Peter Merton's Private Mint
By LEE ARCHER
Your name is Merton and you find that all you have to do is reach into your safe to get money. The more you take, the more you find. And just when Quiggs has cut your future down to nothing. A wonderful discovery! Or is it? Of course it is. You'll be the richest man in the world. But will you?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic October 1956.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Peter Merton sat at his desk after the District Attorney's men left, and put his head in his hands. He was still sitting that way when Miss Irene Simmons came in.
"Here's the rest of the morning's mail, Mr. Merton," she said.
Merton didn't even look up. He was a young, good looking man in his late twenties, the type known as a "rising young executive"—possibly because that's exactly what he was. But he did not look young this morning. His interview with the D.A. had added years to his appearance. He felt old and haggard.
"Just put them on the desk," he said. His voice sounded tired.