DEATH MAKES A MISTAKE
By P. F. COSTELLO
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When Reggie Van Fiddler sauntered into the cool somber depths of theMidland 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 hislong, narrow face.
This state of blissful tranquility could be attributed to the fact thatReggie's tan and white shoes were taking him directly toward the ClubBar, where he planned to while away the day sipping various long, cooldrinks. And Reggie was always happy when the immediate future held theprospects 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 spreadover his equine features.
"Well, well," he muttered, shaking his head, "how'd that happen?" Hesauntered on toward the bar, nibbling at a hang nail. The morning hadslipped away from him somehow. Here it was two o'clock in the afternoonalready. It was quite a blow.
He remembered then that he had slept until twelve thirty and hebrightened considerably. That explained it. Whistling merrily he strodeon into the dim cool bar, with its heavy brown fixtures and solidatmosphere of masculinity.
The bartender set up his usual drink and with knowledge born of longexperience, immediately began the preparation of a second.
Reggie sipped his drink and relaxed.
For several moments he stood at the bar, lazily contented, his brainslowed to about one revolution per minute. Finally he happened to glancetoward the end of the bar and he noticed a small, dark, narrow-eyed manwatching him closely.
Reggie smiled uncertainly and returned to his drink. The dark man at theend of the bar was the only other customer and Reggie knew that he wasnot 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 himhe glanced again toward the end of the bar. The little dark man wasstill there, regarding him, it seemed, with a steady fixed stare.
Reggie coughed nervously and gulped his drink. There was something inthe dark little man's beady-eyed gaze that disturbed him. He had anotherquick drink and peeked from the corner of his eye at the little darkman.
There was something sinister about the chap, he felt sure. Reggie wasthe owner of an extremely lurid imagination and now, warmed by the glowof 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 hestill felt sure the man was a Nazi.
Reggie finished his drink and set the glass on the bar. Then he casuallysauntered toward the door. A few paces from the room's only exit, hepaused and under the pretense of inspecting a faded sports print on thewall, 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 goingto make a break for it, but it would have to be fast and cleve