Ben Jensen said, “Something I wanted to show you — got it in the mail this morning,” and took an envelope from his pocket and stood up to hand it across. Wolfe glanced at the envelope, removed a piece of paper from it and glanced at that, and passed them along to me. The envelope was addressed to Ben Jensen, neatly hand-printed in ink. The piece of paper had been clipped from something, all four edges, with scissors or a sharp knife, and it had printed on it, not by hand, in large black script:
YOU ARE ABOUT TO DIE—
AND I WILL WATCH YOU DIE!
Wolfe murmured, “Well, sir?”
“I can tell you,” I put in, “free for nothing, where this came from.”
Jensen snapped at me. “You mean who sent it?”
“Oh, no. For that I would charge. It was clipped from an ad for a movie called Meeting at Dawn. The movie of the century. I saw the ad last week in the American Magazine. I suppose it’s in all the magazines. If you could find—”
Wolfe made a noise at me and murmured again at Jensen, “Well, sir?”
“What am I going to do?” Jensen demanded.
“I’m sure I don’t know. Have you any notion who sent it?”