It wasn't until I was almost packed that I suddenly became aware of
someone standing behind me. I jerked around in alarm. It was Sam Golfin.
"How'd you get in here?" I blurted out.
"I've been waiting here ever since tomorrow," he said. "I had to see
you."
I grinned at him thinly. "I didn't get murdered at Sarah's after all,"
I remarked dryly.
"No, thank God," Golfin said. "It proves that the past _can_ be
changed. I'd hoped it could." He frowned. "But unfortunately in
preventing your murder at Sarah's a new future came into existence. I
have to do it all over again."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Tomorrow when I came to see you, you were in here--dead. The door was
unlocked. That's how I got in."
"Oh fine!" I snorted. "See what I'm doing? I'm packing. In another five
minutes I'll be on my way to parts unknown."
"I only wish that were true," Golfin said sadly.
"Look," I said. "I wish you'd get out and leave me alone. You want to
know why I almost got killed last night?"
"Yes, I do," Golfin said. "That's something the police couldn't find
out--in that other future, I mean."
"I'll tell you," I said. "I didn't know anything about Sarah Fish's
place. I probably would never have gone there except for you. You
bought a pack of cigarettes in the drugstore. Remember?"
Golfin blinked his eyes, then nodded.
"You paid for them with a three dollar bill."
"What is wrong with that?" Golfin asked.
"Nothing," I said slowly, "except that there aren't any three dollar
bills."
"Oh dear me," Golfin said. "Of course there aren't. It completely
slipped my mind!"
"I wanted one of those three dollar bills," I said. "The druggist
wouldn't let me have the one you left, so I went to Sarah Fish's place
to find you and get one."
A knock sounded at the door.
"It's the man who's going to kill you," Sam said.
"And there isn't any other way out of here," I said. "How are you going
to get me out of this one?"
"I don't know," he mused. He looked from me to the door, his eyes
thoughtful. "I'm beginning to see something," he said. "It's very
interesting. So you went to the Fish residence because of me. Hmmm. I
wonder.... It doesn't seem possible, but...."
"What doesn't seem possible?" I asked.
He smiled apologetically. "There really isn't anything that can be done
about that man in the hall." The knocking was repeated, more loudly.
"And this future is quite hopeless for you...."
Whoever was in the hall was trying some kind of key in the lock.
"If I owned a gun it wouldn't be," I said, watching the door bend in
under pressure from outside.
"If you only knew who it was!" Golfin groaned.
"But I do!" I said.
"You said at Sarah's that you didn't," Golfin snapped.
"I didn't, then," I said. Quickly I told him about George Wile and the
package of poisoned needles. "He's obviously planning on murdering
someone. Maybe at Sarah's last night," I concluded hastily, my eye on
the door. "My switching wallets with him stopped that. Now he's got to
kill me before he can go ahead with this other murder, or I could put
the finger on him."
"Why--didn't--you--say--so--before?" Golfin said, glaring at me with
annoyance.
The door splintered a little, the noise sounding like a shot. I took my
eyes off Golfin to look, and when I looked back Golfin was darting at
me, his hypodermic gadget in his hand and what looked like murder in
his eye.
* * * * *
I tried to grab his wrist. This time he was too fast for me. He evaded
my clutch and was behind me before I could turn. I felt a sharp pain
stab at the base of my skull. I started to turn. The room blurred as a
wave of dizziness swept over me....
"Here's your coffee, sir."
I looked at the girl behind the counter, then down at my newspaper.
"Thanks," I said. My stomach felt funny. I felt just like a guy I knew
once who had a premonition he was going to die. Heartburn, I decided
hastily. But I felt nervous.
I took a sip of the hot coffee and tried to concentrate on the paper.
Then I became aware of the little man. I felt instantly I had seen him
someplace before, but I couldn't place him.
"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.
"That will be twenty cents," the baldish cashier said.
The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By
the way," he said smoothly as the cashier glanced at it, "could you
tell me the way to Sarah Fish's residence?"
The little man glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He seemed
to know me, but gave no sign of recognition. The cashier was giving
him directions. I was listening, but I was trying to puzzle out the
strange feeling that I had been through all this before. And it wasn't
until the little man had left that it seeped into my consciousness that
something was queer about that bill.
"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of bill did that little guy
give you?"
"Why, a--a--Oh good Lord."
We examined it together. It was a three dollar bill. And instead of
surprise, I felt the jaws of a trap closing in on me. I listened to the
cashier babble about playing gags on his friends with it. A part of me
wanted to turn my back on the whole thing and forget it.
But some force pulled me in the direction the little man had gone. As
I walked I relaxed. I shrugged off the strange feeling I had. I told
myself I didn't believe in premonitions.
A party of some sort was in full swing at the Sarah Fish place. I
nodded to myself. I could go in and mix with the crowd. I could pick
this little man's pocket. Maybe a few more. The worst that could happen
would be that they wouldn't let me in.
Beside the huge door was a button. I pressed it and heard a series of
chimes ring out. A few seconds later the door swung open and a middle
aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm George
Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep track of
all Sarah's friends."
"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.
"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot
me. That was okay by me. I had taken an instant dislike to him.
I stood near the door looking around, trying to spot the little man.
A gorgeous young thing held a tray in front of my face until I took a
tall glass that contained, I discovered, an excellent Tom Collins.
Suddenly I saw the little man. He was at the edge of the group
surrounding a distinguished appearing man who was talking. I edged over
near the crowd and sized things up. It would be a cinch.
I crowded against the little man, then jerked as though someone had
shoved me. At the same time my free hand snaked in and got his wallet.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Someone pushed me."
The little man looked up at me and smiled. And I had a strange feeling
that he had been expecting it. I could have sworn he even knew I had
his wallet, and was laughing at me.
There was one obvious answer. He was a cop and he knew me. He'd take
his time and get me with the goods. He didn't look like a cop but--