as long as she does it in private. Please pipe down, dear; I've got troubles. Can you think of any good reason why Tolliver should be killed?"

            "Ron Tolliver? No. Although I can't think of any good reason why he should be allowed to live, either. He's a boor."

            "He's that, all right. If he were not one of the Company partners, he would have been told to pick up his return ticket and leave, long ago. But I didn't say 'Ron Tolliver,' I just said Tolliver.'"

            "Is there more than one? I hope not."

            "We'll see." I went to the terminal, punched for directory, cycled to "T."

            "'Ronson H. Tolliver, Ronson Q.'-that's his son-and here's his wife, 'Stella M. Tolliver.' Hey! It says here: 'See also Taliaferro.'"

            "That's the original spelling," said Gwen. "But it's pronounced 'Tolliver' just the same."

            "Are you sure?"

            "Quite sure. At least south of the Mason and Dixon Line back dirtside. Spelling it 'Tolliver' suggests poh white trash who can't spell. Spelling it the long way and then sounding all the letters sounds like a Johnny-come-lately damyankee whose former name might have been 'Lipschitz' or such. The authentic plantation-owning, nigger-whupping, wench-humping aristocrat spelled it the long way and pronounced it the short way."

            "I'm sorry you told me that."

            "Why, dear?"

            "Because there are three men and one woman listed here who spell it the long way, Taliaferro. I don't know any of them. So I don't know which one to kill."

            "Do you have to kill one of them?"

            "I don't know. Mmm, time I brought you up to date. If you are planning to stay married to me at least fourteen days. Are you?"

            "Of course I am! Fourteen days plus the rest of my life! And you are a male chauvinist pig!"

            "Paid-up lifetime membership."

            "And a tease."

            "I think you're cute, too. Want to go back to bed?"

            "Not until you decide whom you intend to kill."

            "That may take a while." I did my best to give Gwen a detailed, factual, uncolored account of my short acquaintance with the man who had used the name "Schultz." "And that's all I know. He was dead too quickly for me to learn more. Leaving behind him endless questions."

            I turned back to the terminal, keyed it to shift to wordprocessing mode, then created a new file, as if I were setting up a potboiler:

            THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSPELLED NAME Questions To Be Answered:

            1. Tolliver or Taliaferro?

            2. Why does T. have to die?

            3. Why would "we all be dead" if T. is not dead by noon Sunday?

            4. Who is this corpse who called himself "Schultz"?

            5. Why am I the logical hatchet man for T.?

            6. Is this killing necessary?

            7.