ank them
personally."

"Oh that won't be necessary--not necessary at all. You see the thing is,
my brother Jack has accidents sometimes and so we figured he might have
broken a leg or something, maybe, and it seems you--well, you kind of
turned out to be the man to see about it." Charles Blackwell waved the
paper. "With this."

_Good lord_, Taber groaned inwardly. _This thing is turning into a comic
opera--plain slapstick._

"And why am I the man to see?"

"Because they said you knew about a man with a broken leg who got killed
or something."

"They said that?"

"Uh-huh, and if you'd just let me see the man, I could tell in a jiffy
whether he's Jack or not."

It had been a pretty long speech and Charles Blackwell seemed happy to
get it off his chest. He felt he'd earned a cigarette so he lit one.

Brent Taber watched the match go out and then said, "You're the
Goddamnedest phony I've met this week."

"They said you'd say that, but all I want is to see the man and then
I'll know. I'll tell you in a jiffy if he's my brother."

"All right."

Charles Blackwell gulped a throatful of smoke in disbelief. Evidently
they'd told him it wouldn't be as easy as this. They must have told him
it would be as hard as hell, because he stared at Brent as though the
latter hadn't played fair.

Brent reached into a drawer and took out a glossy photo. He pushed it
across the desk. Charles Blackwell craned his neck, looked, and saw what
appeared to be a man lying naked on a marble slab with his throat cut.

Blackwell swallowed hard and nodded and said, "Yeah, that's Jack, all
right."

"How do you know?"

"I can tell."

"You can?"

Charles Blackwell got a little indignant. "Of course, I can. Don't you
think a man knows his own brother?"

"That depends on which man and what brother."

"I want the body of my relative," Charles Blackwell said.

"I'll see you in hell first," Brent Taber replied pleasantly. "Now get
out of my office before I send for the man who uses the broom around
here."

Charles Blackwell was more comfortable now--more confident. "That's what
they told me you'd say, so they gave me this to bring. It's a court
order signed by a judge who sits in a court and listens to people's
beefs about getting pushed around and does something about it."

Brent Taber took the paper and peered at the signature. "It figures," he
said softly. "It figures right down the line."

"He's a fine judge," Charles Blackwel