, we never would have consented to doing what you
wanted. My wife never gave birth to that damned thing, and I don't
care who knows it. I've called Mr. Andrusco to tell him that we
don't want any part of this business any more. I'd send you back
every penny of the five thousand dollars, only we've already spent
half of it. I'm going to call the newspapers and tell them
everything ..._

The commissioner paused. "It goes on for another half page. But no use
reading any more. I'd like a reaction, Mr. Blacker. Got one handy?"

Tom was on his feet.

"I don't believe it!" His fist thudded into his palm. "The letter's a
fake!"

"That's easy to prove, Mr. Blacker."

"But the picture was genuine! Don't you see that? Sure, we paid Spencer
something for his cooperation. But the picture was the real thing, taken
by his family doctor. You've heard what the medical authorities said
about it."

Stinson said nothing. Then he got up slowly and walked to the door.

"Maybe so. But you're missing the point I want to make, Mr. Blacker.
This letter was dated the same day as the Spencer suicides. Does it
sound to you like the kind of thing a man would put in a suicide note?
Think it over."

Tom looked at the door the commissioner closed behind him.

"No," he said aloud. "It doesn't."

* * * * *

Tom didn't go to the Homelovers building the next morning. He proceeded
directly to the Lunt Theatre, where Homer Bradshaw was putting _Be It
Ever So Humble_ into rehearsal.

He was in no mood for the theatre, but the appointment had been made too
long before. When he came through the doors of the theatre, Homer leaped
halfway up the aisle to greet him, and pounded his back like a long-lost
pal. Actually, he had met the producer only twice before.

"Great to have you here, Tom!" he said enthusiastically. "Great! We've
just been putting things together. Got some red-hot numbers we had
written specially for us. Wait 'til you hear 'em!" He waved towards the
two shirtsleeved men hovering around the on-stage piano. "You know
Julie, don't you? And Milt Steiner? Great team! Great team!"

They took seats in the sixth row while Homer raved about the forthcoming
production that was going to cost Homelovers, Incorporated some hundred
thousand dollars. A dozen shapely girls in shorts and leotards were
kicking their heels lackadaisically in the background, and a stout man
with a wild checkere