Smith made a profitable business out of
murder. It was all quite simple—he killed a
man and then disposed of the body—forever!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
March 1952
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The sign on the door said Ernest H. Smith, Private Investigator.The door opened and a woman came in. She was a brunette, aboutfive-feet-two, wearing a yellow dress with black buttons. She carried abrown alligator handbag. "I am Mrs. Wilma Rogers," she said. "You wererecommended to me."
Smith motioned to a chair in front of his desk. "Sit down, Mrs. Rogers.Do you have a card?"
She sat down and opened her handbag. She took out a small card andhanded it to him. He looked at the printed words, "Recommended toSmith." He opened a desk drawer and removed a small bottle of redliquid, spilling a few drops on the blank side of the card. Soon therewas visible writing on it. "Okay for any service," it said.
"All right," Smith nodded, "what can I do for you?"
"I want you to kill my husband," she said pleasantly.
Smith swiveled his chair around to face the typewriter, inserted ablank sheet of white paper, and began to type. "Why do you want himkilled?"
"He's stingy—he won't give me enough money."
"How much money will he leave you, Mrs. Rogers?"
"Roughly two hundred thousand," she said. "There's insurance, ofcourse, but I understand we can't count on that."
Smith smiled. "That's a nice sum. Now what time would be mostconvenient?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Any time suits me."
Smith laughed. "I mean for your husband. What time would be best forkilling him?"
"Oh," she said. Her brow wrinkled and she began to mutter, "Let's see,now ... home at five-fifteen, reads the paper ... takes a shower ...dinner at six-fifteen ... I can send the servants out atseven-thirty ... oh, I think eight will be perfect."
"Eight it is," said Smith, putting the information on paper. "Now for abit of information about the house and grounds. Can't afford to bungleinto the wrong place and foul up the job."
Mrs. Rogers opened her purse again and withdrew a folded sheet ofpaper. "I've got a floor-plan of the house here, with the address andeverything marked off."
Smith took the paper and looked at it. "You don't overlook anything, doyou? Why didn't you just go ahead and do the job yourself?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I understand you can perform a perfectmurder. I'm afraid I couldn't."
Smith removed the typewritten sheet from the machine and inserted afresh sheet. He filled it in with names, dates, and figures. When hefinished he handed it to her. "Sign on the bottom line."
She took the paper and looked at it.
"It's our contract," said Smith. "I have to have a guarantee thatyou'll go through with your part of the bargain. If you don't, I'llhave that signed confession."
Mrs. Rogers looked at him in silence for a moment, then she laughed andsigned the paper. "You don't overlook anything, yourself."
"No, Ma'am," said Smith.
At exactly five minutes before eight, Smith drove his panel truckthrough the gate to the Rogers home, turned out the lights, and drovesilently to the house. He parked near the side entrance, got out, wentaround the truck, which was labeled, "Smith's TV Repair," and openedthe back doors. He lifted a pile of ragged quilts from the floor andpicked up a small air-pistol. Wrapped carefully in the quilts was atiny bottle of dark green liquid, marked "Poison." He took a sma