“I want a twelve-gauge shotgun,” I told the clerk. “Pump action. And a box of shells.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He hesitated, looking at me. “I’ll have to ask you for your name and address. It’s a new policy.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “My name is Milo March and I am presently living at the Continental Hotel. I’ll also want some shells for a sidearm, a .38. I have a license for it, which should also serve as my identification for the other purchase.” I pulled out my license and showed it to him.
He copied down the number of the license, my name, and the hotel. Then he brought me the shotgun. It was a good make. I told him I’d take it. He brought the shells for it and a box of .38 shells. I paid him and went back to the car. I put the shotgun under the front seat and the shells in the glov
