Pulp Fiction, 1952 · page 115 of 132
5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at
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THE GHOST BREAKERS mean,” I said. “That’s what I meant, and I believe you now. Not only did you spot the de- ception before you came within reach of it, but you kept your head enough to realize that, being wax, it could not have fallen and remained intact.” “Anyone would have thought of that, wouldn’t they ?” “Later, yes. Not at once. Was your flashlight in good condition?” “Brighter than Jan’s,” I said. “Do you know any reason why someone would have wanted to—uh—impose on me in that particular way last night?” I thought he hesitated before he shook his head. We watched while Scollini moved the dummy out of the hallway. Then, using a bright flashlight of his own, he bent over to examine the floor at the foot of the stairs. I had looked there, too, but I hadn’t used a magnifying glass. Scol- lini did. He said, “Ah?” finally. I couldn’t see anything there from where I stood and I bent closer. He ee me the glass and pointed to a spot. I knelt beside him and looked. There were a few.grains of a white powder. With infinite care, Scollini gathered what he could of them into a tiny glas- sine envelope. I asked what he thought it was. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’ll guess. Talcum powder. I’ll show it to a chemist tomorrow.” “Taleum powder?” I thought hard. “But tramps don’t use talcum. Unless— Scollini, did the original tramp who died here have gray hair?” The magician grinned. “He did, my boy, he did. Our minds, I see are running in the same channel.” | hee they did, I thought, but mine didn’t run very far. If someone had wanted the tramp of last night to fit whatever description of the original one was recorded, then talcum powder could easily turn dark hair gray. But why? If Scollini had any idea about that, he was miles ahead of me. “You think the body I found last night was made up to resemble that tramp?” “To the extent of the hair. ves. I’ve 115 checked into the records, and no photo- graph was taken of that body. I don’t imagine any actual make-up was used. If it was, I think there’d be traces of grease-paint here as well as powder.” Jan came over to join us. “Scollini,” he said, “did someone powder that fel- low’s hair, or did he do it himself?” “We'll ask him,” Scollini said. Jan’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Scollini, that suggestion from you! I thought you didn’t believe in the supernatural.” The magician chuckled. “I don’t -be- lieve, Jan. But he might give us an an- swer anyway. What do you say to a seance at my place tomorrow night?” “Just the three of us?” Jan asked. “Oh, no. We'll ask any of the society members who want to come and make it a real circle. I’ve been promising them one, told them I’d duplicate the mate- rialization technique Walter Crowley used to use—until I caught him at it. It will be highly educational, I assure you. You can come, Rice?” I told him it would take a shotgun to keep me away. Nothing more happened that night. The next day I chased down a few blind alleys, including a trip to the jungles to see Shorty, and then caught a few hours’ sleep before I looked up Jan to go to Scollini’s with him. Scollini’s place was a bachelor flat. He had taken all the furniture out of one room, leaving it utterly bare, except for eight plain chairs and a small table with a phonograph and a few boxes and pieces of paraphernalia in one corner. Wegs and Waldo were there when I arrived, as was another member of the society whom I had not yet met and who was introduced to me as Harold Phelan. Pollock was the last to arrive. A few minutes later, Scollini took the floor. “Gentlemen,” he said, “most of you were at the seance given by the medium, Crowley, at which we exposed some of his tricks. But some of you had attended previous seances of his at which I was not present. You, Mr. Waldo, in par- ticular, wanted to know how he could have achieved certain effects at those previous seances. Tonight I’ll try to auD icle them and explain them after- ward.” EO DOO) nn (”) S (C(O) mM