"I can imagine," Zitts said encouragingly. "Go on."
"Mrs. Brown and Smith was among those I visited," the man went on tiredly. "She was the most exhausting of all, actually insisting that I kiss her hand before I left. It took a lot out of me."
"Go on," Zitts urged impatiently.
"I swore off then and there," said the nonagenarian with a sigh, "and that left Mrs. Brown and Smith with only five lovers and two husbands. That increased the load on these remaining seven and they began to urge me to come back and do my duty. I refused.
"That," the man went on, "brought things to a crisis. In desperation Smith made another appeal to me. Again I refused, but I gave him some sound advice, to wit: that he should make the other lovers carry a little more of the burden. This he tried without success, and again I advised him, this time arming him with an ancient weapon. In turn he went to each of the other lovers and offered them their choice, and each chose suicide in preference to fulfilling more than their normal obligations. When he realized what he had done, and what a tremendous burden would now fall on him, he turned the weapon on himself."
The man paused, wiped away the tears and added, "I am guilty of six murders," he said dolefully. "And Brown, who is being held by the ratcatchers, will naturally make a false confession and ask to be put to death at once—when he realizes that his wife has neither lovers nor another husband. It is sad, and if you'll just boil me in oil as quickly as possible—"
"No, no!" the blonde woman screamed. "I want to marry you."
Startled, the man whipped out a strange, unearthly weapon, on which was inscribed, it was learned on later investigation, this legend: S&W. He placed the weapon against his temple and a bang resulted. Then he toppled over the rail and disappeared.
"Which end of that weapon did he place nearest him?" Zitts demanded as Zoo switched off the machine and the view faded.