10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

IL ty, Sat ERS fn he ae AE Ve fs fag: rs ie 4 Pree eas pe es | ie ne —aeor = ¥ Better Than Bullets q The killer thought he had a foolproof-plan to get away with ) | murder—uniil he understood a message from the grave. p By H. Q. Masur his drink with a clumsy flourish. He had started with highballs and was finishing with Scotch, straight, no chasers. He hammered J bis cxink Ned Oliver toss off on the polished bar with a soft white | fist and bawled: “Hah, you, barkeep, come hither and replenish yon tum- bler, for I have the thirst of a desert wanderer long lost and a _ throat parched by the blazing sun.” — Ned didn’t always talk like that, only when he was in his cups. He turned a pair of bloodshot eyes upon me and his round flushed face had a - bemused yet sly look. “Drink up, Max, my friend,” he said. “‘Let us tap this place until the barrel runs dry.” “You’ve had enough, Ned,’ I told him in a voice loud enough for the bar- man to hear. “Let’s go home.” “Home!” His mouth stretched down as if the corners had been pulled by hooks and stubbornness held his body in a taut grip. He shook his head vig- orously. “No, Max, let us stay. Let us tipple the bottle. For alcohol is a won- derful remedy, it has the therapeutic - quality of hypnotism. It erases the dark slate of a man’s mind and drowns his sorrows in a wonderful sea of and he pulled free. “No, Max,” he said. _ I put my mouth close to his ear. “They cut the liquor here, boy. I know a better place.” That did it. He let the idea simmer through his brain and then he gave the bartender a withering glance, linked his arm in mine and together we marched out of there. His car was in a parking lot and J stuffed him into it and put myself behind the wheel. As soon as we hit the edge of town I pulled up behind a tree. My coat pocket was bulg- ing with the quart bottle. I took it out and held it against my clesed lips, making be- lieve I was drinking. Then I handed it to Ned. This time I let him go as far as he liked. He coupled the bottle to his main intake and I heard a gurgling sound like that of a tub of water emptying through an open drain. He almost gagged on it. I let him hold onto the bottle and started the ear. FTER a couple of minutes I heard him sob and I glanced at him through the corners of my eyes. His round moon face was shiming with sweat and dampness gtistened around his glazed pupils. Soon he said: “This is my last par- ty, Max, old friend.” “Why should this be your last par- ty, Ned?” I asked in a syrupy voice, but a queer uneasiness had curdled in- side my chest and I thought: /s it possible he suspects? Can he know what I am going to do? 81 burning fire.” » That was enough. - I slid off the stool and shook my hhead at the bartender who was un- eorking a fresh bottle. I got an au- thoritative grip on Ned Oliver’s arm and swung him to his feet. “We're getting out of here.” ift rebellion darkened his face TsD. Le ‘ a AZ ee 2 aa comicbooks.co