Picture of a Killer

The strange Doctor Weir. Good evening. Come in, won't you? Well, what's the matter? You seem nervous tonight. Why, if the cemetery outside my house is up-featured. But speaking of the cemetery reminds me of a story I want to tell you.

About a murderer who was dead and buried, but who kept on killing people just as vain. I call it... revenge from the grave. My story revenge from the grave begins in the suburban section of a large city.

It is just midnight and a full moon cast dark shadows beneath the crease that line the street. John Rogers, a businessman on his way home, turns a corner, and stops abruptly as a man with a scarf about his face steps out of the shadow.

Just a moment, Rogers. Who are you? What do you want? I want to talk to you. Get out of my way. Not so fast. A gun? What are you setting me with a gun for?

What have you got that scarf covering your face for? Because my face? Well, my looks have changed in the months since I was executed and buried. But you recognize my voice, don't you, Roger? Yes.

Renaldo's a great... But you... You're dead. You died a month ago in the electric chair. Exactly. You were a foreman of the jury that found me guilty. guilty of murder. So no! John Rogers trained death, remained a complete mystery to the police for a month.

And then, early one evening, a pale-faced young man called upon Henry Wilson, the district attorney who had successfully convicted Ronaldo the Great, to tell him a story that Wilson found quite impossible to believe. Now, wait a minute, let me get this straight.