“At least, something made her happy enough to sing, and after she’d taken our orders and brought us some beer to drink while we waited, we could hear her out in the kitchen, twittering like a bird. “But I don’t understand!” Carol said abruptly. “What in the world is chloral hydrate, anyway?” I said, “It’s vulgarly known as a Mickey Finn. Knockout drops, to you.” “You mean… you mean Mrs. Henderson was drugged?” “Uhuh,” I said. “The pink polka dot men from Mars are real tricky little fellows. They... apparently slid down a ventilator or something, put the lady to sleep, and planted an incendiary bomb to keep her company. Then they were teleported or rematerialized back up to their hovering space ship, the one that looked like half a marble on top of a fifty-cent piece. At least that’s what Henderson would like us to believe. Of course he undoubtedly hoped that, in a backward community like this, nobody’d spot the fact that his wife had been fed a chloral cocktail before she was incinerated.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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