Cornell:_

_We're glad to hear from you. We moved, not because Marian caught
Mekstrom's, but because the dead area shifted and left us sort of
living in a fish-bowl, psi-wise._

_Everybody is hale and hearty here and we all wish you the best._

_Please do not think for a moment that you owe us anything. We'd
rather be free of your so-called debt. We regret that Catherine was
not with you, maybe the accident might not have happened. But we do
all think that we stand as an association with a very unhappy
period in your life, and that it will be better for you if you try
to forget that we exist. This is a hard thing to say, Steve, but
really, all we can do for you is to remind you of your troubles._

_Therefore with love from all of us, we'd like to make this a
sincerely sympathetic and final--_

_Farewell, Philip Harrison._

I grunted unhappily. It was a nice-sounding letter, but it did not ring
true, somehow. I sat there digging it for hidden meanings, but none
came. I didn't care. In fact, I didn't really expect any more than this.
If they'd not written me at all, I'd still have done what I did. I sat
down and wrote Phillip Harrison another letter:

_Dear Philip:_

_I received your letter today, as I returned from an extended trip
through the west. I'm glad to hear that Marian is not suffering
from Mekstrom's Disease. I am told that it is fatal to
the--uninitiated._

_However, I hope to see you soon._

_Regards, Steve Cornell._

_That_, I thought, _should do it!_

Then to help me and my esper, I located a tiny silk handkerchief of
Catherine's, one she'd left after one of her visits. I slipped it into
the envelope and slapped a stamp and a notation on the envelope that
this letter was to be forwarded to Phillip Harrison. I dropped it in the
box about eleven that night, but I didn't bother trying to follow it
until the morning.

Ultimately it was picked up and taken to the local post office, and from
there it went to the clearing station at Pennsylvania Station at 34th
St., where I hung around the mail-baggage section until I attracted the
attention of a policeman.

"Looking for something, Mr. Cornell?"

"Not particularly," I told the telepath cop. "Why?"

"You've been digging every mailbag that comes out of there."

"Am I?" I asked ingeniously.

"Can it Buster, or we'll let you dig your way out