I faced her. She was wearing coveralls that, if anything, emphasized the curves of her figure. She had a sort of babushka that covered her red hair and kept it in place--the kind of thing women workers used to wear in factories during the war. She had looked lethal with nothing on but a gun and a hard expression. She looked like a sentence of execution now. "Open that door, turn to the right and go upstairs," she told me, indicating directions with the gun. I went. It was the longest, most anxious short walk I've ever taken. She ordered me to open a door on the fourth floor, and we were inside the room I'd seen from the fire escape. The mesh cage seemed like a torture chamber to me, the hooded motors designed to shoot an agonizing current through my emaciating body. "You're going to do to me what you did to the old man you hired today?" I probed, hoping for an answer that would really answer. She flipped on the switch that started the motors and there was a shrill, menacing whine. The wire mesh of the cage began blurring oddly, as if vibrating like the tines of a tuning fork. "You've been an unexpected nuisance, Weldon," she said above the motors. "I never thought you'd get this far. But as long as you have, we might as well both benefit by it." "Benefit?" I repeated. "_Both_ of us?" She opened the drawer of a work table and pulled out a stack of envelopes held with a rubber band. She put the stack at the other edge of the table. "Would you rather have all cash or bank accounts or both?" My heart began to beat. _She was where the money came from!_ * * * * * "You trying to tell me you're a philanthropist?" I demanded. "Business is philanthropy, in a way," she answered calmly. "You need money and I need your services. To that extent, we're doing each other a favor. I think you'll find that the favor I'm going to do for you is a pretty considerable one. Would you mind picking up the envelopes on the table?" I took the stack and stared at the top envelope. "May 15, 1931," I read aloud, and looked suspiciously at her. "What's this for?" "I don't think it's something that can be explained. At least it's never been possible before and I doubt if it would be now. I'm assuming you want both cash and bank accounts. Is that right?" "Well, yes. Only--" "We'll discuss it later." She looked along a row of shelves against one wall, searching the labels on the stacks of bundles there. She drew one out and pushed it toward me. "Please open that and put on the things you'll find inside." I tore open the bundle. It contained a very plain business suit, black shoes, shirt, tie and a hat with a narrow brim. "Are these supposed to be my burial clothes?" "I asked you to put them on," she said. "If you want me to make that a command, I'll do it." I looked at the gun and I looked at the clothes and then for some shelter I could change behind. There wasn't any.