Smith took the paper and looked at it. "You don't overlook anything, do you? Why didn't you just go ahead and do the job yourself?"
She smiled and shrugged. "I understand you can perform a perfect murder. I'm afraid I couldn't."
Smith removed the typewritten sheet from the machine and inserted a fresh sheet. He filled it in with names, dates, and figures. When he finished he handed it to her. "Sign on the bottom line."
She took the paper and looked at it.
"It's our contract," said Smith. "I have to have a guarantee that you'll go through with your part of the bargain. If you don't, I'll have that signed confession."
Mrs. Rogers looked at him in silence for a moment, then she laughed and signed the paper. "You don't overlook anything, yourself."
"No, Ma'am," said Smith.
At exactly five minutes before eight, Smith drove his panel truck through the gate to the Rogers home, turned out the lights, and drove silently to the house. He parked near the side entrance, got out, went around the truck, which was labeled, "Smith's TV Repair," and opened the back doors. He lifted a pile of ragged quilts from the floor and picked up a small air-pistol. Wrapped carefully in the quilts was a tiny bottle of dark green liquid, marked "Poison." He took a small dart from his pocket, opened the bottle and applied a small amount of the liquid to the tip of the projectile. Then he loaded the pistol with the dart, stuck it in his coat pocket, and replaced the bottle.
He walked rapidly to the door of the house, stopped at the steps to consult the floor-plan, and then entered. He went up the stairs and directly to the second door on the left. He turned the knob silently and eased inside.