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The pair was joined by a curious Gladys Ann and an even more curious Dr. Freeman. Like Bartholomew, neither of them appeared to be overly impressed with the contents of the package. |
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"Well, one thing for sure," the old woman complained, "it ain't pickles. At least it ain't any pickles I'd want to eat, floatin' around in stuff that color." |
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Freeman maneuvered himself around the leering old woman and bent over the table to study the jar. He began to rotate the cylinder slowly, studying it against the feeble light of the candle. "Hell, can't make out a damn thing," he groused. |
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Gladys Ann wasn't the kind to speculate. She nudged the doctor aside, grabbed the jar and twisted the lid. It opened far more easily than she had anticipated and almost instantly, the room was filled with a nauseating odor. |
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"For God's sake," Linda complained, "put the lid back on that thing. It smells awful." |
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Freeman stepped forward. "Nonsense, that ain't the way to find out what's in it." He scooped the jar up, carried it across the room to the sink behind the bar and there, under the illumination of the room's single light, held it up for inspection. "Still can't tell anything," he muttered. |
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"Look, Doc, if you're so damned curious |
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