Rog Phillips

“ I still hadn't seen the little man by the time I reached the big white house with the four car garage. The house itself had one of those old colonial porches with six pillars holding up a porch roof with unnecessary solidity. Between the pillars brightly lit huge windows brought a clear view of the interior.
A party of some sort was going on. That's the way it looked. People standing in small groups holding glasses.
I hesitated. I wanted a three dollar bill, but was it worth it, to go up to the door and ask for someone I didn't know? ”

“ Sarah Fish separated me from the crowd with her eyes, then came toward me. There seemed to be concern, a mixture of pity, and something else in her expression. When she reached me she said in a low voice, "Please come with me, Mr. Smith."
No one was paying attention to us. The conversational murmur was on again. I followed her into the front room and around to a door underneath the stairs that arched up to a balcony. ”

“ Sarah Fish, Evanston society leader. I started to read more. Then this little guy came into the drugstore.
"A package of Camels," he said to the cashier.
He sensed my stare. I looked quickly down at my paper and casually took a sip of coffee. But I wasn't interested in the news now. Out of the corner of my eye I studied the little man. He wasn't more than five feet tall, very slim, and very erect. I got the strange impression of looking at a small giant. Then I realized what caused that impression. It was his head. It was more the right size for a man six feet tall. ”

“ I picked up the three dollar bill and squinted at the fine print. It said Series of 1964. The date on my newspaper on the counter beside my cold coffee was April 5, 1954.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," I said. "I'll give you three dollars for it."
"Oh no!" the cashier said quickly. "I can't do that. The law says I must turn all counterfeit money directly over to the nearest F.B.I. office."
"Sure," I soothed. "Sure, I know that. But this isn't the same thing. A counterfeit is an imitation of real money—and there aren't any real three dollar bills." ”

“ He had assumed a three dollar bill was used here—or now, rather.
My coffee was cold. The girl was looking at me as if she wanted to close up. I smiled at her and tossed a quarter on the counter and went out on the sidewalk.
I debated what to do. Should I forget the whole thing? Or should I take a walk back to Sarah Fish's house and see what was going on? I decided on the latter.
Her house was dark. No police cars were there. That was not what I had expected. With a murder, there should be police cars, and the place should be lit up. Or maybe not. ”

“ Sarah Fish was staring at me, her eyes large and round. Not like a fish though. Too human, too full of concern and sympathy. Maybe she had seen the needle stick me....
Funny ... Golfin came here convinced in his own insane way that he was going to prevent a murder. If he hadn't come, I wouldn't have come either. And if he hadn't come, there wouldn't have been a corpse....
I looked around until I found the door, and headed toward it. My right leg dragged a little as I walked. And I didn't need to go into the future to know what was going to happen. I would make it to the door. Sure. ”

“ On the sidewalk outside the station I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. I hated the whole system. They take you down in a car. You walk home. If you get out. Suddenly I was sick of Chicago, and when I get sick of Chicago I go somewhere.
Night found me at the counter in a drugstore in Evanston. I was beginning to feel better. I had a newspaper and a cup of coffee in front of me. ”

“ There is an inertia to events. That inertia in events made you steal his wallet the second time—and plant your own on him. You left before he discovered the switch. He came after you to kill you here. It was then you gave me the identity of your killer. After that I went back to my original point again. At the proper time I did what you had done. I picked George Wile's pocket. He felt me do it. Again—the inertia of events—he tried to stick me with the poisoned needle. But I was ready for him. I deflected his hand and shoved. He stuck himself."
Golfin grinned. ”

“ However, I asked myself, 'Of the several theories, wouldn't the one that also accounts for prophetic dreams be the more probable one?' And of course it's well known that the more a theory explains, the more probable it is of being true. ”

“ And he said I was going to be poisoned by venom on a pin or needle—or was it going to be a hypodermic needle?
"Don't be afraid, Mr. Smith," Golfin purred. "It's the only hope of saving your life. Your murder was never solved."
"Oh, it is, is it?" I gritted. I snaked out with my hand and wrapped my fingers around the wrist of the hand that held the needle. "Give me that thing," I said.
He struggled. He had a lot of strength for a little man. He pivoted around and tried to pull his wrist free. With his other hand he tried to get hold of the needle. ”

“ S. L. Golfin, and an address on Wabash, Chicago.
"The phenomenon of amnesia interested me," he went on. "A person suddenly can't remember anything. Perhaps years later memory returns, but there is a gap. Why?"
He smiled at me triumphantly. Sarah Fish nodded sagely.
"Because...." Golfin lifted his left arm with a flourish and inspected his watch. "One hour and three minutes," he said quietly. Then, "That was the question I asked myself. Why? Unfortunately amnesia is rather rare. ”

“ In—" He studied his watch again. "—exactly one hour and seventeen minutes you are going to be murdered. A man doesn't just get murdered without knowing who might have done it, who his enemies are. Someone in this house is going to kill you. Who is it?"
"You see," Sarah Fish said, her bosom expanding in an anxious breath, "you must tell us who did it."
I stared at them both, then gave what I intended to be a derisive laugh, but it sounded thin. "What makes you think I'm going to be murdered?" I said.
"For one thing," Sam Golfin said cautiously, "it's in tomorrow's papers." ”

“ Why would someone bother to change the date on phony money? And it was too nice a job of engraving for such a thing too.
I thought of one of the tests for good money. I rubbed the three dollar bill against the margin of the newspaper. Some of the ink came off. ”