Futures Past by James White Read Free Book Online Page A

aren't rare," replied Nesbitt, in tones that said that he had been a collector and probably still was. "But in quantities like that, in mint condition, they are worth a considerable sum of money. If I'd known about them I would have advised him to keep them in a fire-proof safe."
       "He takes your advice?"
       "He listens to it."
       Michaelson smiled. "How well do you know him?"
       "I call in most nights during my rounds," said Nesbitt. "Being alone he doesn't have to work normal hours, and if he is awake or working late he leaves the door open so I can come in for a cup of coffee, or to watch the wrestling matches if it coincides with my break."
       "So his hobbies are drinking coffee and watching wrestling," said Michaelson dryly.
       "No, sir. He switches channels for me. I usually find him watching current affairs programs. He is a very serious-minded young man."
       "Worried about something, do you think?"
       "He hasn't looked very happy recently, but from what I've heard he doesn't have any financial worries."
       "Any idea where he stayed before coming here?"
       "At a hotel a few blocks away, the Worchester. Some of his mail is still being forwarded from it."
       "Why did he move?"
       "I think it was red tape again," said Nesbitt. "He had been living there for nearly two years—well, not exactly, he used a room to carry on his business and sometimes he lived in it if it was too late to go home in the evening. The hotel did not mind at first—it is a small place with an easy-going manager. But apparently it contravened regulations for a guest to carry on a business on a permanent basis from his room. Rather than try to sort it out he moved here."
       "He confides in you a lot?"
       "Not at first. But one night he came in drank, really sick drunk. I think it must have been the first time he had tried alcohol and he had tried everything in sight. While I was helping him to bed he told me that he had a problem, but not what it was, and that he had to talk to somebody here. After that we talked for a few minutes, sometimes longer, every night—but never about his problem. I got the impression that it was a very personal thing."
       "Yes," said Michaelson. "Did he go out much at night?"
       "Recently, yes," said Nesbitt. "I expect he got himself a girl friend. A good thing, too—he had been very worried about something for the past three weeks. He had told me that his problem was worse than ever and that now there would never be a solution to it. But earlier this week he started going out every night for three or four hours and sometimes staying away all day, so probably there was a solution to it after all."
       "Yes," said Michaelson.
       He was thinking about Mrs. Timmins and the solution that she represented to the suspect's very personal problem and he could not trust himself to say anything else.
       His quick look around was gradually developing into a full-scale search, but so far the night security man had made no objections. He believed that he was helping the suspect and it was obvious that he was so convinced of "Smith's" honesty that the thought that he might be harming the other man had never entered his head. The fact that he was an ex-policeman and Michaelson an inspector would also have something to do with it.
       Michaelson wrestled briefly with his conscience, but the process was little more than a token bout.
       Looking disinterested, he began sliding open the desk drawers one by one. "Apart from his recent absences, did he have any other hobbies or outside interests?"
       "He was keen on local history," said Nesbitt. "He kept a scrapbook of old newspaper clippings, on the shelf behind you."
       Michaelson picked up the scrapbook and went through it quickly but thoroughly. There were a few old street maps, plans of urban road systems and developments long since completed and clippings going back over half a century. He was not surprised to find