Elinor Cunnigham was an exceptionally cold-blooded woman.  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at small crumpled newspaper clipping.  Herfingers trembled with suppressed rage.  She had found the clipping in her husband's wallet during one of her regular searches.  It was an advertisement carefully underlined by Henry.  There could be no doubt that Henry himself had done that.  He had used the platinum pen, kept especially for signing company mergers and most important contracts of the week.  There was something else: that pen was his talisman. 

Henry Cunnigham was one of the richest men in North America, renowned for his fabulous wealth and the unbelievable sums of money he squandered gratifying his whims.  Such a man, soberly noted Elinor, would not waste time reading advertisements in gossipy newspapers.  Yet the clipping was in her hands and Henry had saved it in his wallet. 

Wild Life Ltd.  Works For Influential People

As Elinor read further, her face gradually lost its color.

Elinor Cunnigham did not need to read the advertisement to the end.  An unpleasant thought had crossed her mind.  "Oh, Henry," she murmured.  "You have really made up your mind this time."

It was the last Friday of May when Elinor discovered the newspaper advertisement.  She had a thought that sent a shiver along her spine: Is this why Henry has been on a severe diet for three weeks?  Why is he having nothing but orange juice day and night?  What is he up to?"

Elinor then visited Doctor Burrows who had taken care of her husband's health since Henry's birth.

Do not worry, Mrs. Cunnigham," the doctor said with a non-committal smile.  "Sir Henry is extremely healthy.  His body is strong, well trained and needs only a minimal diet."

Yet Henry Cunnigham had ceased eating; he had decided to turn into another being: a tiger, a lion, a hyena.  Another affordable whim.  The turnover of his companies exceeded a quarter of a billion on a daily basis.  So Wild Life was the latest quirk of Elinor's eccentric husband. 

On the very same evening Elinor Cunnigham found the advertisement, she started taking lessons to shoot at a moving target.  She had not breathed a word about it, not even to her closest friend Susan, Chair of the Duchess’ Club.  In the beginning Elinor practiced with a safari gun, before deciding on an exquisite revolver.  Meanwhile, she tried to draw out her husband.

"Henry, don't you think that a single glass of orange juice is not enough for you to keep body and soul together?  You are a big, strong man, darling."

Sir Henry's features contracted into a peculiar ferocious expression.  Within a split second his white teeth flashed, radiating a sharp bloodthirsty glow. 

"Do not worry about me, darling," he said, his eyes avoiding hers. 

***

Elinor was not worried at all.  She had slipped her dainty revolver under the silky pillow on her bed, the polished metal surface glinting gently in the gloom of the baroque bedroom.  A second revolver lay expertly hidden in a vase just outside the parlor.  Elinor was now prepared for any ferocious beast crouching in the shadows of her home.

Strangely, for a moment, it seemed a droplet of water shimmered there also, apparently unwilling to mingle with Sir Henry’s blood. 

"I am so sorry, dear," Elinor whispered softly.  Henry's face lit with that distant, peculiar smile, his sharp teeth gleaming.

"Forget it, my love," he muttered softly.

***

The full moon shone into the bedroom.  Henry Cunnigham's bed was empty.  The sheets and the blankets were rolled in a mess, strewn with short, russet hairs. 

Elinor woke in fright as the long, pointed claws of a bulldog tore at her nightclothes.  Her shoulder was bleeding.  The muzzle of the beast was smeared with her blood and its jowls gaped open hungering for her throat.  The glowing teeth of that enormous head swung above her face and for a moment reminded Elinor of someone very familiar.

"That's you, Henry!" she shouted and bucked and twisted seizing the gun.  A muffled shot.  A low growling moan filled the air before the heavy bulldog slumped limp across Elinor's chest.  The miniature revolver was hot and still smoking in her hand.

***

Nine days later, Henry Cunnigham, the fabulously rich owner of petrol refineries, was slowly regaining his strength in a luxury hospital room.  His body was weak yet the readings of the medical equipment were encouraging.  Sir Henry would soon recover in Doctor Burrows's opinion.  The doctor had tactfully retreated leaving three people in the room: Henry, beautiful Florence Hughes and Mr. Brinkley, a representative of Wild Life Ltd.

"Sir," ventured Brinkley timidly.  "I hope you are satisfied with our service despite the little accident you had.  The doctors say your wound is healing well,." the official of Wild Life Ltd pursed his lips in a plaintive funnel searching for another excuse.

"I am satisfied," Henry Cunnigham answered curtly.  "This is for you."  At the sight of the sum written on the cheque, a broad smile lit Brinkley's face.  Ignoring it, Sir Henry said impatiently, "You can go now."

Nothing in the tycoon's voice betrayed the fact that he had survived a bullet.  He was being taken care of by the best team of doctors in the country, and in ten days time would be up and about as promised.  Yes, there was a powerful reason to be impatient: Florence Hughes.  She sat on the edge of his bed, smiling wistfully, gently dabbing the beads of perspiration on Henry's forehead.

"Dear Florence," Henry whispered lovingly.  "Your idea was brilliant.  I . . . I am done with Elinor.  She is no more . . .  there will be no sleuths dogging us everywhere.  The world will leave us alone at last."

"God bless Elinor," the beauty whispered piously.  "Perhaps she's already on her way to Heaven."

Henry Cunnigham was happy.  He had often asked himself how Flo was able to transform each word she pronounced into magic.  That magnificent woman was worth everything.

As Henry summoned the nurse to bring some food, Florence remarked: "The police haven't discovered Elinor's body yet.  They found several bones and that was all."

"Perhaps the bulldog was not hungry enough and left them for later on," Henry noted calmly.  For a moment his teeth shone with a sharp, weird luster.  "Let's not talk about Elinor any more."  He stroked the hand of his beautiful ballerina.

At that moment the door of the room opened and an elderly nurse stood in the dim rectangular patch of light.

"This is for you, Sir," she said, handing Sir Henry a small, expensive cassette recorder.  "And, if it is possible, Sir, Mr. Brinkley from Wild Life would like to discuss it with you afterwards."

Puzzled, Henry took the recorder.

"Leave the room!" he ordered the nurse.  He switched on the machine; the wheels turned slowly.  Then Henry gave a violent start as Elinor’s voice came through the microphone.

Elinor's voice sounded calm, even slightly bored. 

Henry Cunnigham remained immobile for more than a minute.  The beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead, wetting the neat bandages.  His hands reached for the beautiful woman; her face had almost entirely blanched.  She recoiled, terrified.

"A notary!  A notary!  I need some paper!"  Henry Cunnigham started shouting.  "Quick!  Quick!  Quick!"

"Goodbye, Henry Cunnigham," said the magnificent Florence Hughes as she sashayed through the door, swaying her exquisite thighs. 

"Flo!  Flo!  Please help me!"

Henry wept; there was nobody left in the room.