Manning suddenly wished that Forsythe hadn't taken off. The man had something now that would be a sure fire sale. And people needed it desperately, far more than they needed gadgets or carburetors or pens or hairbrushes.
Wheeler's voice was buzzing on the phone.
"What do we do with the case now, Fred?"
Manning glanced out the window again. It was a beautiful day, the clouds were black velvet and the rain drops were diamonds.
He looked down at the small vial in his hand. The label read: Forsythe's Cancer Cure.
The real McCoy.
Manning lifted the phone and spoke into it.
"We don't have a case any more, Ray." He paused, then said: "I just swallowed Exhibit A."