Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 46 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

SAVIOUR pointed down the corridor. ““Down here,” he said, briefly. Patrick noticed the numbers on the doors as they walked past them. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. They stopped. The captain rapped on the door. Remember! Remember! Only a few minutes left! The captain rapped more loudly. There was no answer. He waited a couple of seconds more and then grasped the door handle and pushed. The room was empty. It was not the actual consulting room, but a kind of waiting room, Patrick realised. On one of the walls there was another door that would lead through, presumably, to the consulting room itself”’ “Perhaps he’s in there,” murmured the captain, half to himself. “‘You sit on that seat over there and I’llinvestigate.”’ Patrick sat down and the captain opened the communi- cating door and peered into the far room, which also proved to be empty. “Stay there,” the captain said, shutting the door and walking across to the one that led out into the corridor, “‘while I find out where the doctor’s gone.” A few moments’ more grace. Try to remember. Try to think back. From outside came the sound of voices. The captain was asking someone—a girl— where Dr. Naylor might be and the girl was replying that she thought he might have gone to lunch and that if the captain would go with her she’d be able to find out for him. Footsteps and voices faded off down the corridor. A nurse, probably, Patrick Vane thought. Nice voice. Wonder what she looks like. Voice something like Mar- garet’s. Probably nothing to look at, though. Not as good as Margaret, anyway. ; Margaret. Long blonde hair tied up roughly behind her head. Tiny, slim body. Big eyes and wonderful lips that had a kind of pout to them that only made them all the more attractive. How long had he known her? Four weeks? Five? Just during that holiday from training college a year and a half or so back. Lovely girl. She’d understood him, somehow. Seemed to know the way he felt about things without his having to explain everything. Not like most of the fluff-headed girls he’d met at dances. She was different. Different. Margaret. Knew the way he felt. He went through the comiclooks.com