10-Story Detective, November 1942 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

KEEP YOUR SHROUD ON!———————————_-73 and killed the engine when he jabbed on the brakes. He jumped out while the car was still rolling. “Do you have to scare hell out of a guy just to get to the alley back of Lulu Shard’s flat?” Reilly gasped. But Banning was already sprinting across the rear yard, up the rickety steps. He tried the door, the window. Both were locked. He turned the win- dow latch with the blade of his pen- knife, raised the sash, stepped inside. It was dark in these old flats, even in the daytime. He listened, heard a rasp- ing sound as of someone having diffi- culty in breathing. Then a man moved out from the opposite wall a few wa- vering steps. Light from the dingy window struck his face, and Banning gasped, ‘Rube Jones.” It was Rube Jones, all right, with red blood staining the low- er expanse of his white shirt. His eyes were giazed, his fists knotted above his head to ease the agony showing in his face. Banning leaped to his side. Rube’s eyes cleared for a moment as they focused on the detective. “They don’t play for marbles in—” Jones collapsed. Banning lowered the body to the floor, mechanically felt for the pulse he knew was not there. This was one time Rube had found. that the tongue was not mightier than the gun. A cold hard rage flowed through Banning. Not satisfied with shooting Lulu Shard, Eva Perry had killed again. But Banning’s intelligence told him there was more to this than re- venge. Rube’s last words had been prophetic. There was a stake, a mighty big stake involved, and Banning meant to find it. He started toward the front of the apartment, through swinging doors into the serving pantry, along a short hall into the dining room. A big man, as big as Banning, was struggling with Eva Perry. He had one arm around her, with his palm over her mouth. In his other hand he held a revolver, trying to keep it out of her grasp. He saw Banning, swung the girl before him as a shield, and fired. Banning sidestepped, but not fast enough. He felt the bullet numb his left arm. He reached for his gun, but stopped. He might hit Eva Perry if he started shooting now, and he couldn’t take that chance. He leaped forward in a low crouch. Those twelve feet seemed like as many miles. Two more shots roared, and Banning knew at least one of them had hit him. Then he had the gun hand and was forcing it upward. The man, impeded by his grip on Eva Perry, suddenly hurled her aside. “Folrem!” Banning gasped. OLREM seemed crazed as he sunk his now free left fist in Banning’s side, the blow ripping across one of the bullet wounds. Banning winced. Folrem rushed across the room, grabbed up a chair, and charged with it held high over his head. Banning stepped forward to meet him, dived low to the right, stuck out his foot. Folrem tripped, went to his knees, smashing the chair on the floor in front of him. Banning leaped, his full weight landing on Folrem’s back. Air rushed out of Folrem’s lungs in an audible gasp as he sank to the floor un- conscious. Eva Perry scrambled to her feet, holding Folrem’s gun. She did not threaten Banning, but edged around the wall toward the buffet. “Go ahead and shoot me,” Banning pleaded. “Say I shot Lulu. Say I shot Rube Jones. Say anything you want just so it will save Bob.” But Eva Perry did not answer. She yanked out a drawer from the buffet, dumped its contents on the floor. She scattered them with one foot, keeping an eye on Banning. Then she yanked out another drawer, did the same. Banning sat there helplessly watch- ing her. He knew he could not get up and walk that far, knew he did not even have strength enough to draw his gun and hold it. Gomicsdook C©