"I succeeded--but not the way I had hoped. There is an inertia to events. That inertia in events made you steal his wallet the second time--and plant your own on him. You left before he discovered the switch. He came after you to kill you here. It was then you gave me the identity of your killer. After that I went back to my original point again. At the proper time I did what you had done. I picked George Wile's pocket. He felt me do it. Again--the inertia of events--he tried to stick me with the poisoned needle. But I was ready for him. I deflected his hand and shoved. He stuck himself." * * * * * Golfin grinned. "Sure I planted your wallet on him. But who can say whether it was my own free will or the inertia of events that made me do it? The morning papers will carry the story exactly the same as it was in the first time-line. A tremendous inertia of a single event." "But what about me?" I said wildly. "The police will check. They'll know he isn't me." Golfin shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "My guess is that Sarah will identify him as you and keep quiet. To protect her racket, George will be buried as Ben Smith. George Wile's relatives will report him missing. He'll never be found. 'Your' murder will remain unsolved." "I'm getting out anyway," I said. "I don't want to chance it." "Then why not come with me?" Golfin said. "Now that I know I can change the past I'm going to start doing it in earnest." "Go with you?" I said. "You could work for me," Golfin said persuasively. "I would pay you far more than you average picking pockets, and it would be far more exciting work." "Say...." I said thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. I guess I owe you something, too, for saving my life." I nodded. "Okay. But where do we go?" "Not where," Sam Golfin said. "To when. We're going to my present--a future year not too far removed from 1954." He took out his hypodermic gadget and came toward me. I retreated a step, then stood still, the palms of my hands suddenly wet with perspiration. "Good boy," he said. "It won't hurt much." * * * * * I went into the drugstore and up to the cigar counter. "A pack of Camels," I said to the cashier. I took out a three dollar bill and handed it to him as he slid the pack toward me. "Fifty cents out of three dollars," he said absently. I nodded, thinking of the first time I had seen a three dollar bill. That was a long time ago, as time goes. Back in fifty-four. I was a pickpocket then, in case you want to know. Now--I'm working for Sam Golfin. Investigations. Any place, any Time.