Cover Design | A. R. Tilburne | |
Illustrating a scene in "I Found Cleopatra" | ||
I Found Cleopatra (Part 1) | Thomas P. Kelley | 521 |
A weird tale of many thrills, by the author of "The Last Pharaoh" | ||
Fothergill's Jug | Thorp McClusky | 551 |
A fascinating story about a strange jug dug up out of the sands of Mesopotamia, and the weird entity that reached forth its dread hands from within the jug | ||
The Hound of Pedro | Robert Bloch | 563 |
A tale of old Mexico under the Spaniards, of an evil black Moor from Granada, and a ghastly game of ten-pins played on the desert sands | ||
The Thing in the Trunk | Paul Ernst | 573 |
A grim, absorbing tale about a heinous crime and its strange aftermath, by the author of "A Witch's Curse" and other eery trill-stories | ||
Lynne Foster Is Dead | Seabury Quinn | 589 |
The Strangest adventure that ever befell a man happened to the handsome young American after the ill-starred traffic accident in the streets of Cairo | ||
The Nameless City | H. P. Lovecraft | 617 |
It lay silent and dead under the cold desert moon, but what strange race inhabited the abyss beneath those cyclopean ruin? | ||
Recompense | Robert E. Howard | 626 |
Verse | ||
Weird Story Reprint: | ||
Leonora | Everil Worrell | 627 |
An eldritch tale, reprinted from an early issue of WEIRD TALES | ||
The Eyrie | 635 | |
The readers express their opinions |
SAVANT DIES IN MYSTERY BLAST
New Hartford, Conn., Aug. 11—Rob-
ert B. Fothergill, 41, unmarried, and an
archaeologist of international repute, met in-
stant death at about 2:30 a. m. today when
an explosion of terrific violence and undeter-
mined origin totally demolished his summer
home on the Little River road, two miles
from this village.
Fothergill's body was found by Doctor
James Bowen of New York City, Fother-
gill's nearest neighbor and the first person
to reach the scene. It had been hurled a dis-
tance of over three hundred feet, and exami-
nation of the body by Sheriff Ward Donovan
and Coroner Arthur White revealed that
Fothergill had suffered multiple fractures of
the arms and legs, a crushed chest, and a
broken neck.
Doctor Bowen revealed that he had been
talking on the telephone with Fothergill at
the approximate time the blast occurred, that
the line abruptly went dead, and that, be-
coming alarmed, he dressed and walked to
Fothergill's home and discovered that the
tragedy had already occurred. He states
that he heard no explosion, but rather a loud
crackling sound. His statement is borne out
by neighbors, who declared that the sound
resembled "a large box being broken open."
Police are inclined to the theory that the
blast itself may have been relatively sound-
less.
Lena Hayes, night telephone operator
here, confirmed Doctor Bowen's statement
that Fothergill had called him immediately
prior to the blast, and that the blast itself
terminated the conversation. The telephone,
torn from the wall by the force of the ex-
plosion, was still clutched in Fothergill's
hands when he was found.
State Police are investigating. . . .
MARTIA. I AM IN TROUBLE STOP COME
BACK BUT LET NO ONE KNOW YOU ARE
COMING STOP EXPLAIN LATER.
How sharp the point of this remembrance is!
—Shakespeare.
"O, Amherst, brave Amherst—'twas a name
known to fame in days of yore,
"May it ever be glorious till the sun shall
climb the heav'ns no more!"
"The night is calm and cloudless,
And still as still can be,
And the stars come forth to listen
To the music of the sea.
They gather, and gather, and gather,
Until they crowd the sky. . . ."
"Thanks for the memories
Of candlelight and wine. . . .
"We did have fun,
And no harm done. ..."
"I am whatever was or is or will be,
And my veil no mortal ever took up. . .
"How does it feel to be so beautiful,
You great, big, beautiful doll?"
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange eons, even death may die.
A reservoir of darkness, black
As witches' cauldrons are, when fill'd
With moon-drugs in th' eclipse distill'd.
Leaning to look if foot might pass
Down thro' that chasm, I saw, beneath,
As far as vision could explore,
The jetty sides as smooth as glass,
Looking as if just varnish'd o'er
With that dark pitch the Sea of Death
Throws out upon its slimy shore.
That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange eons even death may die.