10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

j 5 ,* f yi) 8 yur te ab) ae ruminated Wayne, as he bent over ther ‘body, her surprise would have been enor- mous. Fer the murder weapon, glittering beside the corpse, clotted with blood and meticulously tagged, was a lange, copper- plate engraving of his own face. The lawyer remembered it immediately as one of a series of sketches Blashforth had dene some years before for a popular magazine. He smiled grimly, glanced up at the gap -in the line of other copper- plates resting edge to edge on the low, modernistic paneling that bordered the room ata height of a yard. The room was empty, except for the corpse, the murder weapon, and sundry piles of oils.and sketches scattered about on the floor. Wayne exhausted its possibilities in . two minutes. He did not touch the body, examining only the blood-stained weapon and its counterparts on the paneling. Very carefully he lifted them one by one, inspected ever-- square inch front and back minutely. Finally he prodded the lethal plate, peered at it closely -in the blinding glare. ISING to his feet, Wayne brushed his hands together, walked to the studio door and opened it, pushing aside the deputy as he emerged. Widner stood at the opposite end of the corridor; peering through a window out into the night. “Got a moment, constable?” called Wayne loudly. “I’d dfke to have a look at the ground under the studio window.” Widner came, grumbling. They clat- tered down the stairs, pushed through the butler’s pantry into the kitchen, jiggled with the lock of the door opening eut on the backyard, and finally opened it. The constable went first, playing his flashlight on the wind-swept ground. “What's all this tomfoolishness?” he growled, “I ain’t no mind ter— Wayne ignored him, He seized the flashlight, moved swiftly to the wall be- “neath the studio window, and examined the ground. “Have any of the family been out here since the body was discovered?” he asked, as the constable came up puffing, “Think I’m crazy?” demanded Widmer, “Anyway, if you want photographs of all the footprints we found around the house, I’ve got ’em here in my pocket—” h } } % s 319 7 + np 2 US | ‘4 { } ) wt t Ala tase, Ah VAs \: Rey : rh PVA Ae WEN iy 9 ee a (Vert a Sg it ‘ay fiat ¥ af " ’ iA i ALi f or ; é q mi) Bik Aj a i \ | he paused suddenly, aware that the lawyer wasn’t listening to him. “What—” “Shut up,” snapped Wayne viciously. He cocked an éar, birdlike. Then, from above, sounded the thin squeak of a:win- dow opening. Abruptly the studio lights went out. In an instant both men were silhouetted against the glow of the flash- light as it played on the ground. A soft whooshing noise came swiftly down, “Look out!” shouted Wayne. He pushed the constable violently aside, moved like a gtreak in the opposite direction. As the lawyer collided with the house wall, some- thing big and heavy plunged past, grazed him closely, and hit the earth with a thud, Widner’s torch, in Wayne's hands, flicked for a brief instant. Then blazing again, climbed the wall to the studio win- dow. Nothing. The circle of light descend- ed, focussed on a dully gleaming mass half-buried im the earth. Ignoring Wid- ner’s protestations, the lawyer clutched the free end and heaved. It came loose with a shower of earth. Then it was caught in the brilliant beam. Wayne flashed one glance at the print- ing surface of the copperplate. An instant — later he had thrust it at Widner and dashed back to the kitchen door. In less than fifteen seconds, both men burst inte the entrance hail. The upstairs lights were out. With a sudden flood, they were on again, as the deputy standing at the head of the stairs flicked a switch. Widner purpled, started to say some- thing and stepped, staring. Lionel Blashforth opened the door of the bathroom, which, adjoining his wife’s studio, was visible from the foot of the stairs. He glanced curiously at the deputy as the lights came on, then moved down the corridor. The door of his room slammed sharply, The deputy was stammering as they reached the second floor. “One minute they wuz on—and the next it was pitchy black. I dunno—” The constable glared at him, cast a vicious glance at Wayne’s back already disappearing behind the studio door. Widner breathed hard and fast, clenched his hands, seemed about to burst, thought better of it, and retreated to his tobacco. He stalked off down the corridor. Wayne sat in the studio, his stiff back against the wall, smoking cigarette after