10-Story Detective Magazine Cover — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

gotten me. Now don’t start asking ques- tions. This call is in the line of work for you. There’s a dead man at Apartment 17C in the Cedar Apartments on Wright Avenue.” “A dead man,” Rourke commented cautiously, half believing this was a trick. “What did he die from?” “Well,” the killer laughed easily, *there’s a slug in his stomach, another through his heart, and a third through his head. Oh, he’s dead all richt.” “Who did it’ ?” Rourke demanded while his free hand pushed buttons. “I did, Lieutenant. Come on over. Pl be waiting for you. And, Lieutenant—I think you had better come alone.” Rourke hung up, took his service pis- tol out of the desk drawer, and slid it into a shoulder holster. Then he grabbed his hat and rushed out to the street where a fast car was waiting. Some fifteen minutes later, he stopped in front of the designated apartment building and hurried inside. If this was a joke, Rourke didn’t like it. He could take jokes, but not one like this. With long strides he crossed the lobby—and they were long strides because Rourke was six feet two. He located the apartment door, dis- covered that it was ajar. Gun in hand, he stepped carefully toward it. Through the opening he could smell cordite. He slow- ly raised one foot and sent it crashing against the door. As it flew open, he leaped into the room, revolver leveled. “Hello, Rourke,” the killer grinned smugly. “The years have been kind to you. Really, I’d have known you any- where.” Rourke stared, first at the corpse, then at the gun on the table, finally at the killer. “Peter Kady,” Rourke said softly. “The man I arrested for murder fifteen years ago. When did they let you out?” “A couple of days ago. Say, Rourke, do you remember how I always told you what a grave error you made then? That I hadn’t killed Nick Norris, as you ac- cused me of doing?” “Sure, I remember.” Rourke stepped over beside the chair where the dead man was slumped. A half second’s examina- tion told him the man was very, very dead. And a grim, terrible suspicion was taking shape in his brain. ss *¥ou made quite a song-and-dance of HOMICIDE’S MY RIGHT-——__—__——_——57 the act, too,” he added, “But the jury be- lieved us and not you.” “That’s right,’ Kady said. “Even juries can be wrong, though. Aren’t you going to put handcuffs on me for killing that rat in the chair?” “T’ll oblige.” Rourke sat down. “‘Mind telling me the story, Kady?” ADY lit a cigarette. “You don’t have to keep the gun trained on me, Rourke. I’ve done my killing. Think back now. I was arrested for the murder of my partner in the jewelry business. You claimed — and produced witnesses — to the effect that Nick Norris and I fought a battle to the death atop a cliff over- looking the sea. You claimed I threw him over. His body was found later, smashed to an unrecognizable ‘mass, You could not, however, prove premeditation.” ‘If I could have,” Rourke said grimly, “you’d have gone to the chair. I rather think that little omission will be recti- fied this time.” Kady chuckled. ‘““The motive was that Nick Norris and I quarrelled. That we accused one another of stealing stock from the jewelry store. Two hundred thousand dollars worth, to be exact. It never did come out which one of us was the crook. I refused to talk and Norris was dead. So you claimed.” “All right.” Rourke arose. “Let’s stop talking. You’re under arrest for murder, Kady. You can make a statement if you want to.” “Oh, boy,” Kady laughed, “am I going to make a statement! Take another look at the dead man. Yes, I killed him. I ad- mit it freely. This is my confession. I’ll put it in writing or relate it into a sound camera if you like, but—you can’t arrest me for killing him.” Rourke looked at the dead man. Then he glanced at Kady. “You must have gone stir-crazy,” he said, = “No. Really, I’ve never been saner. The man I shot happens to be Nick Nor- ris. I was convicted and punished for his murder fifteen years ago.” “What?” Rourke yelled. ‘Are you com- pletely—? Wait! The dead man doesn’t look like Norris.” “Certainly not. Because he has been living as Alan Henderson. When he went off that cliff, he wasn’t killed. The body you found was of some stranger. Norris