Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

WISHFUL THINKING They can’t do any harm on the dump, and I’m too old to argue.” “So much for the witness,” said Stanley. He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind as Doc Lancing came towards them. The doctor was no longer young, a veteran of two wars, and he had seen mayhem in many forms during his years as police surgeon. Now he looked white and sick. “We've dug him out,” he said. “‘Male, white, about forty and of medium heavy build.” ““How long dead?” “About three days.’’ Lanc- ing fumbled for a handkerchief and dabbed at his face and neck. Mark looked at him with mounting impatience. “All right,” he said. “You know what I want. How did ‘he die?” | “I’m not sure,” said Lanc- ing. He put away his handker- chief. “Ill make out a full report after the autopsy.” “Poison?” Stanley asked _ the obvious question. 95 “Maybe. I can’t be sure as yet, but I don’t think so.” Lancing swallowed. “All I can be sure about is that the victim suffered agonising torture.” “Torture?” ““That’s what I said, and I meant it literally. The man, as a man, is almost unrecog- nisable.” He wasn’t exaggerating. Director Hammond was a plump, jovial-seeming man who took pains to appear more like a prosperous man of business than the chief of the mental hospital which he was. In a way he was right to do so. Running a hospital, any hospital, required a shrewd talent for squeezing donations from people who first had to be persuaded that charity was a good investment. And Homedale, despite what he said, was not a good investment. Not, that is, if the restoration of a semblance of sanity to the mentally deranged without immediate financial return was compared conmiclsooks.conn