Mystery Magazine June 1934 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Publisher: Mystery Magazine
Published: 1934-06-06T05:00:00+00:00

WELL, really, there wasn’t much a chap could do when Syd started giving orders. After all, what difference did it make? Apparently people did things like that. It might be good for me. I’ve always believed people ought to have experiences, a little. To broaden them. As soon as the road was broken out, that would be the end of Syd, for me, anyhow. It would be something to remember. I stretched myself out on the edge of the bed. She thrust her arm under my head and drew it over onto her shoulder. It certainly was an experience. I felt her relax. She drew a slow, deep breath and expelled it, quite violently, in my neck.

“O-o-o-o-h! What a reassuring beard! Dink, you won’t let anybody shoot me, will you?”

I told her I certainly would do all I could—there was probably not much danger, anyway. I think it reassured her. She seemed to grow quite calm. Her breathing became easier, more regular. I thought she was falling asleep but. presently, she said: “I don’t see what made Frieda do it.”

“Well,” I said, “what did she do?” Not that an incomplete suicide, more or less, amounted to much in that Tavern but, still, I couldn’t help being a little curious.

“I told you, she took all the headache medicine—gosh. an awful lot. Then she changed her mind and yelled for Dick; we heard her. He missed the train—I guess he generally does. Your Claine tickled her throat and got all the capsules back.”

Well, I was glad I hadn’t been there to see that. I dislike such things. I’m fastidious, really. I suppose it’s necessary, sometimes.

“He’s frightfully versatile,” Syd said, drowsily. Presently she went on, in a sleepy, drawling voice: “It was lousy of me to go off the deep end, this way. I don’t do it often, Dink, honestly. But you’ve no idea what it’s like to have an identical twin go sour on you. It’s been like this for ages, and she won’t tell me. It’s ghastly. And now she bobs up, way out here in the woods, doing a Bernhardt with two perfect strangers. Are they the guys who have been ruining my life right along? Or are they a couple of other fellows she’s engaged to keep her miserable over Sunday? Is Claine her permanent Secret Sorrow? And who is this Dick bird? And how came Frieda to eat the pain-killer—we’re not naturally suicidal, really. And how come she changed her mind so extraordinary quick? And how come the three of them to be among those present at this Indian massacre? That would keep me awake nights if I hadn’t been awake so darn many, already. If I can only sleep, I don’t care what happens to me—or anybody else.”

I felt a good deal the same way about it, myself. The next I knew, someone was tickling my ear and giggling. It sounded like Syd.

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