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Table of Contents

The contents of Weird Tales is fully protected by copyright and must not be reproduced either wholly or in part without permission from the publishers. All communications should be addressed to the publishers main office at 854 North Clark St., Chicago, Ill.


DRACONDA 3

JOHN MARTIN LEAHY

THE CRAWLING DEATH 18

P. A. CONNOLLY

THE CLOSED ROOM 27

MAEBELLE McCALMENT

THE PHANTOM VIOLINIST 32

WALTER F. McCANLESS

LUCIFER 36

JOHN D. SWAIN

THE SPIDER 39

ARTHUR EDWARDS CHAPMAN

THE AMAZING ADVENTURE OF JOE SCRANTON 41

EFFIE W. FIFIELD

THE IRON ROOM 46

FRANCIS D. GRIERSON

PRISONERS OF THE DEAD 51

PAUL SUTER

THE DEATH PIT 57

OSCAR SCHISGALL

THE WAX IMAGE 67

BURTON HARCOURT

POISONED 69

FARNSWORTH WRIGHT

THE MAGIC MIRROR 73

MARY S. BROWN

THE INVISIBLE MONSTER 75

SONIA H. GREENE

THE PEBBLE PROPHECY 77

VALENS LAPSLEY

THE TELL-TALE HEART 80

EDGAR ALLAN POE

WEIRD CRIMES 81

SEABURY QUINN

THE EYRIE 85

THE EDITOR

THE SURVIVOR 94

EDWIN G. WOOD


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Binns sat up, his little eyes, that were set almost into the sides of his nose, glaring at Webb.

"You've had your share," he snarled.

"Water!" the weaker man croaked insistently, holding out a tin cup.

Binns would not permit the other to drink from the canteen; the risk of his getting more than his share was too great. Binns had carried through the bluff at economizing by pointing out to Dick that it was better to measure his allowance. He was scrupulous in doling out his own portion when Dick was looking, then later he always tapped the canteen on the sly. He carried the canteen containing what was left of the water, himself, under an apparently generous impulse—he was the stronger of the two, therefore the one to shoulder the most of the burden.

Dick again held out his cup in a trembling hand and demanded a drink.

"Hell!" snarled Binns.

He moved his hand impatiently toward the canteen, paused. Why should he waste the precious life-sustaining fluid on this half-dead man? He couldn't last, that was evident. Every drop that Dick drank now lessened Binns' chance of getting out. It was a sinful waste to pour water down the throat of a man so nearly gone. It would be much better to let the poor devil die and be done with it. It would be really a mercy to put him out of his misery. Of course it would. Nobody'd ever know the difference, and then Binns would

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