5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

CANDID tation, no complimentary closing, not even a date. But the thrill of it raced through Sulkas’ veins like brandy. Hajos, the great cameraman had ad- dressed a letter to him with his own hand. The Times-Mail had accepted the two prints he’d sent them. The crying child he had called “Bereavement.” The laugh- ing imbecile he had labeled “Idiot’s De- light.” Both had won honorable men- tion. First and second prizes had gone, respectively, to pictures showing a blond child trundling a hoop and a park squirrel hanging head down on the trunk of an oak tree. The irony of it had brought a bitter laugh to his mouth, but the letter from Hajos washed it away. Feverishly he made ready for the in- terview, chose and discarded half a doz- en ties, fussed and fumed while knotting them. His fingers shook so he could scarcely make them do his bidding. The subway seemed to crawl as it bore him downtown. The crosstown bus seemed slower than a snail as it bumped through the traffic. But finally, with a heart that beat so wildly it was almost stifling him, he stood before the great man’s door. “Hajos” was the only word upon the ground-glass panel, without a given name or statement of his calling. But what need was there? Hajos was Hajos. Nobody knew if he had any other name. Certainly he never used it if he had. As to his calling, would anyone add “paint- er” to the name of Michelangelo, or “sculptor” to Rodin’s? In all the world of photography there was no name so fa- mous or so potent as Hajos, yet Sulkas had come by personal appointment! A soft light burned above the gleam- ing desk in the center of the antecham- ber. Everything about the room was black. The black composition floor gleamed like polished jet. Dull, soot- black walls and ceiling gave back no gleam of light from the black-shaded lamp. The furniture of polished ebony was upholstered in black silk brocade. In the coned rays of the desk lamp he described the’ man at the desk, lighted like an actor on a darkened stage. The lean, sardonic face had eyes as black as coal, with heavy brows like circumflexes over them. The hair, dead-black as the bushy brows, was brushed back sharply, CAMERA 123 showing a widow’s peak on the forehead. A long, hooked nose; a wide, almost colorless mouth; long, sharply slanting jaws that terminated in a long, sharp chin made it a terrifying face. It was the face of one who knows the weak- nesses and wickedness of. others and holds aloof in scorn, indifference, and contempt. Sulkas stopped upon the threshold and drew in his breath so sharply that he seemed to sob. For just an instant panic caught him by the throat. The black- globed light threw curious shadows on the farther wall. For a fleeting instant it seemed that he saw the figure of a tall and slender man in black with a wide hat and long, enveloping cloak—the stranger of the park. Then reason took the reins again. Of course there was no- body there. “Mr. Hajos?” he asked tentatively. “Not ‘meestair,’ please,” the thick, harsh voice reproved. “Those who call Hajos ‘meestair’ insult heem. Hajos iss Hajos. It iss enough.” “I’m sorry.” Sulkas swallowed his embarrassment. “You wrote me—” “Yess.” The man’s reply was like a hiss. “You haf the prints of those pic- tures? Good. Giff them here.” When he took them in his long, thin dead-white hand, he sat silent, looking at the little negatives as he held them against the light. “You haf the master’s touch, younk man,” he pronounced. “Emotions are the only things that count. The world waits for the man who can imprison supreme emotion and preserve it for the ages. Yess.” Sulkas shivered till he thought his teeth must be chattering. Hajos had used practically the same words the stranger in the park had used! He choked down the fear that had possessed him. Hajos had laid the films on the desk and put one long white hand palm down on each side of them. “T want them,” he declared. “Of course Mr.—I mean Hajos,” Sul- kas stammered. “You’re entirely wel- come.” “No man iss welcome to anything. Everything must be paid for, and money is the cheapest thing to pay. I shall pay for them.” From the desk drawer, Hajos CONnNIECOO© S (C@)