8

SEVEN DAYS OF COMBAT.

One week of action and reaction, attack and defense, all fought on the surface while deep below the agitated waters Powell and Augustus Tate swam and circled like silent sharks awaiting the onset of the real war.

A patrol officer, now in plainclothes, believed in the surprise attack. He waylaid Maria Beaumont during a theater intermission, and before her horrified friends bellowed: “It was a frame. You were in cahoots with the killer. You set up the murder. That’s why you was playin’ that Sardine game. Go ahead and answer me.”

The Gilt Corpse squawked and ran. As the Rough Tail set off in hot pursuit, he was peeped deeply and thoroughly.

Tate to Reich: The cop was telling the truth. His department believes Maria was an accomplice.

Reich to Tate: All right. We’ll throw her to the wolves. Let the cops have her.

In consequence, Madame Beaumont was left unprotected. She took refuge, of all places, in the Loan Brokerage that was the source of the Beaumont fortune. The patrol officer located her there three hours later and subjected her to a merciless grilling in the office of the peeple Credit Supervisor. He was unaware that Lincoln Powell was just outside the office, chatting with the Supervisor.

Powell to staff: She got the game out of some ancient book Reich gave her. Probably purchased at Century. They handle that stuff. Pass the word. Did he ask for it specifically? Also, check Graham, the appraiser. How come the only intact game in the book was ‘Sardine’? Old Man Mose’ll want to know. And where’s that girl?

A traffic officer, now in plainclothes, was going to come through on his Big Chance with the suave approach. To the manager and staff of the Century Audio-bookstore, he drawled: “I’m in the market for old game books… The kind my very good friend, Ben Reich, asked for last week.”

Tate to Reich: I’ve been peeping around. They’re going to check that book you sent Maria.

Reich to Tate: Let ’em. I’m covered. I’ve got to concentrate on that girl.

The manager and staff carefully explained matters at great length in response to the Rough Tail’s suave questions. Many clients lost patience and left the store. One sat quietly in a corner, too rapt in a crystal recording to realize he was left unattended. Nobody knew that Jackson Beck was completely tone-deaf.

Powell to staff: Reich apparently found the book accidentally. Stumbled over it while he was looking for a present for Maria Beaumont. Pass the word. And where’s that girl?

In conference with the agency that handled copy for the Monarch Jumper (“the only Family Air-Rocket on the market”), Reich came up with a new advertising program.

“Here’s the slant,” Reich said. “People always anthropomorphize the products they use. They attribute human characteristics to them. They give ’em pet names and treat ’em like family pets. A man would rather buy a Jumper if he can feel affectionate toward it. He doesn’t give a damn for efficiency. He wants to love that Jumper.”