They turned to look at him. He was in his favorite pose, shoes off, feet up on the windowsill. He was now pointing at the window. "Do you fellas see what I see?" he asked them. They saw. The window was frosting. It was a rainy, humid mid-November day, and moisture was condensing on the window pane. It was condensing, and then it was freezing. It didn't take long. No more than a minute passed from the time Roberts noticed the thing beginning until the time it was complete. And then they watched various specific sections of the window defrost again. It was a very strange looking window. It was covered with frost, but there were lines of bare window, as though the frost had been scraped away. The lines formed letters, and the letters formed words, and the words were: POO. MOM TOLD ME. "My God," said Marshall. "Well, well, well, well, well," said Stevenson. "Yes," said Professor Long. He nodded, and turned away from the window to look at the door. "You may come in now, Eddie," he called. The door opened, and Eddie Clayhorn stood there, in civilian clothes. He beamed at the window. "That was tricky," he said. "So," said Professor Long. "I was mistaken, eh? Exposure does not spoil things, is that it?" "Sometimes," said Eddie Clayhorn, "the hero has one or two trusted friends on the police force who know who he is and give him tips about criminals. But they never tell anybody." "Of course!" said Professor Long. "And we are _your_ trusted friends. Yes?" "Sure. But you can't tell my parents or anybody." Roberts leaned forward and gingerly touched the frosted window. It was cold, very cold. He turned and looked with awed eyes at Eddie Clayhorn. Slowly, he smiled. "Scorp old boy," he said, "you can just call me Tonto. Kimosabe!" End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Call Him Nemesis, by Donald E. Westlake