Killer, Come Back to Me

“Th-that’s nice.” Braling strolled as casually as he could to the cellar door. “You won’t mind waiting a moment, will you? I have to make a phone call.”

“To whom?” Braling Two frowned.

“No one important.”

“To Marionettes, Incorporated? To tell them to come get me?”

“No, no—nothing like that!” He tried to rush out the door.

A metal-firm grip seized his wrists. “Don’t run!”

“Take your hands off!”

“No.”

“Did my wife put you up to this?” “No.” “Did she guess? Did she talk to you? Does she know? Is that it?” He screamed. A hand clapped over his mouth.

“You’ll never know, will you?” Braling Two smiled delicately. “You’ll never know.”

Braling struggled. “She must have guessed; she must have affected you!”

Braling Two said, “I’m going to put you in the box, lock it, and lose the key. Then I’ll buy another Rio ticket for your wife.”

“Now, now, wait a minute. Hold on. Don’t be rash. Let’s talk this over!”

“Goodbye, Braling.”

Braling stiffened. “What do you mean, ‘goodbye’?”

* * *

Ten minutes later Mrs. Braling awoke. She put her hand to her cheek. Someone had just kissed it. She shivered and looked up. “Why—you haven’t done that in years,” she murmured.

“We’ll see what we can do about that,” someone said.

Punishment Without Crime

“You wish to kill your wife?” said the dark man at the desk.

“Yes. No…not exactly. I mean…”

“Name?”

“Hers or mine?”

“Yours.”

“George Hill.”

“Address?”

“Eleven South Saint James, Glenview.”

The man wrote this down, emotionlessly. “Your wife’s name?”

“Katherine.”

“Age?”