Thrilling Detective
Featuring:
Dangerous to Handle - A Novelet of Crime and Vice by Mark Reed
Sucker's Bribe by R. Van Taylor
Showing posts with label Thrilling Detective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thrilling Detective. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Thrilling Detective
Thrilling Detective
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
G-Man Heat by Milton Lowe
Thrilling Detective , December, 1938
Frank Craig, Postal Inspector, Barges Head-On into a Malicious Racket where Murder is Just a Starter!
POSTAL INSPECTOR FRANK CRAIG slanted the nose of his Boeing Special into the headwind, then let the big monoplane glide earthward in a long swoop. Field lights afforded him ample visibility despite the downpour that had turned the airport into a veritable mire.
The plane sat down without a bump, rippled the muddy ground with its tail wheel, then headed across to the government hangar at the south end of the field. Killing the ignition with a quick twist of his wrist, Craig froze the stick into position. Two attendants, braving the swishing rain, grabbed the wings at either end and guided the plane into the lighted hangar.
No sooner had it cleared the doorway than Craig vaulted from the cockpit. A man in a topcoat rushed out to greet him. Craig accepted his hand brusquely, his eyes alive with a burning gleam. His jaws were set, his lips straight.
Companions of the Corpse by Frank Johnson
Thrilling Detective , September, 1942
When Bill Hunter found a pal murdered on the beach, he knew it was time to move against his fifth column killers—and did he move!
BILL HUNTER stood with the wind blowing the damp, salty air against his face and bitter hatred lingering in his heart. Out there in the bleak darkness of the cloudy night, the booming of the surf was a throbbing undercurrent to the bitter thoughts racing through his mind.
Again Bill Hunter switched on the flashlight in his left hand. The face of the dead man lying on the wet sand was yellow in the glow. The dried blood and the bruises, the way the lips were still twisted in a grimace of pain showed that Tom Crawford must have suffered a lot before he died.
“I'll get them, Tom,” said Hunter harshly. “Those rats can't kill a G-man and get away with it!”
The light in Hunter's hand went out as he pressed the catch. For a moment he stood there, a vague figure in the shadows. There was nothing he could do for Crawford now. The less that was known about his even having found the body, the better.
There had been reports of lights seen at night along this lonely section of the Long Island beach front, lights that were suspected of being the work of fifth columnists. Of what use was all of the effort to dim out the entire city of New York when there was still a bright flare of light coming from the beach that was visible for miles out to sea?
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