"Save me?" I mocked. "But I thought you said it was in the papers. So it must be true."
"I'm not so sure," Golfin said with an important frown. "I'm not so sure the future can't be altered. That's why I'm here. I want to see if I can change the future. If I can...." He left whatever thought he was toying with unspoken.
A sudden thought shattered my amused point of view. That three dollar bill. It had been a Series of 1964, something utterly absurd by itself. But coupled with Sam Golfin's obvious conviction that I was going to be murdered, and his talk of changing the future, it made a pattern that made me suddenly uneasy.
"Why would anyone here kill me?" I asked with a defiance that covered my unease. "I don't even know anyone here. As a matter of fact, the reason I came here was to—"
"But someone here knows you," Golfin said. "And that someone knew you were going to be here. The murder was—will be—carefully planned."
"Just how am I going to be murdered?" I asked, not grinning.
"The coroner's report says that you were—will be—poisoned," Golfin said.
I thought of the Tom Collins, and my stomach turned over.
"A venom," Golfin went on, "injected by means of a pin or needle. The coroner found—will find, that is—a small puncture in the small of your back on the right side, with some of the venom still imbedded, along with the paste."
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," I said. "I'm getting out of here." I turned toward the door.