* * * * *
Inside the package was a fine crystal ball, a set of tarot cards with
a thick book of explanations, and a second deck of cards the like of
which most people have heard but few have actually seen. These were the
square, circle, wiggly line cards used in parapsychic research.
There was the damning evidence of a packing slip with my name clearly
printed on it, and a rubber stamp notation that the merchandise order
had been accompanied by a prepaid postal note.
The timing was perfect. The problem of keeping that package on schedule
all the way from its point of origin to its devastating delivery must
have taxed Wood's faculties, but he'd done it.
Chief Weston's choler rose visibly, and in a voice loud enough to be
heard in Asbury Park, he yelled: "Schnell, did you--buy--this?"
I was trapped. No matter what I said, it was calculated to get me into
trouble. For in the petty cash box in the secretary's desk was a petty
cash slip made out in the amount of thirty-nine dollars and seventeen
cents for a postal money order payable to the Aladdin Novelty Company
of Bayonne, New Jersey. The signature was good enough for me to accept
it myself. All along the line it had been nicely legal--or would have
been if I'd really signed that petty cash slip.
If it came to an argument, I'd have to perform miracles to prove my
innocence.
"Schnell," said Weston in a cold, level voice, "you'll get me a lead on
the Gordon Andrews murder by tomorrow night or hand me your badge."