10-Story Detective Magazine, April 1946 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

K-Ray Justice By E. C, Marshall When Dr. Fells failed to give his criminal patient the treat- ment he deserved, a relentless fate did. HE receptionist d looked up and across the large waiting room at the man slumped in ~@ well-worn, leather- covered chair. She raised a manicured finger to attract his attention. “You're the last patient, Mr. Strom. Dr. Fells will see you now.” Wulf Strom looked at her with dull feverish eyes, as she rapidly put her sec- retarial supplies away, applied lipstick, and made ready fo go. She was standing up and walking toward the outside door of the office even before he had risen. He did not look at her. As he slowly rose, waves of pain and staggering weak- ness momentarily blurred everything from his mind. Then he recovered, chuckling grimly. The blonde doll would not have left so blithely had she known that the “last patient” was a man es-~ caped from the atate prison, with a bul- Jet in his shoulder. Strom pushed his right hand into the outside pocket of his overcoat and grasped the gun that lay there firmly. He was al- ready three-quarters of the way across ' the room. Before him lay the objective of his desires: a lighted room with a man in it, usually seated behind a desk, scribbling notes on a pad, probably already impatient because he had taken too long to enter the office. He kicked open the door carelessly. and waited an instant in the darkness with- out. Yes, the doctor was at his desk. It was Fells, all right, a little grayer, a little plumper, a little more nervous. It was as he expected. The noise of the door crash- ing back sent the doctor leaping into the air. When he'd settled, jolted out of his customary complacency, Wulf Strom was in the room, with the door slamming be- hind him. Fella did not recognize him at once. GL His fat lips pursed with sudden anger aa the darkly clad figure strode across the room, thrust a chair before the desk and sat down. Fells recognized the pointed gun first. Then his mouth fell away as Strom removed his hat and laid it down wearily atop a stack of medical journals. The intruder sneered at Fells, indicat- ed the stack. “Still playing at being a doctor, eh Felis? Nothing like the deskside manner to the frightened patient.” He glanced about the room. “Still the same,” he con- - tinued in a harsh voice, “Well-filled book- cases, the neatly framed diplomas on the wall, ‘From the University of Vienna,’ ‘From the University of Paris.’ Sounds good, doean’t it? Solid, respectable, with just the faintest touch of the rollicking man of the world.” He paused. Felis licked his dry lips, glancing with lightning stabs about the room. “You escaped—from the prison?” he asked, trembling’. Strom nodded, He put the gun back im his pocket, lit one of Fells’ cigarettes which lay in am open box on the desk, “It was difficult. It had to be planned. Would it surprise you to know that I be- gan planning my escape just four days ago?” — Fells’ eyes lost their frightened look. This was something he could understand. No witcheraft, no gibbering insanity. Just stark purpose. He even managed a amile. “You read about our marriage?” The head across the desk from him nod- ded slowly. “Tt was easy to take your betrayal, easy to aecept five years in prison for a crime we both committed. Even if you still were outside.” Strom’s face darkened. “Even if your word had sent me to prison, I could rationalize that away. Law of self- preservation, anything, I might have act- ed the same way. But you were going to keep everything as it was—our office, our practice, our money. Aud you were going ComiclboookKs COL,