Smith laughed. "I mean for your husband. What time would be best for
killing him?"
"Oh," she said. Her brow wrinkled and she began to mutter, "Let's see,
now ... home at five-fifteen, reads the paper ... takes a shower ...
dinner at six-fifteen ... I can send the servants out at
seven-thirty ... oh, I think eight will be perfect."
"Eight it is," said Smith, putting the information on paper. "Now for a
bit of information about the house and grounds. Can't afford to bungle
into the wrong place and foul up the job."
Mrs. Rogers opened her purse again and withdrew a folded sheet of
paper. "I've got a floor-plan of the house here, with the address and
everything marked off."
Smith took the paper and looked at it. "You don't overlook anything, do
you? Why didn't you just go ahead and do the job yourself?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I understand you can perform a perfect
murder. I'm afraid I couldn't."
Smith removed the typewritten sheet from the machine and inserted a
fresh sheet. He filled it in with names, dates, and figures. When he
finished he handed it to her. "Sign on the bottom line."
She took the paper and looked at it.
"It's our contract," said Smith. "I have to have a guarantee that
you'll go through with your part of the bargain. If you don't, I'll
have that signed confession."
Mrs. Rogers looked at him in silence for a moment, then she laughed and
signed the paper. "You don't overlook anything, yourself."
"No, Ma'am," said Smith.
* * * * *
At exactly five minutes before eight, Smith drove his panel truck
through the gate to the Rogers home, turned out the lights, and drove
silently to the house. He parked near the side entrance, got out, went
around the truck, which was labeled, "Smith's TV Repair," and opened
the back doors. He lifted a pile of ragged quilts from the floor and
picked up a small air-pistol. Wrapped carefully in the quilts was a
tiny bottle of dark green liquid, marked "Poison." He took a small
dart from his pocket, opened the bottle and applied a small amount of
the liquid to the tip of the projectile. Then he loaded the pistol with
the dart, stuck it in his coat pocket, and replaced the bottle.
He walked rapidly to the door of the house, stopped at the steps to
consult the floor-plan, and then entered. He went up the stairs and
directly to the second door on the left. He turned the knob silently
and eased inside.
A small man, dressed in a dark suit, was seated at a desk, writing with
a fountain pen on light blue paper. He looked up and said, "Who are
you?"
"I'm Smith, the TV repairman--are you Rogers?"
"Yes, but I--"
Then Smith killed him.
* * * * *
He emerged from the house with Rogers draped over his shoulder and
staggered over to the truck. He shoved the corpse in and crawled in
after. Moving rapidly, he opened the door of a trim metal cabinet
directly behind the cab and shoved Rogers inside. Then he pushed a
button on the side of the contraption and it began to hum.
After two minutes he cut the power and opened the cabinet. It was empty.
Smith whistled softly as he walked back to the house. He strode noisily
in and called, "Hey, Mrs. Rogers!"
She emerged from a door near the head of the stairs and came down.
"Yes?" she said.