"All I have to do is slit me bag along me top with a razor blade, conveniently hidden on my person.

"I pop out and make a new flap with gum and brush, also conveniently secreted on myself- The screen is removed-

"-et voila! The bag appears untouched, pristine.

"No one ever notices, you see, that the bag is two inches shorter. They don't look for that sort of thing."

Well, that trick's shot to h.e.l.l now, I thought gloweringly.

The Sheriff had, while Max was speaking, left me mummy case behind and approached me lobby-display poster to look behind it.

Max snickered at that.

"He's not back there," he said. He stroked his chin reflec- tively. "Although I might have laminated him into the wood, I suppose."

The Sheriff touched the heart area of the poster figure.

"Someone's thrown a knife in here," he said.

"Oh," responded Max in a voice of pseudo-awe, "I can see why you're the Sheriff of Medfield County, Grover."

Plum turned to him with a smile most icy and atypical, I thought.

"You think this is a grand game," he said.

"Completely grand," Max agreed.

"Well, what you don't know," the Sheriff said, "is that I'm going to nail you good."

Max extended his arms to each side, head dropped for-

ward-

"To the cross, don't forget," he reminded Plum.

Then he lifted his head, grinning.

"The only fitting expiration for a saint," he said.

144 Richard Matheson

"A snake, you mean," Ca.s.sandra told him.

Max clucked and shook his head. "How disparaging," he muttered.

He put both palms down on the desk behind him and leaned back with a contented sigh. (I could not believe he was really contented, though.)

"Both of you are cold, you know," he said. "Virtually North Polish, if you want to know the truth."

"You really believe we're not going to find him, don't you?" Ca.s.sandra asked with a cold smile.

"You're not," he replied. "You especially, you're border- ing on the frigid."

"Only with you, lover," she jeered.

That blow hit home. I saw it dearly as Max regarded her with malignance.

Then he turned from her to observe the Sheriff, who was at me fireplace, patting and running his hands over me stonework as though in search of another hidden panel.

Max watched with hooded eyes.

"Having a good time, Grover?" he asked.

The Sheriff did not reply; he continued what he was doing.

"The Iron Box Escape!" cried Max. (Not again, I thought, despairing. How can he do this?)

"The box is heavy-solid-riveted-the lid held down by bolts."

My stomach sank. He really was going to do it.

"I'm locked inside," he described. "The box is bolted shut. The good ol' screen is set in place for several minutes.

"I appear. The screen is withdrawn. The box is un- touched, all bolts secure. Impossible, you say?"

I saw myself on stage performing me trick. To reveal its secret was unthinkable to me!

NowYwS-lL.. 145

f.

i x

The Sheriff was by the picture window now, looking out at me lake.

"Whafs that out there?" he asked.

"That is a gazebo, Grover," Max told him.

"I don't mean that," said the Sheriff.

Ca.s.sandra joined him quickly. "Where?" she asked.

"Grover," scolded Max. "I told you; he's in this room."

"ou told me a lot of things," Plum said in a deprecating voice. He pointed. "That thing out there. Like a mound."

Ca.s.sandra blew out a bream disgustedly. "It's just a pile of stones," she told the Sheriff.

"It was there before?" he asked.