* * * * *

He leaned against a metal filing cabinet. "No good, Mark. You know
what a hell of a time we have tracking down relatives to give the
money to, because these people don't leave wills. The few relatives we
find are always surprised when they get their inheritance--most of
them hardly remember dear old who-ever-it-was that died and left it to
them. All the other estates eventually go to the State treasury,
unclaimed."

"Well, it was an idea." I opened the oldest bankbook again. "Anybody
ever think of testing the ink, Lou?"

"What for? The banks' records always check. These aren't forgeries, if
that's what you're thinking."

"I don't know what I'm thinking," I admitted. "But I'd like to turn a
chemist loose on this for a little while."

"Look, Mark, there's a lot I'm willing to do for you, and I think I've
done plenty, but there's a limit--"

I let him explain why he couldn't let me borrow the book and then
waited while he figured out how it could be done and did it. He was
still grumbling when he helped me pick a chemist out of the telephone
directory and went along to the lab with me.

"But don't get any wrong notions," he said on the way. "I have to
protect State property, that's all, because I signed for it and I'm
responsible."

"Sure, sure," I agreed, to humor him. "If you're not curious, why not
just wait outside for me?"

He gave me one of those white-tooth grins that he had no right to
deprive women audiences of. "I could do that, but I'd rather see you
make a sap of yourself."

I turned the bankbook over to the chemist and we waited for the
report. When it came, it had to be translated.

* * * * *

The ink was typical of those used 50 years ago. Lou Pape gave me a jab
in the ribs at that. But then the chemist said that, according to the
amount of oxidation, it seemed fresh enough to be only a few months or
years old, and it was Lou's turn to get jabbed. Lou pushed him about
the aging, asking if it couldn't be the result of unusually good care.
The chemist couldn't say--that depended on the kind of care; an
airtight compartment, perhaps, filled with one of the inert gases, or
a vacuum. They hadn't been kept that way, of course, so Lou looked as
baffled as I felt.

He took the bankbook and we went out to the street.

"See what I mean?" I asked quietly, not wanting to rub it in.

"I see something, but I don't know what. Do you?"