MONSIEUR BLUEBEARD
“Miss Twisp!”
No answer.
Malcolm G. Retts, editor of
Ghoulish Shockers (Read ’Em and Creep), put his long forefinger down on the desk buzzer and held it there.
In a moment an emaciated female with stringy hair and large eyes fluttered in, pad and pencil clutched in her elfin hands.
“Where have you been, Miss Twisp? Out seeing a double feature twice?”
Lila Twisp laughed carefully. But there was no humor in it. She had the appearance of one who has wandered by mistake into a horror museum, and can’t find the way out.
“No, sir. There’s a strange man—”
“No doubt!” snapped her gaunt-faced employer sarcastically. “Meanwhile I must shout myself hoarse! Well, never mind about that—have you found a suitable autobiographer for our new feature ‘Famous Fiends?’”
Miss Twisp gulped.
“Well, have you?”
“I don’t think—”
“That’s just the trouble! You never think! Well, we mustn’t expect the impossible, must we, Miss Twisp!” Retts scraped the glass on his desk with his nails, and made Miss Twisp writhe. “Do you realize that we’re losing thousands of readers every month! I don’t know what’s come over this country. Did you get any answers on that questionnaire business we sent out?”
Miss Twisp nodded scaredly.
“Hundreds, Mr. Retts! They all say the same things—the newspapers, true-life periodicals, and newsreels are cornering the horror market. The readers say they find our
Shockers mild by comparison!”
“Do they indeed!” growled the editor. “Is that all they say?”
“There’s one more thing,” Miss Twisp began meekly.
Her eyes roved to the serried ranks of books and bound magazines that decorated three sides of the ornate office—to one corner, especially.
Retts noticed her fearful glance at the corner shelf.
“Ah! The ‘Bluebeard’ murders!”
“Yes, sir. The papers are full of it. Last Tuesday it even pushed the Russian campaign back to page three.”
“I see.”
Malcolm Retts sighed, and cast a fond lingering glance at his favorite collection.
. . .