Big Six Mix pipe tobacco for Mel Fox. With Harvey in the coop he was too busy at the ranch to go shopping.

Fly swatters for Pete Ingalls. He never raised his foot to the stirrup without one dangling from his saddle horn, for horseflies.

Typewriter ribbon for the Underwood.

Tube of toothpaste and a belt, for me personally. My best belt had got chewed by a porcupine when I-but that's a long story.

A magnifying glass and a notebook that would go in my hip pockety for me professionally. On a job in New York I never go on an errand without those two articles, and I was on a job now. Probably I wouldn't have any use for them, but a habit is a habit. Psychology.

My last stop was the public library, to consult a book that probably wouldn't be there, but it was-Who's Who in America. Not the latest, 1968-1969, but the 1966-67 was good enough. There was no entry for Philip Brodell, and there never would be since he was now a corpse, but his father, Edward Ellis Brodell, had about a third of a column. I knew he was still alive, having exchanged some words with him a week ago, when he had come to gather facts and raise some hell and get his son's body to take home. Born in St. Louis in 1907, he had done all right and was now the owner and publisher of the St. Louis Star-Bulletin. Who's Who had no information about who was going to kill his son.