The Almost Perfect Murder

lay in a curious stillness under the cool sky. Madison Avenue ran under the window, and across the way we could see the apse of St. Patrick's between the priests' residences flanking it on either side. The street lights were still burning and the early cats were coming out to sniff in the gutters. The only human in sight was an honest policeman leaning against a fire box on the corner, idly swinging his club on its thong. As I was about to yell,


437 of 1255

lay in a curious stillness under the cool sky. Madison Avenue ran under the window, and across the way we could see the apse of St. Patrick's between the priests' residences flanking it on either side. The street lights were still burning and the early cats were coming out to sniff in the gutters. The only human in sight was an honest policeman leaning against a fire box on the corner, idly swinging his club on its thong. As I was about to yell,


437 of 1255