"I haven't read the book," Mr. Browne said. "The reader reported it was far better than Dr. Grant's first one. That was good enough for me. The reader is no longer with us." He frowned in irritation at the memory. "Left us without giving notice. But he was a good man. Excellent judgment. I'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object." "I don't know," Mrs. Grant hesitated. "If he didn't want it published--" "But he's gone now," Browne reminded her. "I know, but--" She wept softly into a crumpled kerchief. The publisher remained silent. After a moment she pulled herself together. "He was always so absent-minded. I was sure he had mislaid the check. Used it to scribble some problem on. He did that once several years ago." Browne reached into his breast-pocket and brought out a long envelope and extended it toward her. "I had another check made out for advance royalties," he said, "if you decide to let me go ahead with the book." "I don't think I should, Mr. Browne." She withdrew the check from the envelope and looked at it, her eyebrows lifting at the size of the figure. "It's substantially more than the original check," Browne said. "I thought perhaps you might be in need of money, and I feel confident the book will sell exceptionally well." "It is a lot of money," Mrs. Grant said. "But I'm so confused. I wish I knew what to do." Browne leaned forward. "Your husband was a great man. I feel it as an obligation on my part to make public his last work." Mrs. Grant nodded slowly. "You may be right. I hadn't thought of it that way." "And you can undoubtedly use the money," Browne added. "There'll be more. How much more depends on how the book sells. It may be a steady income for a few years." "All right," Mrs. Grant said, making up her mind. "I'll let you publish it." "Fine!" Mr. Browne said heartily. "I felt you would. And any time you need money just call me." * * * * * Fred's birthday came in February. He was seventeen now, and the knowledge filled him with dismay. It had been months since his father had vanished. Or _had_ his father vanished? Maybe his memory of those people vanishing was as wrong as his memory of which way his door opened! To check it he spent an afternoon in a newspaper office searching back papers until he found the accounts. He read them all carefully. They were as he remembered them. And in him, slowly, grew the realization that he was going to use someone. He was going to choose someone and try to make that person disappear. More, he knew that that person was going to be Curt Gaard. He decided against calling and making an appointment. He would go to the man's office and put over the sixteen-year-old act.