"After which--if done--you could continue to ask for more," said Woodart angrily. "You could threaten to prove that you were paid to get the divorce, a mere matter of blackening the character of a woman whose only error was being blind enough to take a second look at you." "Your ingenious mind is too complex," said Foster quietly. "May I point out that if you are dead, you are dead, and therefore--" Foster laughed nastily. "Legally and physically, Harry Foster died and was buried. Legally there is nothing that could possibly prevent you from marrying her if you wanted to. But you see, Woodart, my wife is a completely moral woman, to say nothing of ethical. Though it is legal, there is still the gnawing doubt in her that she is compounding a felony--bigamy." Jenny made a plaintive gesture, "I'll wait until he asks me--" But she was not heard. Tim Woodart snorted. "So you think they'll be hesitant about punishing a dead man?" "What do you think?" Woodart strode forward and took Foster by the lapels of his coat, gathered them into one hand, and lifted the crook out of the easy-chair with an angry shake. "Then they can't book me for assault and battery upon the person of a corpse," he gritted. His free hand came back and forth across Foster's face, driving the heel's head from side to side. Then Woodart shoved him back, letting go of the lapels and using that hand to bury itself to the wrist in Foster's midsection. As Foster folded forward, Tim straightened him up with an upward chop to the jaw. Foster crumpled, and Woodart lifted him by the collar and dragged him to the door, hurling him into the hallway. Foster turned, wiping blood from his face, and spat like an angry cat. "That'll cost you, punk," he snarled. Woodart laughed. "Laugh," leered Foster. "You can't bring suit for divorce against a dead man, either!" * * * * * Harry Foster opened the door to his apartment and nodded quite genially. "Come in, gentlemen," he said overpolitely. State attorney Jones was less cordial, and Lieutenant Miller was harsh. "You're Harry Foster." "I am. Strange coincidence, isn't it?" "Coincidence my--" "Be careful," warned Foster. "You wouldn't want to insult a citizen, would you? It might go hard with you." "You're Harry Foster." "I am." "Then who was the man that was buried?" "That is the coincidence," said Foster sorrowfully. "He was another Harry Foster. I understand that he was a rascal and definitely needed killing." "Where were you when that deed was done?" "Me? Look, sir, am I under suspicion?" "Could be." "Then produce your warrant! I shall take no guff from you nor any of your ilk." "Take it easy," said Jones. "An innocent man has nothing to fear."