There’s something you should know about me at this point. For many years now, a large part of my income has come from writing detective stories for magazines, radio and television. And when I’m presented with a knotty problem, I love to dig around for answers. The more confusing the leads, the happier I am about ferreting out the facts.
This book probably began on that day in November, 1959, when the odd behavior of our cigarette-smoking nation became strikingly, surprisingly apparent to me.
What is the magic, I wondered, that apparently makes cancer caused by cigarettes more acceptable or tolerable than cancer caused by a cranberry? What leads some of my golf cronies to buy a costly golf-course buggy and ride it from green to green in order to “save their hearts,” while they calmly continue to smoke? (The death-rate from coronary heart disease for heavy smokers has been set by some authorities as at least twice that for non-smokers; is it okay to die from smoking, but wrong to die while walking from the eighth hole to the ninth?)
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