head felt as though it had been used as a battering ram. He moved and Hartwell bent closer, pulled him to his feet and shoved the end of an automatic into the smal} of his back. They moved down the road. Steve began to feel better. Gail ap- parently had got away. She knew the country. It wouldn’t take her twenty minutes to reach her uncle’s big house and phone for help. Hartwell had a car parked a quar- ter of a mile down the road.~ He prodded Steve into the front seat and behind the wheel, shoved a key into the ignition switch. “O.K.,” he directed. “You drive. ie keep this thing in your-ribs to remind you not to be funny.” He took off his gloves one at a time, and laid them beside him on the seat. Steve brought the motor to life and they bumped forward over the dirt road. When they reached the three- strip concrete highway he braked the car. “Which way?” “Right,” Hartwell said, chuckling. Steve laughed silently, forgetting the hot flame in his leg where the bullet had creased it. Hartwell must be crazy, heading back toward town when he knew Gail was loose. They turned into the concrete high- way and sped toward the city. The huge gates of Jonathan Norton’s home loomed up suddenly. Hartwell pointed. “Tn there,” he said. Bewildered, Steve swung the car around, They roared up the bluestone drive, braked, and skidded to a halt in front of the house. Hartwell got out and waited. The yellow gloves were still on the seat. Automatically Steve picked them up. It wasn’t till they’d reached the house that he knew why he’d brought them. —