Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION barrel to pay for something which the police, the Salva- tion Army, the Church, would have done for nothing. For a moment he was tempted to refuse to handle the case, then remembered his rent, his bills, and the state of his bank account. He shrugged again, physically this time, and reached out for the money. “I think it will do. Now, if you will let me have some details, please.’’ He poised the pencil. ““Name?” **Jud Everet Johnson.”’ Like her clothes, her voice was colourless, whispering from between bloodless lips, giving him the information which made a man. Fifty-six years of age. Five feet nine inches tall. Ten stone five pounds in weight. Wears thick, horn-rimmed spectacles. Stoop shouldered. Grey hair, thin on top and cropped back and sides. Never wore a hat. Dressed in blue serge, rather worn and a little shiny. Black shoes, blue shirt, red and blue tie. Cheap metal 48 wrist watch. No rings. Worked as a clerk and had been with the same firm twenty years. No children. No _ hobbies, Nothing. Sam jotted down the frame- work, stared at the thin lined face on a photograph the woman gave him, and tried to clothe the naked bones with warm, breathing flesh. *“No hobbies?’ He stared at the woman. “‘Do you mean that literally ?”’ He read the classics, the cheap layman’s translations. He played cards sometimes, whist, rummy, a little crib- bage. He had once kept gold- fish and used to own a motor cycle. No hobbies. “Friends ?”’ None which she didn’t know about. A few people from the office, a couple of neighbours, a few men and women acquaintances at the whist drive. No friends. ““Women friends?” Impossible! “Money ?” comiclooks.com