As the greatest detective in the galaxy, Len
Zitts could easily arrest the murderer. His
main interest was in analyzing the weapon used!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1951
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Len Zitts wiggled his big toe and gently pressed it against thevelvet-covered button, and the couch on which he was lying beganeasing from beneath the desk to shape itself into a lounging chair.In the process, a pair of mechanical arms slipped a pair of flexibleplastic moccasins on his feet and another pair of arms buttoned hisshirt collar and straightened his maroon cravat. At the same time amechanical comb and brush straightened the part in his thick chestnuthair and smoothed it neatly.
Rising from behind the desk to a sitting position, without any efforton his part, Len Zitts blinked brown eyes and looked again at thevision of blonde loveliness which stood with full mouth agape justinside the doorway.
"Oh!" The slender woman drew a deep breath, causing her bosom to swellalluringly. "You scared me. Popping up like a jack-in-the-box!"
Moving his little finger an eighth of an inch, Zitts touched a buttonon the arm of the chair and a mechanical hand put a cigaret in hismouth and another tubelike arm moved beneath the cigaret and squirtedflame against its tip. "Sit down," Zitts invited. "Have a cigaret." Hepressed another button and an arm on the far side of the desk extendeda tray of assorted cigarets toward the woman.
A little breathless, she sat down and smoothed her diaphanous ceriseskirt along her thighs. "I—I'm still a little scared," she saidtremulously.
Zitts arched a chestnut brown eyebrow, significantly glanced at thedesk and the mechanical equipment, and said, "Don't be alarmed. Just afew little inventions of my own. Desks were originally intended as aresting place for the feet. I've merely modernized the idea. Slip underthe desk to relax. People can't spill drinks and ashes down your collarwhile you sleep."
The woman nodded, smiled, revealing even teeth and a wide mouth withupturned corners. "I suppose you want me to tell you why I came?"
Zitts shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I know why you came," hesaid. "You want to offer me a ton of gold to investigate your husband'sdeath. Sorry! Afraid we can't do business."
"B-but—but—how did you know?" The woman leaned forward and lifted aslender hand and looked at it as though to test her eyes.
Zitts eyed the round arm with interest. "Elementary," he said. "Peopleare always wanting me to investigate something, and they always try topalm off that trash called gold. They never offer anything worthwhile,such as a dozen genuine bacteria for my collection, or a scuttle ofcoal—that almost priceless black stuff from which so many things aremade. Ever seen any coal?"
The woman shook her head, swinging the shoulder-length blonde hair fromside to side, and her deep blue eyes opened wide in wonder. "Heard ofit. Glossy ebon substance of which ornaments are made. A princess onMars is said to own a chunk of it as big as my thumb, set in a pendant.It was captured in the Martian war with Saturn."
"It's probably a phony," Zitts pointed out. "The Martians are too smartto let a woman wear that precious stuff. A piece that big could bemade into the nucleus of a webbing which would trap enough sunlightand moisture from the orbit of Mars to turn every sandy plain on thatplanet into fertile land."
The subject seemed beyond the grasp of the woman. "But you h