The clerk looked at it and mumbled, "Have to get change, mister."
Again unconsciously, Bronson's head nodded.
Had anything evolved that was out of the normal routine, Bronson would have been forced to take notice. But this was like driving an automobile or riding a bicycle. It required no conscious effort so long as nothing demanded decision.
Nothing demanded decision. The decision was made for him. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and felt it turn him so that he faced—His mind came back to his surroundings like a snapped rubber band. A policeman!
"What's the idea?" demanded the latter.
"What idea?" asked Bronson.
"Counterfeit money."
"That isn't it—"
The policeman laughed nastily. "Looks perfect," he admitted. "But I might point out that E. Thomas Froman is not the secretary of the United States Treasury."