[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January
1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: Mr. Demise had Reggie Van Fiddler's name in his book, but
Reggie didn't want to be on any list, so he set out to correct the
mistake!]
When Reggie Van Fiddler sauntered into the cool somber depths of the
Midland Club's lobby, he was feeling in an exceptionally amiable mood.
There was a song in his heart and a bland, dreamily vague smile on his
long, narrow face.
This state of blissful tranquility could be attributed to the fact that
Reggie's tan and white shoes were taking him directly toward the Club
Bar, where he planned to while away the day sipping various long, cool
drinks. And Reggie was always happy when the immediate future held the
prospects of a drink.
He nodded brightly to a uniformed attendant.
"Glorious morning, isn't he?" he said.
"It was a glorious morning," the attendant corrected politely.
Reggie looked blankly at a clock on the wall and a puzzled frown spread
over his equine features.
"Well, well," he muttered, shaking his head, "how'd that happen?" He
sauntered on toward the bar, nibbling at a hang nail. The morning had
slipped away from him somehow. Here it was two o'clock in the afternoon
already. It was quite a blow.
He remembered then that he had slept until twelve thirty and he
brightened considerably. That explained it. Whistling merrily he strode
on into the dim cool bar, with its heavy brown fixtures and solid
atmosphere of masculinity.
The bartender set up his usual drink and with knowledge born of long
experience, immediately began the preparation of a second.
Reggie sipped his drink and relaxed.
For several moments he stood at the bar, lazily contented, his brain
slowed to about one revolution per minute. Finally he happened to glance
toward the end of the bar and he noticed a small, dark, narrow-eyed man
watching him closely.
Reggie smiled uncertainly and returned to his drink. The dark man at the
end of the bar was the only other customer and Reggie knew that he was
not a member of the club, for he had never seen him before in his life.
Reggie finished his drink and when the bartender set another before him
he glanced again toward the end of the bar. The little dark man was
still there, regarding him, it seemed, with a steady fixed stare.
Reggie coughed nervously and gulped his drink. There was something in
the dark little man's beady-eyed gaze that disturbed him. He had another
quick drink and peeked from the corner of his eye at the little dark
man.
There was something sinister about the chap, he felt sure. Reggie was
the owner of an extremely lurid imagination and now, warmed by the glow
of alcohol, he began to envision all sorts of wild possibilities.
After his fourth drink he was certain that the man was an Axis agent.
Just why an Axis agent would be staring at him he had no idea, but he
still felt sure the man was a Nazi.
* * * * *
Reggie finished his drink and set the glass on the bar. Then he casually
sauntered toward the door. A few paces from the room's only exit, he
paused and under the pretense of inspecting a faded sports print on the
wall, sneaked a quick glance at the dark little man.
The dark little man was still staring at him with narrowed, shaded eyes.
Reggie yawned ostentatiously and inched closer to the door. He was going
to make a break for it, but it would have to be fast and clever. His
heart was pounding with more gusto than usual and there were bright
spots of excitement in his pale cheeks. This new role of dodging the
Gestapo appealed enormously to his comic strip sense of melodrama.
Headlines popped before his mind's eye.