"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 checkered suit was wandering around the stage with an unlit cigar in his hand, begging the stagehands for a match. "Hey, fellas!" Homer Bradshaw called to the men at the piano. "Run through that _Gypsy_ number for Mr. Blacker, huh?" They came to life like animated dolls. The tallest of the pair stepped in front of the stage while the other thumped the piano keys. The tall one sang in a loud nasal voice, with an abundance of gestures. "_Gypsy! Gypsy! Why do you have to be a gypsy? Life could be so ipsy-pipsy Staying home and getting tipsy Safe on Earth with me!_" He swung into the second chorus while Tom Blacker kept his face from showing his true opinion of the specialty number. The next offering didn't change his viewpoint. It was a ballad. A blonde girl in clinging black shorts sang it feelingly. "_There's a beautiful Earth tonight With a beautiful mellow light Shining on my spaceman in the moon. Why did he leave me? Only to grieve me? Spaceman, come home to me soon ..._" "Did you like it? Did you like it?" Homer Bradshaw said eagerly. "It'll do fine," Tom Blacker said, with his teeth clenched. * * * * *