Lennox opened the folder. It contained six pale blue envelopes and six sheets of blue letter paper. The quality of the paper was good. The quality of the writing was bad; clumsy scrawlings, jagged, hysterical, sick. The pirates on The Rock are notorious for the freedom of their language, but there is a vast gulf separating profanity from malignity. The first five letters had been filthy gutter abuse. This last was comparatively clean, but even more sickening for the naked venom of its hatred. Dear Who He: Do you remember me yet? Are you feeling the pain? I'm going to kill you. I'll tear your guts out and rip your eyes and listen to you scream. Your bones will smash and your blood will run and the fancy filth in you will pour out like sewers like rot like ruin. I promise there will never be any Happy New Year for you! This is the last warning. Be killing you New Years. Guess Who Lennox closed the folder. There was no need to re-read the earlier letters. He remembered them and they were more revolting, if less specifically threatening. He took a deep breath, then went to the corner sink behind a screen and washed his hands. He had been carried down into the sewers of a sick mind. It was not a new experience, but Lennox could never accustom himself to it. Grabinett came back into the office. "Well, Napoleon? How about that one?" "It's the pay-off." Lennox shook himself. "We can't stall, Mel. We've got to go to the police." "No." "I'll go. Get a girl in here. The letters ought to be photostated before I take them." "Not the cops, Jake. For crank letters?" "They aren't crank letters any more. They're threats." "Against who?" "Somebody on the show." "Which?" "One of the permanents who's on every week. Mig. Stacy. Kay Hill...." "Kay? A dame?" "Why not? You read the letters. They could be written to a man or a woman." "Yeah. I guess you're right." "Then there's Johnny Plummer. Raeburn Sachs...." "Nobody sees Ray. He ain't ever on camera." "It has to be someone who's seen every week or whose name appears every week. Ray's name is on the credit drum after every show. So is yours." "Me!" Grabinett cried in astonishment. Lennox nodded. "Every week. 'A Melvin Grabinett Production.'" "That's a goddam lie. Those letters ain't to me." "You say. How do I know? Maybe that's why you don't want to go to the police. Maybe you're covering." "Would I show 'em to you if I was? Would I--You get a credit too. 'Written by Jordan Lennox.'" "That's right. Let's include me too. That makes seven. Who else appears every week ... name or face? Oh. Charlie Hansel, the dance director. That's all. A total of eight. One out of the eight is getting threatening letters and we've got to do something about it before everything blows up in our face next Sunday." "Throw 'em off the show, goddam 'em!" "All eight of us?" "No. The one that's getting wrote to." "Which?" "Find out which."