10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

eS ee —CRIME IN | THE | WACKS’ MUSEUM — = features was Peireavel in that stone —and there was a rope around the neck, A stone rope, but so faithfully duplicated that each strand seemed to be real. “Who is it?’ Jarvis barked. “It—it’s Mr.—Mr.—Collins. Lloyd Collins! Is that—that a—a rope?” “Take me back to the office,” Jar- vis said crisply. “I can’t find my way around this maze. Hurry, man! Run!” Jarvis seized the phone book, turned pages and located Lloyd Col- lins’ number. He dialed it and held the phone so tightly that his knuckles gleamed. Wild thoughts _were surging through his head. Two minutes passed. There was no an- swer. Jarvis cradled the phone with a bang. “Stay here,” he told the watch- an. “Something has happened to Collins.” CHAPTER II THE SWINGING CORPSE LOYD COLLINS was a bachelor, living in an expensive suite at a big hotel. Jarvis sprinted up to the desk and identified himself. He de- manded a key and the location of the Collins’ suite. He commandeered an elevator, was taken to the twelfth floor and as he stepped out, he saw a tall man of about forty, standing by waiting for the lift. Jarvis said, “Who were you look- ing for, Mister ?” The man shrugged. “A friend of mine, if it’s any of your business.” “If your friend’s name is Collins, it is my business.” _ ‘The man seemed to be taken aback. “Why—how did you guess? I re- ceived a phone call from Collins a few minutes ago. He asked me to come here to see him. I did—but he must have forgotten the date because no one answers the bell.” “Come with me,” Jarvis grunted. Baits a detective.” He sureset up to the ps in- Cornet name, received no response, and be- gan inspecting rooms. In the library he found what he fully expected. A man’s corpse was dangling from a rope affixed to a light fixture in the middle of the room. At his feet lay an overturned chair. The dead man’s hands were not bound. On a table was a decanter of whisky but no glass, Jarvis spotted that later on — smashed against a further wall. “Good heavens!” the man with Jarvis gasped. “It’s Collins.” Jarvis made a perfunctory exami- nation. There was no pulse although — the flesh was still warm. He turned to the man standing beside him. “Just who are you?” he asked. “My name is Walker. Guy Walker. I’m associated with Collins in several things. This is ghastly. Whatever made him do a thing like that? He was rich—in good health— “Were you associated ak him in running a museum?” Jarvis de- manded, “Why —yes. The Post Private Museum, Five of us established the place because we have a mutual in- terest in studying ancient civiliza- tions. The articles we have acquired are of great value. We allow the public to view them only on certain occasions.” “To cover the law which exempts public museums from paying taxes,” Jarvis accused. “We've had other in- stances like that. Well, Mr. Walker, I’ll give it to you cold. Felix Kent is also dead!” “Kent—dead too? I can’t believe it. What happened to him, officer?” “Circumstances suggest that he shot himself, just as conditions indi- cate that Collins here hanged himself. I think it was murder in both in- stances. Walker, you claim that Col- lins phoned you? Can you prove it?” “Why, no. No, I can’t. I was at home, answered the phone person- _ ally. What are you getting at? How serted the key and walked into ee = reception hall. He called Collins by — x ie ’ b ert} 4 ty: ee tee i iv ' rund } ated 4 ey for Wit he | iy ol jay py ll h AS Afe'h, Py , fe - 1 } A Asay \ : Arn Meter: kU ahead TRON Ur th) Mb hee SONA i Yt thf hh LO WD) ies he Bebe Mele ramet Oe Rey ee ey aan Pe dd Rae ra nee | ey Wales ( ihn NOV ey . ana e Hifi i i vel MeN ay. (by Hie. Noe ‘ AY Et ee WALA ah ate ot) f Be ANI UA oth SNC { Pe . : Hy Neat ty y We} aa ail Di} peor “comicbooks. com