few articles and pronouns to his sentences.
"Why are they following you?" the young man said peevishly. "Nothingbetter to do?"
"That's just it," Reggie said. "I don't know why I'm being followed. Buteverywhere I go this little man sticks to me like a postage stamp."
"Where is he now?"
Reggie pointed dramatically at the dark little man.
"At the bar. He took the stool I left. He's right between that fat oldman and that young girl with the red hair."
* * * * *
The tweed-clad young man stared in the direction of Reggie's pointingfinger, then he frowned and glanced down at Reggie.
"Any pink elephants, yet?"
"I'm not drunk," Reggie said indignantly. "That man has been followingme like a conga partner all afternoon."
The tall young man patted Reggie patiently on the shoulder.
"Sleep and rest will make a new man of you," he said. "Go home. Go tobed. You've got hallucinations."
"Hallucinations!" Reggie cried over the din of the orchestra. "What doyou mean? Don't you see the man I mean? Right between the fat old manand the girl with the red hair?"
The tweedish young man shook his head.
"The stool between the fat old man and the red-haired girl is completelyunoccupied," he said in the patient voice of a man instructing a veryyoung child.
Reggie shook his head bewilderedly. There was a sudden cold hollow inthe pit of his stomach. He opened and closed his mouth several timeswithout producing a sound.
"Are you serious?" he finally managed to gasp.
"Certainly," the young man answered. "There's no one on the bar stoolyou left. You're just seeing things. Take my advice and go home. You'vehad too much giggle water."
Reggie set his drink down hastily. For a long deliberate moment hestudied the back of the dark little man at the bar. Then he shook hishead dazedly. Maybe this was all some wild product of his imagination.Maybe he _was_ having hallucinations....
He shook his head again and then he shook hands with the young man inthe tweed suit.
"I'm going home, Ricky," he said firmly. "Say hello to all the gang forme."
"Name isn't Ricky," the young man said, sipping from his drink, "butI'll tell the boys you were asking."
"Good," Reggie said.
He left the crowded bar by a back entrance. The warm sunshine waspleasant and reassuring. People hurried past him, traffic surged in thestreets, and everything was quite normal. He breathed a deep sigh andhailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of his apartment and thensettled back against the soft leather cushions.
Sleep was all he needed. That was all.
* * * * *
When he reached his apartment on the near North Side he had succeeded inconvincing himself that his peculiar experiences of the afternoon wereonly products of his fevered imagination.
As he let himself into his apartment he had firmly resolved to strictlyration his reading of comic strips and spy magazines. They were prettystrong meat if they weren't handled with discretion.
The pleasantly furnished living room of his apartment was shrouded inlate-afternoon semi-darkness and, when he closed and locked the doorbehind him, he switched on the lights.
The first thing he saw when he walked into the room was the little darkman whom he'd seen at the Club and at the bar a few minutes previously.
The dark little man was sitting in a straight chair, his hands restingon his knees. There was a faint smile on his face as he studied Reggiewith calm, inscrutable eyes.
Reggie staggered back a few steps, clapping one hand hysterically to hisforehead. He couldn't believe his eyes. He had left this man at a bar inthe Loop, but here he was now, sitting calmly and unconcernedly in theliving room of his apartment.
"How did you get in here?" he gasped.
The dark little man stood up and smiled.
"Is that important?" he asked softly. "I am here and that is all thatmatters."
Reggie swallowed loudly. There was something disturbing about the calmambiguity of the man's statement. He rubbed his damp palms togethernervously.
"Can I get you a drink?" he blurted.
The dark little man shook his head slowly.
Reggie looked at him uneasily, noticing him in detail for the firsttime. He was small, hardly more than five feet two and he was slenderlybuilt. His hair was jet black and it combed straight back from a high,delicate forehead. He wore severely tailored black clothes that fittedhis small frame without a wrinkle. But his eyes dominated his entirepersonality, for they were a cold chilling black, lusterless andunwinking, as unrevealing as twin diamonds.
Reggie shivered slightly and looked wistfully toward the door of theapartment. He coughed nervously.
"Sorry to seem rude," he said, laughing weakly, "but I've got to betoddling off now. It's been nice--er--running into you. There aremagazines on the table, liquor in the ice box, so just make yourself athome."
He backed cautiously toward the door, smiling nervously.
"Don't wait up for me," he said. "I've--"
"Wait," the dark little man said quietly, "I must talk with you."
"Some other time," Reggie said, feeling behind him for the door knob."Awfully rushed just now. Sorry but--"
"Wait!" the little man said again, but this time his voice cracked likea whip. "Didn't you hear me? I must talk with you?"
* * * * *
Reggie jumped at the cracking tone of the man's voice. His hand jerkedaway from the door knob as if it were red hot.
"Oh, you want to talk to me?" he said foolishly. "I didn't understandyou."
"My name," the little man said, "is," he paused and smiled cryptically,"Demise."
"Glad to know you," Reggie said. "My name is--"
"I know your name," Mr. Demise said. "I know everything about you,Reginald Van Fiddler. I know things about you that you don't knowyourself."
"Do you now?" Reggie said, becoming interested in spite of himself. "Forinstance?"
"I know that you are about to take a long trip," Mr. Demise said.
"That's not news," Reggie said. "My draft board just classified me 1-A.I'll be taking a long trip very shortly."
"That is not the trip I am referring to," Mr. Demise said. "You aregoing on a trip with me."
Reggie blinked. He couldn't think of anyone with whom he would rathernot take a trip than this dark, sinister little man who called himselfMr. Demise. What did Demise mean, anyway?
"It's nice of you, and all that," he said, "but I don't think I'll beable to make it. My draft board might not like it."
"They will understand," Mr. Demise said.
"I don't know about that," Reggie said. He was beginning really toworry. There was something damnably inevitable about Mr. Demise's calmstatements. "They're pretty ticklish about such things. I think we'djust better forget the whole idea."
"That is impossible," Mr. Demise said.
Reggie rubbed his moist palms on his trouser legs.
"Who are you?" he asked hesitantly. "Have you been following me aroundall day just to sell me on the idea of a trip? Are you from Cook'stours?"
Mr. Demise smiled and shook his head.
"I am not interested in selling you the idea of a trip. I am simplytelling you that you are going on a trip. I have already made all thearrangements. There is nothing that can possibly change them."
"Where am I going?" Reggie asked. His voice was a whisper.
"With me," Mr. Demise said.
"That's no answer," Reggie said, clutching at straws. "Who are you?Where are you going?"
Mr. Demise smiled again, very faintly. He walked slowly to themantelpiece and plucked a rose from a vase. His hand closed gently overthe flower as he turned to face Reggie.
"Perhaps this will answer your questions," he said softly.
He opened his hand and dropped the flower to the floor at Reggie's feet.Reggie's eyes widened in sh
eer amazement.
Reggie looked at the seared rose, and then he knew...!]
For the soft glowing beauty of the flower was faded forever. It lay onthe floor, a blackened, dead reminder of its former glory.
"It's dead," he said incredulously. "It withered at the touch of yourhand."
* * * * *
Mr. Demise nodded slowly and there was a wistful sadness in his face.
"All living things die at my touch," he said. "For I
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