Vixen

36

A week later, PC McDonald was home, lying on the sofa, sunk in deep depression, thinking: If I could only get away, I could maybe get some perspective. The post came and among the bills was a padded envelope. He opened it without interest and to his disbelief, saw thick piles of money. A single sheet of paper contained the typed sentence:

‘You’re a fox.’

He got the telephone directory, began to look up travel agencies.