Apparently, the statement hadn't struck just the right note with Marc,
either. He'd already turned to the little man. "Now, look here Dr.
Herrigg...."
"Miss Logan told you my name?"
"Miss Logan?"
"The deceased Miss Logan," the doctor elaborated.
"... Whose body was planted in my closet," Marc completed angrily.
"That was a shame," the doctor sighed. "I'm truly sorry about all that,
but it did seem the only thing to do at the time. I couldn't find you
on the beach, so I had to make some hasty readjustments. You had to be
gotten out of the way, and the woman's body had to be disposed of. What
could be better than turning the whole problem over to the police? It
all dove-tailed beautifully. After all, I have a very good reason for
not wanting the police curious about my whereabouts."
"Just off hand," Marc said sourly, "I can't think of a better reason
than murder. They're so apt to be high-handed about the thing."
"Exactly," the doctor agreed.
Toffee gazed disappointedly at the doctor's slight figure.
"Killers, nowadays," she murmured unhappily, "just aren't what they
used to be. Maybe it's the shortages."
The doctor's eyes were heavy with exasperation as they turned toward
her. "I do wish you weren't so preoccupied with murder," he said
tiredly.
"You mean you're not?" Toffee returned quickly.
"Certainly not. I wouldn't have killed Mr. Epperson and Miss Logan if
they hadn't forced me to. They got to prying into my private affairs,
and I had to put an end to it somehow."
"The method seems a little extreme," Toffee pointed out. "A good,
old-fashioned talking-to might have been simpler ... or were you afraid
of hurting their feelings?"
The doctor waved an impatient hand through the air.
"They were only laboratory assistants and they insisted on knowing what
I was working on. So I simply obliged them. I contrived to leave a
couple of capsules where they would be sure to find them. I was certain
they'd both be destroyed by the blast, but that fool woman ... she
never did do anything right ... got outside the radius of vaporization.
Naturally, I had to shoot her."
"Oh, naturally," Toffee broke in. "Anyone silly enough to get outside a
perfectly good radius of vaporization deserves to be shot. I see what
you mean."
"If you must speak," the doctor said scornfully, "try to say something
intelligent."
"Give me time," was Toffee's bland reply, "and I'll build up a really
good insult for you."
"But we were talking of other things," the doctor said loftily, wagging
a finger toward a group of chairs before his desk. "You'd better sit
down."
* * * * *
Hesitantly, Marc and Toffee accepted the invitation. Toffee crossed
one lovely leg over the other and regarded it bleakly. Obviously, she
thought it a waste in such scientific surroundings. Her determined
belief in the idea that sex, if just given half the chance, could
surmount any obstacle, seemed in grave peril of disproof. It was the
first time that her faith in herself had ever been shaken, and it was
not a nice feeling. She scowled at the doctor, who quickly averted
his eyes. He sat down at the desk, dropped the gun on its glistening
surface.
"And now," he said, shifting his attention to Marc, "I think we'd
better get to the point of your visit. And just to relieve your minds,
I'll tell you that you are not to be killed."
Toffee brightened.
"No," the doctor continued, "You were brought here, Mr. Pillsworth,
because you are one of America's most influential advertising men. As
such, you can be of use to me." He smiled wryly. "I didn't know of your
profession when I placed Miss Logan in your home and knocked you out."
"You have something to advertise?" Marc asked evenly. "Don't tell me
you're reopening Murder Incorporated under new management."
"No," the doctor smiled. "But I've something to advertise just the
same ... a button."
"A button?" Marc and Toffee chorused unmusically.
The doctor smiled at their surprise. "This button," he said, and he
pointed to a smooth white disc set into the corner of his desk ... an
ordinary push button.
Toffee and Marc exchanged glances. Both asked questions. Neither
received answers.
"I once had a plan," the doctor continued dreamily, "and I worked
for years to perfect a bomb ... a curious sort of bomb. It was to
be charged with infectious bacteria, and it could be hurled into
the regions high above the earth by catapult. The result would have
polluted the very heavens. All the rainfall thereafter, and eventually
all the water supplies of the world would have become deadly to human
life. Everyone would have died. It would have been ghastly ... a
magnificent triumph of science." He shrugged philosophically. "I never
did get it perfected."
"Thank heaven!" Marc murmured.