The little man handed him a bill he had been holding in his hand. "By the way," he said smoothly as the cashier glanced at it, "could you tell me the way to Sarah Fish's residence?"
The little man glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to know me, but gave no sign of recognition. The cashier was giving him directions. I was listening, but I was trying to puzzle out the strange feeling that I had been through all this before. And it wasn't until the little man had left that it seeped into my consciousness that something was queer about that bill.
"Hey!" I said to the cashier. "What kind of bill did that little guy give you?"
"Why, a—a—Oh good Lord."
We examined it together. It was a three dollar bill. And instead of surprise, I felt the jaws of a trap closing in on me. I listened to the cashier babble about playing gags on his friends with it. A part of me wanted to turn my back on the whole thing and forget it.
But some force pulled me in the direction the little man had gone. As I walked I relaxed. I shrugged off the strange feeling I had. I told myself I didn't believe in premonitions.
A party of some sort was in full swing at the Sarah Fish place. I nodded to myself. I could go in and mix with the crowd. I could pick this little man's pocket. Maybe a few more. The worst that could happen would be that they wouldn't let me in.
Beside the huge door was a button. I pressed it and heard a series of chimes ring out. A few seconds later the door swung open and a middle aged man with a jovial expression said, "Come in, come in. I'm George Wile. Sarah's somewhere. What's your name? Sorry I can't keep track of all Sarah's friends."
"Ben Smith," I said, stepping inside.
"Sarah'll show up in a minute," George Wile said, and promptly forgot me. That was okay by me. I had taken an instant dislike to him.