I turned the bankbook over to the chemist and we waited for the report. When it came, it had to be translated.
he ink was typical of those used 50 years ago. Lou Pape gave me a jab in the ribs at that. But then the chemist said that, according to the amount of oxidation, it seemed fresh enough to be only a few months or years old, and it was Lou's turn to get jabbed. Lou pushed him about the aging, asking if it couldn't be the result of unusually good care. The chemist couldn't say—that depended on the kind of care; an airtight compartment, perhaps, filled with one of the inert gases, or a vacuum. They hadn't been kept that way, of course, so Lou looked as baffled as I felt.
He took the bankbook and we went out to the street.
"See what I mean?" I asked quietly, not wanting to rub it in.
"I see something, but I don't know what. Do you?"
"I wish I could say yes. It doesn't make any more sense than anything else about these cases."
"What do you do next?"
"Damned if I know. There are thousands of old people in the city. Only a few of them take this way out. I have to try to find them before they do."