"Months old. And--before."
"Of the _Gazette_? This is all we have. What did you want? What are you
looking for? Maybe I can help you."
He was silent.
"You might find older issues at the _Gazette_ office," the woman said,
taking off her glasses. "Why don't you try there? But if you'd tell me,
maybe I could help you--"
He went out.
The _Gazette_ office was down a side street; the sidewalk was broken and
cracked. He went inside. A heater glowed in the corner of the small
office. A heavy-set man stood up and came slowly over to the counter.
"What did you want, mister?" he said.
"Old papers. A month. Or more."
"To buy? You want to buy them?"
"Yes." He held out some of the money he had. The man stared.
"Sure," he said. "Sure. Wait a minute." He went quickly out of the room.
When he came back he was staggering under the weight of his armload, his
face red. "Here are some," he grunted. "Took what I could find. Covers
the whole year. And if you want more--"
Conger carried the papers outside. He sat down by the road and began to
go through them.
* * * * *
What he wanted was four months back, in December. It was a tiny item, so
small that he almost missed it. His hands trembled as he scanned it,
using the small dictionary for some of the archaic terms.