Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 65 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

st ee mh 4 THE CREEP Binder ran a finger round his collar. “‘Please, Sam. I’m not denying I’m scared. You’ve scared everybody to- day. Please come to _ the studio.” Sam walked away from him, opened the door and went outside. He was back in a second. A uniformed chauffeur was with him. They bumped into Max Binder at the door. “‘What’s the matter?’ Sam asked. “Did you think I'd run away?” To the chauffeur, he said: ‘‘What’s your drink, Gibb?” “Tf it’s all the same to you, Mr. Garnet,” answered Gibb, “I won’t bother. I told the missus I’d be home before eleven and there’s a lot to do before then. I’ve got to take you to the studio and Mr. Binder to drive over to Mr. Grossen’s place. It’s half-past nine now.” And at half-past nine the roof fell in. There was no warning. No siren shrilled, no sound of any kind preceded the blast. Sam had heard stories of the last war, stories of people who said there was actually a hiatus, a psychic silence which warned them of im- pending disaster. He experi- enced no such phenomenon. One moment he was listening to Gibb and the next moment he was lying beneath Max Binder’s great bulk and a fat belly was pressing round his nose, threatening to suffocate him. He heaved Binder off his face and tried to stand up. He got as far as a kneeling posi- tion and keeled over like a dog with distemper. The movement stirred a cloud of plaster off his clothes and he choked as he inhaled the dust. He lay gathering his strength. From his position on the floor he looked around him. The girl was draped over a stool, her mink a dust-covered ruin. He couldn’t see Harry and assumed he — was lying behind the bar; dead or alive, he didn’t know. At his side, Max Binder was beginning to come to, but Gibb appeared to be dead. A thick wooden beam lay across his chest and he didn’t seem to be breathing. 129 comicloooks.com