February 15, 1945
Drat and botheration! This is the last time that I offer to help those Army boys, even if they do claim to be sitting on a lead that could blow the lid off the January strangeness. If they cannot be bothered to assist me in staying free from the corrupt legal machinations of Robertson’s youthful (?) indiscretion, then I will no longer be able to assist in their inquiries into the so-called “Yarrow Curse”. Anyway, it’s utter malarkey. If there really were faeries and they really did sing to passing vagrants, why would they sing about that of all things? There’s a war going on, and they have me hunting apocalyptic midgets with a butterfly net! Isn’t that something better left for the College of Metaphysics?
Anyway, this Wilson, who is overseeing Robertson’s crucifixion: He wired me in hope that I would stand witness to back up some particularly revolting charges. Although not so fond of witches, unicorns, or espers myself, it seems strange that he would be so fanatical about proving that they had no role in Robertson’s folly. All it would take to prove that is a rational mind and a strong nose for whiskey.
It's like he has an axe to grin. Or something to hide.
“Too long has Spruce Street been under the grim specter of misleading superstition!”? I should ask this fine gentleman to visit me rather than traveling all the way to his courtroom: we are in need of guest lecturer on the subtle influences of melodrama in everyday life.
(Source: The private journal of Dr. Orlando Laswell)