Heart

Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Monk had three questions he lived by: Where can I find it? How much will it cost? When can you deliver? But now they said that what he needed wasn't for sale. Want to bet? He snorted.
ystole ... diastole ... the Cardiophone listened, hummed, and recorded; tracing a path of perilous peaks and precipices on the white paper.
Relax! Dr. Rostov pleaded. Please relax, Mr. Monk!
The eyes of Fletcher Monk replied. Rostov knew their language well enough to read the glaring messages they transmitted. Indignation ... Don't use that commanding tone with me, Doctor! Protest ... I am relaxed; completely relaxed! Warning.... Get me out of this electric chair, Rostov!
The physician sighed and clicked the apparatus off. Swiftly, but with knowing fingers, he disengaged his patient from the wire and rubber encumbrances of the reclining seat. Fletcher Monk sat up and rubbed his forearms, watching every movement the doctor made as he prepared to study the results of his examination.
You're fussing, Rostov, he said coldly. My shirt.
In a moment.
Now, said Monk impatiently.
The physician shook his head sadly. He handed Monk his shirt and waited until the big man had buttoned it half way down. Then he returned to the Cardiophone for a more critical study. A fine analysis was hardly necessary; the alarming story had been told with the first measurements of the heart machine.
Money buys anything, I tell you—anything!