Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 42 — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

days, don’t stop—look the other way... “That’s excellent. Thank you, Mr. Burke. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”’ When Burke was quite sure his visitor had left town he slammed his old felt hat on his head, locked the door of the Gazette and walked across the street to interrogate his old time friend, Mike—the only contractor in the town. Dr. Ernest Martin had never felt so good. He was speeding through the warm winter desert to a new job. It was a lucky break that the offer had come the same day as his notice to return to the x-ray place for a re-check. A research job; no teaching. The man had only smiled non- committally when Martin had asked him what sort of research. Martin understood. He knew the hush-hush-smile of old and did not ask any more. The car stopped in front of the NO VACANCY sign of the BLUE SPRINGS MOTEL. The driver deposited Dr. Martin’s bags. The girl in blue jeans and sports shirt who had been sprinkling the lush flower beds around the swimming pool 105 TOP SECRET dropped the hose and greeted the new guest: ““You must be Dr. Martin.” “Yes, indeed.”’ “You are in number five, with Mr. Engler, a very nice gentleman. Here is your key. Let me know if there’s any- thing you need. Dinner’s at seven in the big building over there. Can you manage with your bags ?”’ “Oh yes, thank you.” Dr. Martin carried his two light suitcases and the portable typewriter along the flagged walk around the swimming pool to number five. The cabin consisted of two bed- rooms, each with its own shower, and a central sitting room. Martin unpacked in the unoccupied bedroom and put out his toilet things. Then he took his typewriter and his few books over to the main room. He picked the corner opposite the drafting table for his own desk. “Dear Fred, “As you told me to, I’m making this look like a per- sonal letter and sending it to your home address. But it seems funny, somehow, to write to a Postal Inspector on blue linen paper and call him by his first name after working comicbooks.conn