Apparently they
did not hear my approach; they were too deep in talk. They did not look
out of the ordinary and, indeed, I should not have given them a second
glance if, as I passed, I had not heard the woman say, "And did you kill
anyone else?"
A man told me that once early in the morning he was walking through
Chinatown. There was nobody else on the street except, a little distance
ahead, a child carrying a small bundle. Suddenly just as she passed, a
panel in one of the houses slid open . . . a hand came out . . . the
child slipped the bundle into the hand . . . the hand disappeared . . .
the wall panel closed up. The child trotted on as though nothing had
happened . . . disappeared around the corner. When my friend reached the
house, it was impossible to locate the panel.
A reporter I know was leaving his home one morning when there came a
ring at his telephone. "There is something wrong in apartment number
blank, house number blank, on your street," said Central. "Will you
please go over there at once?" He went. Somehow he got into the house.
Nobody answered his ring at the apartment; he had to break the door
open. Inside a very beautiful girl in a gay negligee was lying dead on a
couch, a bottle of poison on the floor beside her.
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