10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

a eee pot ey: going to kill He didn’t, of course. He couldn’t possibly. He was glancing fixedly . through the windshield, and when he spoke his. voice shook. “You may not know this, Max, but I am going to die. He who lives by the sword must die by the sword. In Eu- rope they might guillotine me, but we are more civilized here. They will sim- ply sit me in a little room and drop a capsule, and when I breathe the leth- al gas my mortal soul shall depart for- ever from my body. And that will be good, Max, for I shall have it coming to me. They will be right and I shall not fight them.” We almost hit a tree. I was so star- tled at the implications rampant in his speech that I found it difficult to drive. I gripped the wheel tightly. “What are you talking about, Ned?” “The gas chamber,” he said. “That’s what they give you here, isn’t it, when a man commits murder.” I forced myself to breathe slowly. “And who are you going to kill, Ned?” “Cherry.” He said the name simply enough. I settled back against the cushions. So Ned Oliver thought he was going to kill his wife. Well, he was mistak- en. Cherry was net meant for death. That thought was inconceivable. Not Cherry with her intense dark eyes and dark throbbing beauty, with her soft lips that were a fuse exploding against a man’s blood: My mind would never conjure a picture of her dead. Other people, yes, but not Cherry. I kept my mouth straight and I was glad that I had decided on today to carry out my plans. He put his head back and tilted the bottle. I heard it click against his teeth and he muffled an oath. I reached up and fixed the rear vision mirror so that I could watch his face. It was stiff and wooden and he was having trouble getting the bottle between his — lips. He succeeded after a few misses and teok a long draught. I said quietly: “You're kidding, ery.” aa : Cy Be p= ae ace Sz ee = = st ra > 10-STORY DETECTIV Re Pa “T am,” he muttered, and his wiles Se was getting thick. “You can just bet I am. I loved her, Max. Lord, howl | loved that girl. But it doesn’t take much to turn love into hate, you know that, Max. It doesn’t take much. She’s got another man, somebody she’s been sneaking out to see when I work late. I found that out. And she doesn’t let me touch her, Max—my own wife. She recoils from my caresses. She spurns me. Do you know what that can do to a man?” He started to laugh. Only it wasn’t really a laugh. I can’t even describe it. Then he stopped. “The joke’s on the other man, isn’t — it, Max? He won’t get her either, only the grave—” “You’re crazy,” I broke in harshly. “Better take another drink.” ' He did. He almost emptied the bot-_ tle. I could smell the liquor and through the mirror I could see it slop- ping down the side of his jaw. Twi- light deepened the shadows. I drove on. The brakes squealed a little as I turned into the driveway of his neat white house. A light was burning in the front room. I angled the car around to the back where the garage was and got out and opened the doors and then drove in. ‘ SAT there for a minute and looked at him. He was slumped down on the seat. His plump chin had fallen — . Ay AD Wee he 1 a ; cS bani ati f oe Ad PONE 2 ek ee iat Lest | x Al ‘ re SGT ido ae halt against his chest and the breath came __ hard and harsh through his nostrils. Ned Oliver was plastered all right. He was boiled. The time had come and I thought: What the hell, I’m not even scared. — They say that you can’t get away with murder. Well, I was going to kill Ned Oliver and I was going to get away with it, clean as soap. No fancy tricks here. No bullets, no poisons, nothing to start the cops fretting. Just a guy who drank too much and fell asleep in his car with the motor — running. — =, ae re — — Pare Cae pe : Am ana eres wey eae f ate I picked up the bottle and. poured — = what \ was as tote on his iS Ee = Sar fe « sees se Pits Ce =% Ber ee