I sat down and bit into a sandwich. This was where I lived. I was Fred Martin. This business of Orville Snyder was crazy. I took a swallow of cold milk and felt better.
I took another bite of the sandwich and laid it down on the plate, and reached for the newspaper—then stopped.
Where had the newspaper come from?
I hadn't stopped on the way from the lab to buy one. I hadn't brought one up with me from the car—or had I?
Suddenly I wasn't sure. I could have. If it wasn't for this other business I wouldn't have thought anything of it.
I stared at the folded newspaper, and it lay there on the plastic tablecloth with abnormally sharp detail, the most bizarre element of the day's mad events.
I relaxed. There was something in the paper, of course. If I spread it out and looked at the headlines I would probably go screaming mad....
That must be it, because I didn't want to open up the paper. Instead, I wanted to get up and go down to the car, and drive out of the city, away from everything, and forget everything.
The other things were strange and inconsistent, but not insane. This feeling was irrational. Maybe it was caused by the other things.
Just leaving the newspaper there and running away wouldn't resolve anything. I had to open it up and read it. And of course I knew what the headlines would be. There was only one thing they could be to fit the insane pattern. MRS. ORVILLE SNYDER FOUND SLAIN. And the subhead would be, POLICE SEARCHING FOR MISSING HUSBAND.