Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

4 TO-MORROW IS ANOTHER DAY for the minds of the lodgers in the boarding house. They still bore the signs of the numbing fields. the kidnapper had used to shield his entrance and exit, but he could contact them all right. He punched the impression of a blood-curdling scream into their aural centres and bounded up the steps, opened the door. The people in the house were already crowding into the hall. He said: “Excuse me. Did I hear someone scream ?”’ The grey-haired dowager of a landlady said: ““Who can it be?’’ and the pretty, yellow- haired maid said: ‘“‘Every- body’s here but Mr. Michel!” A slightly self-important, middle-aged man went up the stairs in a panting hurry, and was heard to knock on a door and then to open it. A gasp that was almost a groan; and when he reappeared, his florid face was pale and drawn. He said: “I think—we’d better—get a doctor. Or something.” **T have some medical know- 49 > ledge,” offered Clairmont at once. He pushed through them and went up the stairs by threes. When he opened the door he got the biggest shock he had had in years. The face of the man sprawled in the big armchair, looselipped and vacant, was the face of August Michel. He regarded him thought- fully. So that was why the immortal had been so beaten when he left with Michel. He pressed one finger to the cheekbones that had been so distinctive in Prentiss’s face. Soft. And the finger- tips were raw and red. He’d been thorough, this man. Furthermore, he was ex- ceptionally able. To practise psycho-surgery on a man just rendered next to mindless by the forced penetration of his baffle, smacked of the impossible. But nothing, now, could be done for Roger Prentiss. Except—— | He flung an electrifying jolt into the caverns of the comiclbooks.corn