10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

MEMO FROM THE MURDERED————————Y———23 The Luger jumped in his hand. Ashes was in a half crouch. The im- pact of the slug was what he was braced against. But even braced, the shock of it straightened him out again. Esterly’s first shot was off center and high. Not because his aim was bad, but because Ashes was in motion. Ashes got his hand to his lapel. Esterly’s second bullet ploughed into Ashes’ shoulder. This time he wasn’t braced, and it spun him. His fingers touched his .45. He pulled it half out as he went down. Esterly’s face was livid now. He sighted deliberately. But he had to wait for Ashes to sprawl. In the sec- ond that Ashes’ body stilled against the floor, Esterly would fire for the last time. Tony Ross had been paralyzed. Now he jerked to his feet and threw the first thing he laid his hands on. It was an ash tray. It didn’t come within five feet of Esterly. Esterly turned slightly and snapped a shot at Tony. The bullet broke Tony’s shoulder, and he went down. “VY ou—louse !” It was inevitable. The rabbity little man finally had caught up with Ashes. He hurled himself at Esterly. Esterly sidestepped neatly. He was still perfectly controlled. The little man hurtled past him. Esterly threw his fourth shot. T WAS the third time he’d fired at Ashes. It was the third time Ashes was hit. A direct hit this time. Ashes coughed blood. But his .45 was out now. Leveled. Aimed. Sheer will to kill held Ashes conscious. He fired. He fired straight and true. He aimed for Esterly’s mid-section. He hit it. Twice. Esterly died standing. His Luger coughed once more, fitfully, as he dropped. The rabbity little man goggled. “Geez!” he gulped. Ashes coughed. ‘“‘Barney,” he whis- pered. ‘“‘Help me.” “Ashes—sure! Geez, sure! What do you want?” “Pull me over to him, Barney. Hur- ry! I’m passing out.” The little man chewed his lips. “Sure, Ashes, sure.” He put his hands under Ashes’ armpits and tried to be careful. Ashes pawed with one hand, trying to drag himself. He refused to pass out till he’d made sure. He got to Es- terly’s body. He was groggy. He peered stupidly into Esterly’s glazing eyes. “‘He’s dead, Ashes!” squealed the little man. “You got him.” Ashes opened his mouth. Blood spurted from his lips. He stuck his automatic against Esterly’s side and Squeezed the trigger. Ashes emptied his gun into Ester- ly. He squeezed convulsively on the trigger a half-dozen times after the gun had stopped firing. The little man gagged. “Don’t look like that, Barney,” Ashes whispered. “It’s okay. It isn’t as if he were a man. He’s not. He’s a symbol, Barney. That’s the only way to kill a symbol. Barney, get the girl out of here.” “Sure Ashes, sure.” “And, Barney, it was just a gag, me stealing your cab—just a gag, Barney. I was going to—pay the me- ter. You know that.” “Geez, Ashes! Geez, I ain’t sore. Honest, I ain’t.” The little man was frankly crying now. Tears made dirty streaks on his weathered cheeks. “I’m a nut about jokes myself, Ashes. I got a kick out of it. Honest, I—Ashes! Don’t, Ashes!” “Forget it, Barney,” Ashes mum- bled. “I’m only one. How about the rest—over there? You know, Barney, ashes to ashes—dust to dust... .” “Ashes! Geez! Ashes!”’ The little man sobbed uncon- trollably. CO IOOOLK C©