in on fate; he'd seen Win Scofield's number come up to the top of the rack at Keeban's club; and his 'phoning me meant that an unusual job was up. For Jerry had told me he would pick and choose and not try to stop a job, unless it was a good one.
"Say not a word to any one," he'd told me; I took that to mean not to say he'd warned me. It couldn't mean that I wasn't to get information. So I took up my 'phone and called Fred, who was my particular friend in the Scofield family.
Winton, the old man, was his father; of course Christina, of the alterable hair, wasn't Fred's mother; she was his father's fourth, or fifth wife.
There was rather a lot of unpaid publicity about him when he got her; and it turned on him, rather than on her, because he'd fallen for that rejuvenation operation and, of course, he tried to have it secret.
Naturally the newspapers learned and, as a result, Win Scofield fled the town as soon as the hospital let him out. As secretly as possible—that is, with only a few friends besides newspapapermen and film news service photographers present—he'd married Shirley Fendon, a girl he'd met at a cabaret. Of course, being sixty-
