C. G. vanished in thin air.
Engel slid to a halt and rubbed his eyes. Fearfully he explored this queer illusion, his hands pawing nothingness. There was a roar like a thousand subway trains, and something invisible and powerful hurled him sprawling. He lay stunned as the noise died away and then sat up to nurse a bruised head.
Someone grabbed his arms, jerked him rudely to his feet, and spun him around. A tall gangling cop glared down at him.
"You been drinking?"
"W-what?" Engel stammered. Confused, he looked more closely at this man who wore a gray metallic uniform, a glittering badge, and an oddly shaped holster. "I wasn't drinking. Something pushed me."
The cop smirked as he picked up the fountain pen and dusted it off with his gloves. "This yours?" he asked.
"Yes—uh, why, no," Engel sputtered. "It belongs to a guy I was chasing."
The cop's thick eyebrows lifted.
"He lost it, and I was trying to return it," Engel explained. "But he disappeared right in front of me!"
"Well, that's a new one," the cop said with a cynical smile. He seized Engel's arm and dragged him down the walk. "I'm running you in as a drunk and robbery suspect, bud."