Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 52 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION Twenty minutes later, just as Lyssen began to despair of his treatment and wish that he had called a doctor, it proved abruptly successful. The man stretched himself on the bed, yawned prodigiously, and sat up. He looked at Lyssen through bleary lids, and said, irritably “Your name?” “I beg yours first, sir,”’ re- plied Lyssen, according to the customary etiquette. “Hell with formality,” growled the other. “I’m Roger del Marno; who are you?” ““Lyssen, of the Consoli- dated Banks in London. I bear a legacy for you-——” He opened the carrier and showed the envelope. | “Gods, that thing! I told your manager it must be some kind of error, or joke. Yet I’m glad you arrived here-now, else I would have slept until my wife, Barba, came back again. It’s she who must have hypno-drugged me, though why—oh!’’? Del Marno gave a startled cry, slid off the bed, and started scrambling into his clothes. “I told her—the incredible fool! She must be using the time machine!” Lyssen was suddenly and involuntarily caught up in a whirlwind of activity. He knew nothing of what it was all about except for a few brief words from Del Marno, as they hurried to the Youn Calculator. It appeared that he and his wife, Barba, had been trying to discover the principles of time-travel, using the new mathematical theory concerning magneto-gravitic stresses. The whole project had seemed highly improb- able until a short time ago, when he had actually bought a small magnetic reaction motor for use in his experiments. Suddenly, one problem after another had solved itself; they could not only send ob- jects shuttling through time, but even choose the locations. Del Marno stopped talking as they swung into the en- trance to Annexe Two. Lyssen was relieved, for the conversa- tion had been largely unin- telligible to him. As the elevator shot them to the tenth floor he began to feel distinctly in the way. Despite his orders, he wondered whether to hand the envelope over now, then quietly fade away. A husband-wife quarrel was no concern of his. By the time he stopped turning: the question over in his mind it was too late; Del Marno had already hustled him out of the elevator and 100 comicloooks.com