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show?"
    "Practically all. There is also a pair of flashy wall charts of male and female anatomy in cross section, no doubt to show, in the case of the female, where a fetus comes from and, in the case of the male, how it gets there. And there is also and more important, a table with a stack of sex books on it. That's where the profits come from. It's why the unborn show has the low admission of one thin dime, that's to get the marks on the inside where they become a captive audience for Burt's pitch. The books sell for two bucks apiece. But they tell everything, Burt says."
    The lieutenant closed his notebook - i n which the only thing he'd written was Dr. Magus's real name - and stood up.
    "That's my next stop," he said, "so thanks for the briefing."
    "Have you met Burt?"
    The lieutenant shook his head. "Nope."
    Dr. Magus grinned. "If you tell him I sent you, he might tell you what time it is, if you ask him nicely. Otherwise - say, he's probably still in the chow top. I got back from there just before you came and Burt had just come in."
    "Okay, I'll look there. How'll I know him?"
    "The guy who gives you the dirtiest look."
    "Seriously."
    "All right. Let's see. Medium size, about forty, getting bald on top but he's got his hat on so that won't help you. Dresses fairly well. Oh, I remember. He's wearing a brown suit, tan silk shirt, solid color maroon tie."
    "Good," the lieutenant said. "But listen, Doc, will you try to remember who it was told you Irby got a settlement from an insurance company?"
    "I'll try, but why are you interested?"
    "Because I can't find, or haven't found yet, that anybody here communicated with him while he was in the hospital, but somebody must have or how'd it get known around the lot? Some of 'em even knew the amount."
    "But, Lieutenant, it would matter only negatively, wouldn't it?"
    "I don't get you, Doc."
    "I mean that if whoever did have the word direct intended to kill Irby for his two thousand dollars, the last thing he'd have done would have been to spread the news that Irby was coming back loaded. He'd have kept that news to himself so nobody would beat him to it."
    The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe you got something there. Well, be seeing you."
    After the lieutenant had gone, Dr. Magus went over to the little table and sat down by it. He felt thoughtful but he didn't know what he was thoughtful about.
    Certainly not about what had puzzled Lieutenant Showalter; he could have told Showalter exactly how the insurance money story had started and exactly how and it had become more specific.
    A week or more ago Mack Irby had sent Burt a postcard. It had told Burt that he'd be back before the end of the season to pick up his possessions but that he didn't expect his job back, and added that he was getting a good settlement from the insurance company. Burt had showed or mentioned the card to several people. But why should Dr. Magus have told the lieutenant? If Burt wanted to tell him, he would.
    And the same went for Barney King. He'd had coffee with Barney an hour ago and Barney had told him how Mack Irby had stopped at the ticket booth last night and had talked a while, mentioning two grand as the amount of the settlement he'd received. And Barney, an hour later, had mentioned it in the poker game in the G-top.
    So the lieutenant's curiosity would be satisfied if Burt and Barney chose to tell him those facts, and the lieutenant was heading for the unborn show now. If they didn't choose to tell him that was their business.
    But that wasn't what Dr. Magus was feeling thoughtful about. Nor was it, quite, wondering who really had killed Mack Irby. Except as a matter of curiosity, and idle curiosity at that, he didn't care a rideboy's damn who had killed Irby. But something was stirring at the back of his mind and he wanted to know what it was.
    He pulled over the madball, the two-inch diameter crystal in its silver stand, and polished it lovingly with a square of black velvet. He