"A little after one. The door was closed and the lights were out, but I heard the cat yowling in here, so I came in to let it out, and saw the body."
"Any family?" one of the city men asked.
"No," said Amos slowly, "he lived alone. I guess you might as well take him to the ... morgue. When can I call about the autopsy?"
"Try after lunch."
Amos watched them carry Frank away. Then he put out the lights and closed up the laboratory. He told the watchman he'd be around for a while, and went to his office to think.
As nearly as he knew, Frank had taken the drug less than twenty-four hours before he had. Death had come late at night, which meant Frank had been working overtime. Why? And why hadn't he been able to save himself?
"Not logical," his unconscious stated firmly. "He should have felt it coming and made repairs."
"This whole thing's a delusion," said Amos dully, aloud.
"No, it isn't," said a peculiar voice behind him.
He whirled and saw the black tomcat grinning up at him. He gasped, wondering if he were completely insane, but in a flash understanding came. "Frank!"