or not. The post office and its manifold sins dwindled and vanished in the fire of the new controversy. Down went the chocolate almond pie and the coffee and, over the brandy, Gonzalo called for the grilling.
"Manny," he said, "you be the griller, and I invoke host's privilege and tell you that the subject of the post office must not be mentioned."
Rubin scowled and said, "Mr. MacShannon, how do you justify your existence?"
MacShannon said amiably, "I'm a computer programmer and designer. These days I think that speaks for itself."
"Maybe," said Rubin. "We might get back to that later. Obviously, your present labors have nothing to do with your activities as a child - I mean your postmark collection. You had said - "
"Manny," said Gonzalo abruptly, "I ruled out the post office."
"Fire and brimstone," exploded Rubin. "Who's talking post office? I'm talking postmark collection. I appeal to the membership."
"All right. Go ahead," said Gonzalo resignedly.
"Now, then," said Rubin, after an unnecessarily protracted glare at Gonzalo, "you said that it was your interest in envelopes that led you to your - And then, before you could finish your sentence, you were interrupted by the announcement that dinner was ready. Now, then, I would like to have the sentence finished. What did your interest in envelopes lead to?"
MacShannon frowned thoughtfully. "Did I say that?" Then his brow cleared and a look of almost comic self-satisfaction crossed his face. "Oh, yes, of course. Back in 1953, it was through my interest in envelopes that I caught a spy. A real honest-to-Pete spy."
"In 1953?" said Avalon, frowning suddenly. "Don't tell me you were one of the young men working for Senator Joseph McCarthy."
"Who? Me?" said MacShannon, clearly astonished at the suggestion. "Never! I never had any use for McCarthy at all. Of course - " he pondered the matter a moment, "he did make the nation spy-conscious and traitor-conscious, and that couldn't help but affect me, I suppose. You couldn't help thinking in that direction even if you disapproved of McCarthy's tactics, as I did."
"National paranoia, I call it," said Rubin seriously.
"Maybe," said MacShannon, "but anyway, whatever you call it, I suppose that that's what put the whole melodrama in my mind. In a quieter, less frenetic time, I would have seen that envelope and never given it a thought."
"Tell us about it," said Rubin.
"Certainly, if you wish. After thirty-six years, it can't be sensitive. Besides, I don't know the details, only the general outline. I was just starting out in the world, had my engineering degree, had a small job, was living by myself for the first time. I was twenty-four years old, though, and still a little uncertain of myself.
"There was another person, living across the hall from me - Benham was his name. I don't remember his first name. He was about thirty, I think, and I would occasionally see him going in or out. He was a scowler, if you know what I mean, unfriendly, never addressed me. I said hello once or twice, in passing, but he would give me the curtest possible nod and freeze me with his expression. I grew to dislike him intensely, of course, and since I was a great reader of thrillers in those days, I fantasized that he was something villainous - a criminal, a hitman, or, best of all, a spy.
"Then, one day, as we were both waiting for an elevator to take us to our two apartments on the eighth floor, he tore open an envelope he was carrying, which I assumed he had just picked up from his letter box. I had checked mine earlier and it was empty, as it almost always was in those days, except when my mother wrote me. I watched my neighbor out of the corner of my eye, partly because I would naturally watch someone I was fantasizing to be a mysterious villain, partly because I envied anyone who got a letter, and even partly because I never quite got over my childhood fascination with envelopes.
"Having torn open the envelope, he extracted the letter, unfolded it, read it without the slightest expression on his face, then crumpled it and tossed it into the trash basket that stood by the elevators in the hall. He then, still without expression, placed the empty envelope inside his inner jacket pocket. He did it very carefully and patted the front of his jacket as though to assure himself it was well-seated."
Trumbull interrupted. "How did you know