Death Makes A Mistake

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  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.]

  [Sidenote: Mr. Demise had Reggie Van Fiddler's name in his book, butReggie didn't want to be on any list, so he set out to correct themistake!]

  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 clever. Hisheart was pounding with more gusto than usual and there were brightspots of excitement in his pale cheeks. This new role of dodging theGestapo appealed enormously to his comic strip sense of melodrama.

  Headlines popped before his mind's eye.

  REGGIE VAN FIDDLER MAKES ESCAPE!

  From what he was going to escape he wasn't quite sure, but he felt thatthe details would be in the body of the news story. Headlines didn'ttell everything, did they?

  Within a foot of the door he turned casually and took one last look atthe little man who was staring so intently at him. Then, with a suddenslithering motion, he slipped through the door.

  He collided heavily with a small figure.

  "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

  He turned and started away, but he had barely taken three strides whenhe jerked to a stop. An expression of dazed amazement stole over hisface and his sleepy eyes opened wide.

  Wheeling suddenly he stared back at the small figure he had collidedwith. The man was still standing in the corridor that led from the bar,regarding Reggie with a fixed, thoughtful expression.

  And he was the same dark little man Reggie had left _inside_ the barroom seconds before!

  Reggie gulped audibly. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat like amouse in a sock.

  _How had the dark little man gotten out of the bar ahead of him?_

  Reggie didn't know and he had no inclination to wait and ask questions.With one last incredulous look over his shoulder he wheeled and lopedacross the lobby, down the marble steps, through the club's revolvingdoors and into the street.

  He walked swiftly, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.

  The experience had been an unnerving one. When he reached the end of theblock he hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of another bar.

  As the cab rolled across the Loop Reggie settled back and gnawednervously at his finger nails. Thoughtful meditation and analysis werenot his strongest suits; in fact any thinking at all was an annoyingchore to him, but he felt now that he had better bend his brain to theproblem of the dark little man whom he'd seen at the club.

  The chap was obviously interested in him, but why? There was noreasonable answer to that question, and there was no explanation to theway the little fellow had popped up _outside_ the bar, when Reggie hadseen him, a split-second before, _inside_ the bar.

  * * * * *

  Reggie was still stewing over these matters when the cab came to a stopbefore a swanky glitter joint which catered to afternoon revellers andjitterbugs of both sexes.

  Inside the smoky, dimly lighted den of din and discord Reggie forgot histroubles long enough to order a drink, his fifth of the afternoon. Hewas conscious of a vague buzzing between his ears and there was apleasant mellow glow in the region of his solar plexus.

  Had it not been for his disturbing experience at the Midland club, hewould have been feeling very, very fine.

  When his drink arrived he sipped it appreciatively and glanced about thecrowded bar, looking for a familiar face. In one corner of the room hesaw a tall young man in tweeds lounging against the wall with a drink inhis hand. With a glad cry Reggie scrambled from his bar stool andlurched across the crowded floor, weaving his way with drunken dexteritythrough the jitterbugging maniacs.

  "Hi!" he cried, when he reached the tweed-clad young man's side. "How'veyou been, Ricky? Have a drink?"

  "Been fine," the young man answered. "Got a drink. Name isn't Ricky."

  "Not Ricky?" Reggie shook his head frowning. "Could've sworn you weregood old Ricky Davis, chap I knew at school. Well, how're things?"

  "Good," the young man answered. "Have a drink?"

  "Got one," Reggie said. "Got to go now. It's been nice seeing you again,Ricky."

  He started to weave his way back to the bar. Suddenly he stopped, hiseyes focusing in fascination on the figure of a man at the bar. A manwho had appropriated the seat which Reggie had vacated.

  The man was small and dark. His eyes were narrow and inscrut
able. He wasthe same person Reggie had seen at the club.

  The breath left Reggie's lungs in a rush.

  Obviously the man had followed him here!

  As he stood, transfixed, in the middle of the floor, the man turned andlooked straight at him, a peculiar thoughtful expression on his darkface. After studying Reggie for a long interval he turned slowly back tothe bar.

  Reggie swallowed what was left of his drink in one gulp, but the liquorhad no effect on him. After the shock he'd received it would take liquiddynamite to bolster him up.

  He reeled back to the tall young man who was leaning against the wall.

  "Ricky!" he cried hoarsely. "I'm being followed. Axis agents are afterme."

  "Name isn't Ricky," the tall young man said. "Why?"

  "Why what?" Reggie said blankly. He seemed to have fumbled theconversational ball. He wished the young man would speak with moreclarity and add a