I signed the register and we rode the open-cage elevator to the fourth floor and went along a gloomy hall to a door painted a peeling brown. It didn't look inviting; the room inside wasn't much better. There was a lot of flowered wallpaper and an old-fashioned wash stand, and two wide beds. I stretched Foster out on one. He lay relaxed, a serene expression on his face--the kind undertakers try for but never quite seem to manage. I sat down on the other bed and pulled off my shoes. It was my turn to have a tired mind. I lay on the bed and let it sink down like a grey stone into still water. * * * * * I awoke from a dream in which I had just discovered the answer to the riddle of life. I tried to hold onto it, but it slipped away; it always does. Grey daylight was filtering through the dusty windows. Foster lay slackly on the broad sagging bed, a ceiling lamp with a faded fringed shade casting a sickly yellow light over him. It didn't make things any cheerier; I flipped it off. Foster was lying on his back, arms spread wide, breathing heavily. Maybe it was only exhaustion and he didn't need a doctor after all. He'd probably wake up in a little while, raring to go. As for me, I was feeling hungry again. I'd have to have a buck or so for sandwiches. I went over to the bed and called Foster's name. He didn't move. If he was sleeping that soundly, maybe I wouldn't bother him. I eased his wallet out of his coat pocket, took it to the window and checked it. It was fat. I took a ten, put the wallet on the table. I remembered Foster had said something about money in the car. I had the keys in my pocket. I got my shoes on and let myself out quietly. Foster hadn't moved. Down on the street, I waited for a couple of yokels who were looking over Foster's car to move on, then slid into the seat, leaned over and got the floorboards up. The strong-box was set into the channel of the frame. I scraped the road dirt off the lock and opened it with a key from Foster's key-ring, took out the contents. There was a bundle of stiffish papers, a passport, some maps--marked up--and a wad of currency that made my mouth go dry. I rifled through it; fifty grand if it was a buck. I stuffed the papers, the money and the passport back in the box and locked it, and climbed out onto the sidewalk. A few doors down the street there was a dirty window lettered MAE'S EAT. I went in, ordered hamburgers and coffee to go, and sat at the counter with Foster's keys in front of me, and thought about the car that went with them. The passport only needed a little work on the picture to get me wherever I wanted to go, and the money would buy me my choice of islands. Foster would have a nice long nap, and then take a train home. With his dough, he'd hardly miss what I took. * * * * *