"Right on the second," he said, a shade of disappointment in his tone. "I'd hoped this time you'd be off a few seconds." He lowered his arm and advanced toward me, hand outstretched politely. "I'm Sam Golfin," he said. "I want to ask you some questions, Benny. And this time I hope I get the right answers." I ignored his hand. "How'd you know my name?" I demanded. "How'd you know I came here?" "Oh dear," Sarah Fish said. "I _don't_ know how to tell him, Sam. You'll have to." Sam Golfin gave her a sympathetic glance, then looked grim. "This time," he said, fixing me with a stare, "I'm not going to try to spare your feelings. In--" He studied his watch again. "--exactly one hour and seventeen minutes you are going to be murdered. A man doesn't just get murdered without knowing who might have done it, who his enemies are. Someone in this house is going to kill you. _Who is it?_" "You see," Sarah Fish said, her bosom expanding in an anxious breath, "you _must_ tell us who did it." I stared at them both, then gave what I intended to be a derisive laugh, but it sounded thin. "What makes you think I'm going to be murdered?" I said. "For one thing," Sam Golfin said cautiously, "it's in tomorrow's papers." "Oh, I see," I said sarcastically. "I know you must think I'm joking...." Golfin said. "Hardly," I said. And it was the truth. I thought he was crazy. "I'm glad you don't," Sam Golfin said with relief. "Every minute counts if we are to save you." "Save me?" I mocked. "But I thought you said it was in the papers. So it must be true." "I'm not so sure," Golfin said with an important frown. "I'm not so sure the future can't be altered. That's why I'm here. I want to see if I can change the future. If I can...." He left whatever thought he was toying with unspoken. A sudden thought shattered my amused point of view. That three dollar bill. It had been a _Series of 1964_, something utterly absurd by itself. But coupled with Sam Golfin's obvious conviction that I was going to be murdered, and his talk of changing the future, it made a pattern that made me suddenly uneasy. "Why would anyone here kill me?" I asked with a defiance that covered my unease. "I don't even know anyone here. As a matter of fact, the reason I came here was to--" "But someone here knows you," Golfin said. "And that someone knew you were going to be here. The murder was--will be--carefully planned." "Just how am I going to be murdered?" I asked, not grinning. "The coroner's report says that you were--will be--poisoned," Golfin said. I thought of the Tom Collins, and my stomach turned over. "A venom," Golfin went on, "injected by means of a pin or needle. The coroner found--will find, that is--a small puncture in the small of your back on the right side, with some of the venom still imbedded, along with the paste." "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said. "I'm getting out of here." I turned toward the door.