Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition, December 1955 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

70 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION was a hallway and a row of three metal tanks, the tall kind welders use for oxygen and acetylene gas. Lewis glanced at them, wondering what a mortuary did with that type of equipment, shrugged the question aside. At the other end of the hall the door opened into a carpeted foyer which smelled of musky flowers. A door at the left bore a brass plate labeled OFFICE. Lewis crossed the foyer, entered the room. Behind a glass-topped desk in the corner sat a tall blond individual type with clear Nordic features. An oak frame on the wall behind him held a colored photograph of Mount Lassen labeled PEACE on an embossed nameplate. An official burial form—partly filled in—was on the desk in. front of the man. The left corner of the desk held a brass cup in which sat a metal ball. The ball emitted a hissing noise as Lewis approached and he breathed in the heavy floral scent of the foyer. The man behind the desk got to his feet, put a pen across the burial form. Lewis recognized him—Johnson, half-owner of the mortuary. “May I help you?” asked the mortician. Lewis explained his errand. Johnson brought a small bottle from a desk drawer, passed it across to Lewis, then looked at the deputy with a puzzled frown. ““How’d you get in?” asked the mortician. “I didn’t hear the front door chimes.” The deputy shoved the bottle into a side pocket of his coat. “I parked in the alley and came in the back way,” he said. “‘The street out front is full of Odd Fellows cars.” “Odd Fellows?’’ Johnson came around the desk. “Paper said they were having some kind of rummage sale today,” said Lewis. He ducked his head to look under the shade on the front window. “TI guess those are Odd Fellows cars. That’s the hall across the street.”’ An ornamental shrub on the mortuary front lawn bent before the wind and a spattering of rain drummed against the window. Lewis straightened. “Left my raincoat in the car,” he said. “I'll just duck out the way I came.” Johnson moved to his office door. ““Two of our attendants are due back now on a call,” he said. ““They—” “I’ve seen a stiff before,” said Lewis.: He stepped past Johnson, headed for the door to the rear hall. Johnson’s hand caught the deputy’s shoulder. “I must insist you go out the front,” said the mortician. Lewis stopped, his mind setting up a battery of questions. “It S raining out,” he said. “Til get all wet.” ‘‘T’m sorry,” said Johnson. Another man might have shrugged and complied with Johnson’s request, but Welby Lewis was the son of the late Proctor Lewis, who had been three times president of the Banbury County Sherlock Holmes Round Table. Welby had cut his teeth on Jogical deduction and the logic of this situation escaped him. He reviewed his memory of the hallway. Empty except for those tanks near the back door. “What do you keep in those metal tanks?” he asked. The mortician’s hand tightened on his shoulder and Lewis felt himself 93 Comiclbooks.conn