Murder in the AirO
n the morning following my unsuccessful chase of Nick Van Tassel through the streets of Newport, Mme. Storey and I decided to go downstairs to breakfast at Omega Farm. We knew the capacity of our adversary for striking quickly, and there was much to be done if we were to get ahead of him.
Nick joined us at the breakfast table. Apparently he was a stranger to bad dreams, for he looked the embodiment of health and vigor. His freshly shaven sunburnt cheeks were as smooth and ruddy as an Elberta peach. Talk about your deceptive appearances! I wondered if the original Lucifer had the same faculty of assuming a boyish and disarming aspect. Probably he had. Scrambled eggs, broiled kidneys, bacon, and toast disappeared between Nick's fine white teeth in a business like manner.
