Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

TO-MORROW IS ANOTHER DAY curred, without enthusiasm. “Dugald, are you listening?” “Of course. I’m not com- pletely unmindful of my duties. You’re coming closer to my territory now. What do you want done ?”’ “How soon can you raise a helicopter and fly south?” “In about a quarter of an hour.” “‘There’s a low cloud base today, so you'll have an excuse to keep down. I want you to watch the main roads leading north out of Man- chester with a pair of binocul- ars—no probing. You're looking for a black Jaguar saloon, numbered QKX 2994. You should be in time— Manchester’s tough to get through at speed.” “Sounds like a very poor bet, but Til try it if you say so. I’m on my way.” They pulled up in a rather shoddy suburban road some- where on the north side of a big industrial town. Michel demanded: “Where are we?” 55 ““Manchester,”’ said Enoch, opening his door. “Out.” Michel obeyed immediately, not quite knowing why but suspecting a command on the telepathic level from one or both of them, which was second nature with the issuing of any order. He went up the grimy steps of the nearest house, with Murphy ahead of him and Enoch behind. The heavy, ugly door swung dully shut behind him. They took him up a flight of stairs and showed him into a small, windowless room, comfortably enough furnished, with a radiogram and a case of books, a bed, a table, a chair, washbasin and toilet, even pictures on the walls; but those walls were faced with blocks of solid, north- country slate, and the door, covered in metal plates and with a steel-covered lock, was set in a metal frame. Finally, they pushed him into the middle of the room and stood side by side in the doorway, threatening. Enoch said: “This room is conmiclooks.conn