Fred was shaking his head. "I don't want any money," he said. "I want you to stop my father's book. You can't publish it."
"Now wait," Browne said. "We aren't going through that again, are we?"
"You can't!" Fred said. "People will read it and vanish!"
"Huh?"
"People will read it and vanish! You've got to believe me. The cause of those disappearances is in that book!"
Browne stared for a moment, then dragged over a notepad, wondering how his publicity boys had missed this one. He stood up and came around his desk. "You leave it to me," he said. "You won't have a thing to worry about. I'll take care of everything."
"Then you won't publish it?"
Browne was guiding him toward the door. "You leave it to me. Drop in again soon. If you need money just drop in any time and I'll fix you up."
Fred found himself outside the door, not quite sure what Mr. Browne had promised.
Inside, Browne went back to his desk, muttering, "What a killing! Have to tell Nichols about it tomorrow at lunch. That vanishing stuff is a terrific publicity angle."