"It's our contract," said Smith. "I have to have a guarantee that you'll go through with your part of the bargain. If you don't, I'll have that signed confession." Mrs. Rogers looked at him in silence for a moment, then she laughed and signed the paper. "You don't overlook anything, yourself." "No, Ma'am," said Smith. * * * * * At exactly five minutes before eight, Smith drove his panel truck through the gate to the Rogers home, turned out the lights, and drove silently to the house. He parked near the side entrance, got out, went around the truck, which was labeled, "Smith's TV Repair," and opened the back doors. He lifted a pile of ragged quilts from the floor and picked up a small air-pistol. Wrapped carefully in the quilts was a tiny bottle of dark green liquid, marked "Poison." He took a small dart from his pocket, opened the bottle and applied a small amount of the liquid to the tip of the projectile. Then he loaded the pistol with the dart, stuck it in his coat pocket, and replaced the bottle. He walked rapidly to the door of the house, stopped at the steps to consult the floor-plan, and then entered. He went up the stairs and directly to the second door on the left. He turned the knob silently and eased inside. A small man, dressed in a dark suit, was seated at a desk, writing with a fountain pen on light blue paper. He looked up and said, "Who are you?" "I'm Smith, the TV repairman--are you Rogers?" "Yes, but I--" Then Smith killed him. * * * * * He emerged from the house with Rogers draped over his shoulder and staggered over to the truck. He shoved the corpse in and crawled in after. Moving rapidly, he opened the door of a trim metal cabinet directly behind the cab and shoved Rogers inside. Then he pushed a button on the side of the contraption and it began to hum. After two minutes he cut the power and opened the cabinet. It was empty. Smith whistled softly as he walked back to the house. He strode noisily in and called, "Hey, Mrs. Rogers!" She emerged from a door near the head of the stairs and came down. "Yes?" she said. Smith grinned at her. "It's okay, lady--the job is over." "Good! Let me fix you a drink, and you can tell me all about it." Smith sat down on a couch. She prepared the drinks and brought his over. They sat together and sipped the liquor. "Science is wonderful," she said. "Yeah, it sure is," said Smith. "They spend millions figuring out fancy ways to catch crooks, and then some dumb professor invents a way so I can kill people and never be caught." "I wonder what the cops a hundred years in the future will think when bodies start popping up all over the place?" she observed. "Who cares?" said Smith. "I'm making my dough, even if I will have to wait seven years for the heirs to collect." "It won't be too hard to wait," she said, "since we know for certain we'll get it." "Let's drink to our success," Smith said.