At five past five, the elevator operated by Freddy Lamb came to a stop on the street floor. Freddy smiled courteously to the departing passengers. As he said good-night to the office weary faces of secretaries and bookkeepers and executives, his voice was soothing and cool-sweet, almost like a caress for the women and a pat on the shoulder for the men. People were very fond of Freddy. He was always so pleasant, so polite and quietly cheerful. Of the five elevator-men in the Chambers Trust Building, Freddy Lamb was the favorite.

His appearance blended with his voice and manner. He was neat and clean and his hair was nicely trimmed. He had light brown hair parted on the side and brushed flat across his head. His eyes were the same color, focused level when he addressed you, but never too intent, never probing. He looked at you as though he liked and trusted you, no matter who you were. When you looked at him you felt mildly stimulated. He seemed much younger than his thirty-three years. There were no lines on his face, no sign of worry or sluggishness or dissipation. The trait that made him an ideal elevator-man was the fact that he never asked questions and never talked about himself.

At twenty past five, Freddy got the go-home sign from the starter, changed places with the night man, and walked down the corridor to the locker room. Taking off the uniform and putting on his street clothes, he yawned a few times. And while he was sitting on the bench and tying his shoelaces, he closed his eyes for a long moment, as though trying to catch a quick nap. His fingers fell away from the shoelaces and his shoulders drooped and he was in that position when the starter came in.

�Tired?� the starter asked.

�Just a little.� Freddy looked up.

�Long day,� the starter said. He was always saying that. As though each day was longer than any other.

Freddy finished with the shoelaces. He stood up and said, �You got the dollar-fifty?�

�What dollar-fifty?�

�The loan,� Freddy said. He smiled off-handedly. �From last week. You ran short and needed dinner money. Remember?�

The starter�s face was blank for a moment. Then he snapped his finger and nodded emphatically. �You�re absolutely right,� he declared. �I�m glad you reminded me.�

He handed Freddy a dollar bill and two quarters. Freddy thanked him and said good-night and walked out. The starter stood there, lighting a cigarette and nodding to himself and thinking, Nice guy, he waited a week before he asked me, and then he asked me so nice, he�s really a nice guy.

On Freddy�s wrist, the hands of the white-gold watch pointed to nine twenty-six. He stood on the sidwalk near the entrance of a nightclub called �Yellow Cat.� The place was located in a low-rent area of South Philadelphia, and the neighboring structures were mostly tenements and garages and vacant lots heaped with rubbish. The club�s exterior complied with the general trend; it was dingy and there was no paint on the wooden walls. But inside it was a different proposition. It was glittering and lavish, the drinks were expensive, and the floor show featured a first-rate orchestra and singers and dancers. It also featured a unique type of strip-tease entertainment, a quintet of young females who took off their clothes while they sat at your table. For a reasonable bonus they�d let you keep the brassiere or garter or whatnot for a souvenir.

The white-gold watch showed nine twenty-eight. Freddy decided to wait another two minutes. His appointment with the owner of �Yellow Cat� had been arranged for nine-thirty. He knew that Herman Charn was waiting anxiously for his arrival, but his personal theory of punctuality stipulated split-second precision, and since they�d made it for nine-thirty he�d see Herman at nine-thirty, not a moment earlier or later.

A taxi pulled up and a blonde stepped out. She paid the driver and walked toward Freddy and he said, �Hello, Pearl.�

Pearl smiled at him. �Kiss me hello.�

�Not here,� he said.

�Later?�

He nodded. He looked her up and down. She was five-five and weighed one-ten and Nature had given her a body that caused men�s eyes to bulge. Freddy�s eyes didn�t bulge, although he told himself she was something to see. He always enjoyed looking at her. He wondered if he still enjoyed the nights with her. He�d been sharing the nights with her for the past several months and it had reached the point where he wasn�t seeing any other women and maybe he was missing out on something. For just a moment he gazed past Pearl, telling himself that she needed him more than he needed her, and knowing it wouldn�t be easy to get off the hook.

Well, there wasn�t any hurry. He hadn�t seen anything else around that interested him. But he wished Pearl would let up on the clinging routine. Maybe he�d really go for her if she wasn�t so hungry for him all the time.

Pearl stepped closer to him. The hunger showed in her eyes. She said, �Know what I did today? I took a walk in the park.�

�You did?�

�Yeah,� she said. �I went to Fair-mount Park and took a long walk. All by myself.�

�That�s nice,� he said. He wondered what she was getting at.

She said, �Let�s do it together sometimes. Let�s go for a walk in the park. It�s something we ain�t never done. All we do is drink and listen to jazz and find all sorts of ways to knock ourselves out.�

He gave her a closer look. This was a former call-girl who�d done a stretch for prostitution, a longer stretch for selling cocaine, and had finally decided she�d done enough time and she might as well go legitimate. She�d learned the art of stripping off her clothes before an audience, and now at twenty-six she was earning a hundred-and-a-half a week. It was clean money, as far as the law was concerned, but maybe in her mind it wasn�t clean enough. Maybe she was getting funny ideas, like this walk-in-the-park routine. Maybe she�d soon be thinking in terms of a cottage for two and a little lawn in front and shopping for a baby-carriage.

He wondered what she�d look like, wearing an apron and standing at a sink and washing dishes.

For some reason the thought disturbed him. He couldn�t understand why it should disturb him. He heard her saying, �Can we do it, Freddy? Let�s do it on Sunday. We�ll go to Fairmount Park��

�We�ll talk about it,� he cut in quickly. He glanced at his wrist watch. �See you after the show.�

He hurried through the club entrance, went past the hat-check counter, past the tables and across the dance-floor and toward a door marked �Private.� There was a button adjoining the door and he pressed the button one short, two longs, another short and then there was a buzzing sound. He opened the door and walked into the office. It was a large room and the color motif was yellow-and-grey. The walls and ceiling were gray and the thick carpet was pale yellow. The furniture was bright yellow. There was a short skinny man standing near the desk and his face was grey. Seated at the desk was a large man whose face was a mixture of yellow and grey.

Freddy closed the door behind him. He walked toward the desk. He nodded to the short skinny man and then he looked at the large man and said, �Hello, Herman.�

Herman glanced at a clock on the desk. He said, �You�re right on time.�

�He�s always on time,� said the short skinny man.

Herman looked at Freddy Lamb and said, �You do it?�

Before Freddy could answer, the short skinny man said, �Sure he did it.�

�Shut up, Ziggy,� Herman said. He had a soft, sort of gooey voice, as though lie spoke with a lot of marshmallow in his mouth. He wore a suit of very soft fabric, thick and fleecy, and his thick hands pressed softly on the desk-top. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a large star-emerald that radiated a soft green light. Everything about him was soft, except for his eyes. His eyes were iron.

�You do it?� he repeated softly.

Freddy nodded.

�Any trouble?� Herman asked.

�He never has trouble,� Ziggy said.

Herman looked at Ziggy. �I told you to shut up.� Then, very softly, �Come here, Ziggy.�

Ziggy hesitated. He had a ferret face that always looked sort of worried and now it looked very worried.

�Come here,� Herman purred.

Ziggy approached the large man. Ziggy was blinking and swallowing hard. Herman reached out slowly and took hold of Ziggy�s hand. Herman�s thick fingers closed tightly on Ziggy�s bony fingers, gave a yank and a twist and another yank. Ziggy moaned.

�When I tell you to shut up,� Herman said, �you�ll shut up.� He smiled softly and paternally at Ziggy. �Right?�

�Right,� Ziggy said. Then he moaned again. His fingers were free now and he looked down at them as an animal gazes sadly at its own crushed paws. He said, �They�re all busted.�

�They�re not busted,� Herman said. �They�re damaged just enough to let you know your place. That�s one thing you must never forget. Every man who works for me has to know his place.� He was still smiling at Ziggy. �Right?�

�Right,� Ziggy moaned.

Then Herman looked at Freddy Lamb and said, �Right?�

Freddy didn�t say anything. He was looking at Ziggy�s fingers. Then his gaze climbed to Ziggy�s face. The lips quivered, as though Ziggy was trying to hold back sobs. Freddy remembered the time when nothing could hurt Ziggy, when Ziggy and himself were their own bosses and did their engineering on the waterfront. There were a lot of people on the waterfront who were willing to pay good money to have other people placed on stretchers or in caskets. In those days the rates had been fifteen dollars for a broken jaw, thirty for a fractured pelvis, and a hundred for the complete job. Ziggy handled the blackjack work and the bullet work and Freddy took care of such special functions as switchblade slicing, lye-in-the-eyes, and various powders and pills slipped into a glass of beer or wine or a cup of coffee. There were orders for all sorts of jobs in those days.

Fifteen months ago, he was thinking. And times had sure changed. The independent operator was swallowed up by the big combines. It was especially true in this line of business, which followed the theory that competition, no matter how small, was not good for the over-all picture. So the moment had come when he and Ziggy had been approached with an offer, and they knew they had to accept, there wasn�t any choice, if they didn�t accept they�d be erased. They didn�t need to be told about that. They just knew. As much as they hated to do it, they had to do it. The proposition was handed to them on a Wednesday afternoon and that same night they went to work for Herman Charn.

He heard Herman saying, �I�m talking to you, Freddy.�

�I hear you,� he said.

�You sure?� Herman asked softly. �You sure you hear me?�

Freddy looked at Herman. He said quietly, �I�m on your payroll. I do what you tell me to do. I�ve done every job exactly the way you wanted it done. Can I do any more than that?�

�Yes,� Herman said. His tone was matter-of-fact. He glanced at Ziggy and said, �From here on it�s a private discussion. Me and Freddy. Take a walk.�

Ziggy�s mouth opened just a little. He didn�t seem to understand the command. He�d always been included in all the business conferences, and now the look in his eyes was a mixture of puzzlement and injury.

Herman smiled at Ziggy. He pointed to the door. Ziggy bit hard on his lip and moved toward the door and opened it and walked out of the room.

For some moments it was quiet in the room and Freddy had a feeling it was too quiet. He sensed that Herman Charn was aiming something at him, something that had nothing to do with the ordinary run of business.

There was the creaking sound of leather as Herman leaned back in the desk-chair. He folded his big soft fingers across his big soft belly and said, �Sit down, Freddy. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.�

Freddy pulled a chair toward the desk. He sat down. He looked at the face of Herman and for just a moment the face became a wall that moved toward him. He winced, his insides quivered. It was a strange sensation, he�d never had it before and he couldn�t understand it. But then the moment was gone and he sat there relaxed, his features expressionless, as he waited for Herman to speak.

Herman said, �Want a drink?�

Freddy shook his head.

�Smoke?� Herman lifted the lid of an enamelled cigarette-box.

�I got my own,� Freddy murmured. He reached into his pocket and took out the flat silver case.

�Smoke one of mine,� Herman said. He paused to signify it wasn�t a suggestion, it was an order. And then, as though Freddy was a guest rather than an employee, �These smokes are special-made. Come from Egypt. Cost a dime apiece.�

Freddy took one. Herman flicked a table-lighter, applied the flame to Freddy�s cigarette, lit one for himself, took a slow soft drag, and let the smoke come out of his nose. Herman waited until all the smoke was out, and then he said, �You didn�t like what I did to Ziggy.�

It was a flat statement that didn�t ask for an answer. Freddy sipped at the cigarette, not looking at Herman.

�You didn�t like it,� Herman persisted softly. �You never like it when I let Ziggy know who�s boss.�

Freddy shrugged. �That�s between you and Ziggy.�

�No,� Herman said. And then he spoke very slowly, with a pause between each word. �It isn�t that way at all. I don�t do it for Ziggy�s benefit. He already knows who�s top man around here.�

Freddy didn�t say anything. But he almost winced. And again his insides quivered.

Herman leaned forward. �Do you know who the top man is?�

�You,� Freddy said.

Herman smiled. �Thanks, Freddy. Thanks for saying it.� Then the smile vanished and Herman�s eyes were hammerheads. �But I�m not sure you mean it.�

Freddy took another sip from the Egyptian cigarette. It was strongly flavored tobacco but somehow he wasn�t getting any taste from it.

Herman kept leaning forward. �I gotta be sure, Freddy,� he said. �You been working for me more than a year. And just like you said, you do all the jobs exactly the way I want them done. You plan them perfect, do them perfect, it�s always clean and neat from start to finish. I don�t mind saying you�re one of the best. I don�t think I�ve ever seen a cooler head. You�re as cool as they come, an icicle on wheels.�

�That�s plenty cool,� Freddy murmured.

�It sure is,� Herman said. He let the pause drift in again. Then, his lips scarcely moving, �Maybe it�s too cool.�

Freddy looked at the hammerhead eyes. He wondered what showed in his own eyes. He wondered what thoughts were burning under the cool surface of his own brain.

He heard Herman saying, �I�ve done a lot of thinking about you. A lot more than you�d ever imagine. You�re a puzzler, and one thing I always like to do is play stud poker with a puzzler.�

Freddy smiled dimly. �Want to play stud poker?�

�We�re playing it now. Without cards.� Herman gazed down at the desk-top. His right hand was on the desk-top and he flicked his wrist as though he was turning over the hole-card. His voice was very soft as he said, �I want you to break it up with Pearl.�

Freddy heard himself saying, �All right, Herman.�

It was as though Freddy hadn�t spoken. Herman said, �I�m waiting, Freddy.�

�Waiting for what?� He told the dim smile to stay on his lips. It stayed there. He murmured, �You tell me to give her up and I say all right. What more do you want me to say?�

�I want you to ask me why. Don�t you want to know why?�

Freddy didn�t reply. He still wore the dim smile and he was gazing past Herman�s head.

�Come on, Freddy. I�m waiting to see your hole-card.�

Freddy remained quiet.

�All right,� Herman said. �I�ll keep on showing you mine. I go for Pearl. I went for her the first time I laid eyes on her. That same night I took her home with me and she stayed over. She did what I wanted her to do but it didn�t mean a thing to her, it was just like turning a trick. I thought it wouldn�t bother me, once I have them in bed I can put them out of my mind. But this thing with Pearl, it�s different. I�ve had her on my mind and it gets worse all the time and now it�s gotten to the point where I have to do something about it. First thing I gotta do is clear the road.�

�It�s cleared,� Freddy said. �I�ll tell her tonight I�m not seeing her anymore.�

�Just like that?� And Herman snapped his fingers.

�Yes,� Freddy said. His fingers made the same sound. �Just like that.�

Herman leaned back in the soft leather chair. He looked at the face of Freddy Lamb as though he was trying to solve a cryptogram. Finally he shook his head slowly, and then he gave a heavy sigh and he said, �All right, Freddy. That�s all for now.�

Freddy stood up. He started toward the door. Half-way across the room he stopped and turned and said, �You promised me a bonus for the Donofrio job.�

�This is Monday,� Herman said. �I hand out the pay on Friday.�

�You said I�d be paid right off.�

�Did I?� Herman smiled softly.

�Yes,� Freddy said. �You said the deal on Donofrio was something special and the customer was paying fifteen hundred. You told me there was five hundred in it for me and I�d get the bonus the same night I did the job.�

Herman opened a desk-drawer and took out a thick roll of bills.

�Can I have it in tens and twenties?� Freddy asked.

Herman lifted his eyebrows. �Why the small change?�

�I�m an elevator man,� Freddy said. �The bank would wonder what I was doing with fifties.�

�You�re right,� Herman said. He counted off the five hundred in tens and twenties, and handed the money to Freddy. He leaned back in the chair and watched Freddy folding the bills and pocketing them and walking out of the room. When the door was closed, Herman said aloud to himself, �Don�t try to figure him out, he�s all ice and no soul, strictly a professional.�

The white-gold watch showed eleven thirty-five. Freddy sat at a table watching the floor show and drinking from a tall glass of gin-and-ginger ale. The Yellow Cat was crowded now and Freddy wore the dark glasses and his table was in a darkly shadowed section of the room. He sat there with Ziggy and some other men who worked for Herman. There was Dino, who did his jobs at long-range and always used a rifle. There was Shikey, six-foot-six and weighing three hundred pounds, an expert at bone-cracking, gouging, and the removing of teeth. There was Riley, another bone-cracker and strangling specialist.

A tall pretty boy stood in front of the orchestra, clutching the mike as though it was the only support he had in the world. He sang with an ache in his voice, begging someone to ��please understand.� The audience liked it and he sang it again. Then two colored tap-dancers came out and worked themselves into a sweat and were gasping for breath as they finished the act. The M.C. walked on and motioned the orchestra to quiet down and grinned at ringside faces as he said, �Ready for dessert?�

�Yeah,� a man shouted from ringside. �Let�s have the dessert.�

�All right,� the M.C. said. He cupped his hands to his mouth and called off-stage, �Bring it out, we�re all starved for that sweetmeat.�

The orchestra went into medium tempo, the lights changed from glaring yellow to a soft violet. And then they came out, seven girls wearing horn-rimmed glasses and ultra-conservative costumes. They walked primly, and altogether they resembled the stiff-necked females in a cartoon lampooning the W.C.T.U. It got a big laugh from the audience, and there was some appreciative applause. The young ladies formed a line and slowly waved black parasols as they sang, ��Father, oh father, come home with me now.� But then it became, ��Daddy, oh daddy, come home with me now.� And as they emphasized the daddy angle, they broke up the line and discarded the parasols and took off their ankle-length dark-blue coats. Then, their fingers loosening the buttons of dark-blue dresses, they moved separately toward the ringside tables. The patrons in the back stood up to get a better look and in the balcony the lenses of seven lamps were focused on seven young women getting undressed.

Dino, who had a footwear fetish, said loudly, �I�ll pay forty for a high-heeled shoe.�

One of the girls took off her shoe and Hung it toward Freddy�s table. Shikey caught it and handed it to Dino. A waiter came over and Dino handed him four tens and he took the money to the girl. Riley looked puzzledly at Dino and said, �What-cha gonna do with a high-heeled shoe?� And Shikey said, �He boils �em and eats �em.� But Ziggy had another theory. �He bangs the heel against his head,� Ziggy said. �That�s the way he gets his kicks.� Dino sat there gazing lovingly at the shoe in his hand while his other hand caressed the kidskin surface. Then gradually his eyes closed and he murmured, �This is nice, this is so nice.�

Riley was watching Dino and saying, �I don�t get it.�

Ziggy shrugged philosophically. �Some things,� he said, �just can�t be understood.�

�You�re so right.� It was Freddy talking. He didn�t know his lips were making sound. He was looking across the tables at Pearl. She sat with some ringsiders and already she�d taken off considerable clothing, she was half-naked. On her face there was a detached look and her hands moved mechanically as she unbuttoned the buttons and unzipped the zippers. There were three men sitting with her and their eyes feasted on her, they had their mouths open in a sort of mingled fascination and worship. At nearby tables the other strippers were performing but they weren�t getting undivided attention. Most of the men were watching Pearl. One of them offered a hundred dollars for her stocking. She took off the stocking and let it dangle from her fingers. In a semi-whisper she asked if there were any higher bids. Freddy told himself that she wasn�t happy doing what she was doing. Again he could hear her plaintive voice as she asked him to take her for a walk in the park. Suddenly he knew that he�d like that very much. He wanted to see the sun shining on her hair, instead of the night-club lights. He heard himself saying aloud, �Five hundred.�

He didn�t shout it, but at the ringside tables they all heard it, and for a moment there was stunned silence. At his own table the silence was very thick. He could feel the pressure of it, and the moment seemed to have substance, something on the order of iron wheels going around and around, making no sound and getting nowhere.

Some things just can�t be understood, he thought. He was taking the tens and twenties from his jacket pocket. The five hundred seemed to prove the truth of Ziggy�s vague philosophy. Freddy got up from his chair and moved toward an empty table behind some potted ferns adjacent to the orchestra-stand. He sat down and placed green money on a yellow tablecloth. He wasn�t looking at Pearl as she approached the table. From ringside an awed voice was saying, �For one silk stocking she gets half a grand��

She seated herself at the table. He shoved the money toward her. He said, �There�s your cash. Let�s have the stocking.�

�This a gag?� she asked quietly. Her eyes were somewhat sullen. There was some laughter from the table where Ziggy and the others were seated; they now had the notion it was some sort of joke.

Freddy said, �Take off the stocking.�

She looked at the pile of tens and twenties. She said, �Whatcha want the stocking for?�

�Souvenir,� he said.

It was the tone of his voice that did it. Her face paled. She started to shake her head very slowly, as though she couldn�t believe him.

�Yes,� he said, with just the trace of a sigh. �It�s all over, Pearl. It�s the end of the line.�

She went on shaking her head. She couldn�t talk.

He said, �I�ll hang the stocking in my bedroom.�

She was biting her lip. �It�s a long time till Christmas.�

�For some people it�s never Christmas.�

�Freddy�� She leaned toward him. �What�s it all about? Why�re you doing this?�

He shrugged. He didn�t say anything.

Her eyes were getting wet. �You won�t even give me a reason?�

All he gave her was a cool smile. Then his head was turned and he saw the faces at Ziggy�s table and then he focused on the face of the large man who stood behind the table. He saw the iron in the eyes of Herman Charn. He told himself he was doing what Herman had told him to do. And just then he felt the quiver in his insides. It was mostly in his spine, as though his spine was gradually turning to jelly.

He spoke to himself without sound. He said, No, it isn�t that, it can�t be that.

Pearl was saying, �All right, Freddy, if that�s the way it is.�

He nodded very slowly.

Pearl bent over and took the stocking off her leg. She placed the stocking on the table. She picked up the five hundred, counted it off to make sure it was all there.

Then she stood up and said, �No charge, mister. I�d rather keep the memories.�

She put the tens and twenties on the tablecloth and walked away. Freddy glanced off to the side and saw a soft smile on the face of Herman Charn.

The floor-show was ended and Freddy was still sitting there at the table. There was a bottle of bourbon in front of him. It had been there for less than twenty minutes and already it was half-empty. There was also a pitcher of ice-water and the pitcher was full. He didn�t need a chaser because he couldn�t taste the whiskey. He was drinking the whiskey from the water-glass.

A voice said, �Freddy��

And then a hand tugged at his arm. He looked up and saw Ziggy sitting beside him.

He smiled at Ziggy. He motioned toward the bottle and shot-glass and said, �Have a drink.�

Ziggy shrugged. �I might as well while I got the chance. At the rate you�re going, that bottle�ll soon be empty.�

�It�s very good bourbon,� Freddy said.

�Yeah?� Ziggy was pouring a glass for himself. He swished the liquor into his mouth. Then, looking closely at Freddy, �You don�t care whether it�s good or not. You�d be gulping it if it was shoe-polish.�

Freddy was staring at the tablecloth. �Let�s go somewhere and drink some shoe-polish.�

Ziggy tugged again at Freddy�s arm. He said, �Come out of it.�

�Come out of what?�

�The clouds,� Ziggy said. �You�re in the clouds.�

�It�s nice in the clouds,� Freddy said. �I�m up here having a dandy time. I�m floating.�

�Floating? You�re drowning.� Ziggy pulled urgently at his arm, to get his hand away from a water-glass filled with whiskey. �You�re not a drinker, Freddy. What do you want to do, drink yourself into a hospital?�

Freddy grinned. He aimed the grin at nothing in particular. For some moments he sat there motionless. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and took out the silk stocking. He showed it to Ziggy and said, �Look what I got.�

�Yeah,� Ziggy said. �I seen her give it to you. What�s the score on that routine?�

�No score,� Freddy said. He went on grinning. �It�s a funny way to end a game. Nothing on the score-board. Nothing at all.�

Ziggy frowned. �You trying to tell me something?�

Freddy looked at the whiskey in the water-glass. He said, �I packed her in.�

�No,� Ziggy said. His tone was incredulous. �Not Pearl. Not that pigeon. That ain�t no ordinary merchandise. You wouldn�t walk out on Pearl unless you had a very special reason.�

�It was special, all right.�

�Tell me about it, Freddy.� There was something plaintive in Ziggy�s voice, a certain feeling for Freddy that he couldn�t put into words. The closest he could get to it was, �After all, I�m on your side, ain�t I?�

�No,� Freddy said. The grin was slowly fading. �You�re on Herman�s side.� He gazed past Ziggy�s head. �We�re all on Herman�s side.�

�Herman? What�s he got to do with it?�

�Everything,� Freddy said. �Herman�s the boss, remember?� He looked at the swollen fingers of Ziggy�s right hand. �Herman wants something done, it�s got to be done. He gave me orders to break with Pearl. He�s the employer and I�m the hired man, so I did what I had to do. I carried out his orders.�

Ziggy was quiet for some moments. Then, very quietly, �Well, it figures he wants her for himself. But it don�t seem right. It just ain�t fair.�

�Don�t make me laugh,� Freddy said. �Who the hell are we to say what�s fair?�

�We�re human, aren�t we?�

�No,� Freddy said. He gazed past Ziggy�s head. �I don�t know what we are. But I know one thing, we�re not human. We can�t afford to be human, not in this line of business.�

Ziggy didn�t get it. It was just a little too deep for him. All he could say was, �You getting funny ideas?�

�I�m not reaching for them, they�re just coming to me.�

�Take another drink.� Ziggy said.

�I�d rather have the laughs.� Freddy showed the grin again. �It�s really comical, you know? Especially this thing with Pearl. I was thinking of calling it quits anyway. You know how it is with me, Ziggy. I never like to be tied down to one skirt. But tonight Pearl said something that spun me around. We were talking outside the club and she brought it in out of left field. She asked me to take her for a walk in the park.�

Ziggy blinked a few times. �What?�

�A walk in the park,� Freddy said.

�What for?� Ziggy wanted to know. �She gettin� square all of a sudden? She wanna go around picking flowers?�

�I don�t know,� Freddy said. �All she said was, it�s very nice in Fairmount Park. She asked me to take her there and we�d be together in the park, just taking a walk.�

Ziggy pointed to the glass. �You better take that drink.�

Freddy reached for the glass. But someone else�s hand was there first. He saw the thick soft fingers, the soft green glow of the star-emerald. As the glass of whiskey was shoved out of his reach, he looked up and saw the soft smile on the face of Herman Charn.

�Too much liquor is bad for the kidneys,� Herman said. He bent down lower to peer at Freddy�s eyes. �You look knocked-out, Freddy. There�s a soft couch in the office. Go in there and lie down for awhile.�

Freddy got up from the chair. He was somewhat unsteady on his feet. Herman took his arm and helped him make it down the aisle past the tables to the door of the office. He could feel the pressure of Herman�s hand on his arm. It was very soft pressure but somehow it felt like a clamp of iron biting into his flesh.

Herman opened the office-door and guided him toward the couch. He fell onto the couch, sent an idiotic grin toward the ceiling, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

He slept until four-forty in the morning. The sound that woke him up was a scream.

At first it was all blurred, there was too much whiskey-fog in his brain, he had no idea where he was or what was happening. He pushed his knuckles against his eyes. Then, sitting up, he focused on the faces in the room. He saw Shikey and Riley and they had girls sitting in their laps. They were on the other couch at the opposite side of the room. He saw Dino standing near the couch with his arm around the waist of a slim brunette. Then he glanced toward the door and he saw Ziggy. That made seven faces for him to look at. He told himself to keep looking at them. If he concentrated on that, maybe he wouldn�t hear the screaming.

But he heard it. The scream was an animal sound and yet he recognized the voice. It came from near the desk and he turned his head very slowly, telling himself he didn�t want to look but knowing he had to look.

He saw Pearl kneeling on the floor. Herman stood behind her. With one hand he was twisting her arm up high between her shoulder blades. His other hand was on her head and he was pulling her hair so that her face was drawn back, her throat stretched.

Herman spoke very softly. �You make me very unhappy, Pearl. I don�t like to be unhappy.�

Then Herman gave her arm another upward twist and pulled tighter on her hair and she screamed again.

The girl in Shikey�s lap gave Pearl a scornful look and said, �You�re a damn fool.�

�In spades.� It came from the stripper who nestled against Riley. �All he wants her to do is kiss him like she means it.�

Freddy told himself to get up and walk out of the room. He lifted himself from the couch and took a few steps toward the door and heard Herman saying, �Not yet, Freddy. I�ll tell you when to go.�

He went back to the couch and sat down.

Herman said, �Be sensible, Pearl. Why can�t you be sensible?�

Pearl opened her mouth to scream again. But no sound came out. There was too much pain and it was choking her.

The brunette who stood with Dino was saying, �It�s a waste of time, Herman. She can�t give you what she hasn�t got. She just don�t have it for you, Herman.�

�She�ll have it for him,� Dino said. �Before he�s finished, he�ll have her crawling on her belly.�

Herman looked at Dino. �No,� he said. �She won�t do that. I wouldn�t let her do that.� He cast a downward glance at Pearl. His lips shaped a soft smile. There was something tender in the smile and in his voice. �Pearl, tell me something. Why don�t you want me?�

He gave her a chance to reply, his fingers slackening the grip on her wrist and her hair. She groaned a few times, and then she said, �You got my body, Herman. You can have my body anytime you want it.�

�That isn�t enough,� Herman said. �I want you all the way, a hundred percent. It�s got to be like that, Pearl. You�re in me so deep it just can�t take any other route. It�s gotta be you and me from here on in, you gotta need me just as much as I need you.�

�But Herman�� She gave a dry sob. �I can�t lie to you. I just don�t feel that way.�

�You�re gonna feel that way,� Herman said.

�No.� Pearl sobbed again. �No. No.�

�Why not?� He was pulling her hair again, twisting her arm. But it seemed he was suffering more than Pearl. The pain wracked his pleading voice. �Why can�t you feel something for me?�

Her reply was made without sound. She managed to turn her head just a little, toward the couch. And everyone in the room saw her looking at Freddy.

Herman�s face became very pale. His features tightened and twisted and it seemed he was about to burst into tears. He stared up at the ceiling.

Herman shivered. His body shook spasmodically, as though he stood on a vibrating platform. Then all at once the tormented look faded from his eyes, the iron came into his eyes, and the soft smile came onto his lips. He released Pearl, turned away from her, went to the desk and opened the cigarette-box. It was very quiet in the room while Herman stood there lighting the cigarette. He took a slow, easy drag and then he said quietly, �All right, Pearl, you can go home now.�

She started to get up from the floor. The brunette came over and helped her up.

�I�ll call a cab for you,� Herman said. He reached for the telephone and put in the call. As he lowered the phone, he was looking at Pearl and saying, �You want to go home alone?�

Pearl didn�t say anything. Her head was lowered and she was leaning against the shoulder of the brunette.

Herman said, �You want Freddy to take you home?�

Pearl raised her head just a little and looked at the face of Freddy Lamb.

Herman laughed softly. �All right,� he said. �Freddy�ll take you home.�

Freddy winced. He sat there staring at the carpet.

Herman told the brunette to fix a drink for Pearl. He said, �Take her to the bar and give her anything she wants.� He motioned to the other girls and they got up from the laps of Shikey and Riley. Then all the girls walked out of the room. Herman was quiet for some moments, taking slow drags at the cigarette and looking at the door. Then gradually his head turned and he looked at Freddy. He said, �You�re slated, Freddy.�

Freddy went on staring at the carpet.

�You�re gonna bump her,� Herman said.

Freddy closed his eyes.

�Take her somewhere and bump her and bury her,� Herman said.

Shikey and Riley looked at each other. Dino had his mouth open and he was staring at Herman. Standing next to the door, Ziggy had his eyes glued to Freddy�s face.

�She goes,� Herman said. And then, speaking aloud to himself, �She goes because she gives me grief.� He hit his hand against his chest. �She hits me here, where I live. Hits me too hard. Hurts me. I don�t appreciate getting hurt. Especially here.� Again his hand thumped his chest. He said, �You�ll do it, Freddy. You�ll see to it that I get rid of the hurt.�

�Let me do it,� Ziggy said.

Herman shook his head. He pointed a finger at Freddy. His finger jabbed empty air, and he said, �Freddy does it. Freddy.�

Ziggy opened his mouth, tried to close it, couldn�t close it, and blurted, �Why take it out on him?�

�That�s a stupid question,� Herman said mildly. �I�m not taking it out on anybody. I�m giving the job to Freddy because I know he�s dependable. I can always depend on Freddy.�

Ziggy made a final frantic try. �Please, Herman,� he said. �Please don�t make him do it.�

Herman didn�t bother to reply. All he did was give Ziggy a slow appraising look up and down. It was like a soundless warning to Ziggy, letting him know he was walking on thin ice and the ice would crack if he opened his mouth again.

Then Herman turned to Freddy and said, �Where�s your blade?�

�Stashed,� Freddy said. He was still staring at the carpet.

Herman opened a desk-drawer. He took out a black-handled switchblade. �Use this,� he said, coming toward the couch. He handed the knife to Freddy. �Give it a try,� he said.

Freddy pressed the button. The blade flicked out. It glimmered blue-white. He pushed the blade into the handle and tried the button again. He went on trying the button and watching the flash of the blade. It was quiet in the room as the blade went in and out, in and out. Then from the street there was the sound of a horn. Herman said, �That�s the taxi.� Freddy nodded and got up from the sofa and walked out of the room. As he moved toward the girls who stood at the cocktail bar, he could feel the weight of the knife in the inner pocket of his jacket. He was looking at Pearl and saying, �Come on, let�s go,� and as he said it, the blade seemed to come out of the knife and slice into his own flesh.

The taxi was cruising north on Sixteenth Street. On Freddy�s wrist the white-gold watch said five-twenty. He was watching the parade of unlit windows along the dark street. Pearl was saying something but he didn�t hear. She spoke just a bit louder and he turned and looked at her. He smiled and murmured, �Sorry, I wasn�t listening.�

�Can�t you sit closer?�

He moved closer to her. A mixture of moonlight and streetlamp glow came pouring into the back-seat of the taxi and illuminated her face. He saw something in her eyes that caused him to blink several times.

She noticed the way he was blinking, and she said, �What�s the matter?�

He didn�t answer. He tried to stop blinking and he couldn�t stop.

�Hangover?� Pearl asked.

�No,� he said. �I feel all right now. I feel fine.�

For some moments she didn�t say anything. She was rubbing her sore arm. She tried to stretch it, winced and gasped with pain, and said, �Oh Jesus, it hurts. It really hurts. Maybe it�s broken.�

�Let me feel it,� he said. He put his hand on her arm. He ran his fingers down from above her elbow to her wrist. �It isn�t broken,� he murmured. �Just a little swollen, that�s all. Sprained some ligaments.�

She smiled at him. �The hurt goes away when you touch it.�

He tried not to look at her, but something fastened his eyes to her face. He kept his hand on her arm. He heard himself saying, �I feel sorry for Herman. If he could see you now, I mean if you�d look at him like you�re looking at me��

�Freddy,� she said. �Freddy.� Then she leaned toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

Then somehow everything was quiet and still and he didn�t hear the noise of the taxi�s engine, he didn�t feel the bumps as the wheels hit the ruts in the cobblestoned surface of Sixteenth Street. But suddenly there was a deep rut and the taxi gave a lurch. He looked up and heard the driver cursing the city engineers. �Goddamit,� the driver said. �They got a deal with the tire companies.�

Freddy stared past the driver�s head, his eyes aimed through the windshield to see the wide intersection where Sixteenth Street met the Parkway. The Parkway was a six-laned drive slanting to the left of the downtown area, going away from the concrete of Philadelphia skyscrapers and pointing toward the green of Fairmount Park.

�Turn left,� Freddy said.

They were approaching the intersection, and the driver gave a backward glance. �Left?� the driver asked. �That takes us outta the way. You gave me an address on Seventeenth near Lehigh. We gotta hit it from Sixteenth��

�I know,� Freddy said quietly. �But turn left anyway.�

The driver shrugged. �You�re the captain.� He beat the yellow of a traffic-light and the taxi made a left turn onto the Parkway.

Pearl said, �What�s this, Freddy? Where�re we going?�

�In the park.� He wasn�t looking at her. �We�re gonna do what you said we should do. We�re gonna take a walk in the park.�

�For real?� Her eyes were lit up. She shook her head, as though she could scarcely believe what he�d just said.

�We�ll take a nice walk,� he murmured. �Just the two of us. The way you wanted it.�

�Oh,� she breathed. �Oh, Freddy��

The driver shrugged again. The taxi went past the big monuments and fountains of Logan Circle, past the Rodin Museum and the Art Museum and onto River Drive. For a mile or so they stayed on the highway bordering the moonlit water of the river and then without being told the driver made a turn off the highway, made a series of turns that took them deep into the park. They came to a section where there were no lights, no movement, no sound except the autumn wind drifting through the trees and bushes and tall grass and flowers.

�Stop here,� Freddy said.

The taxi came to a stop. They got out and he paid the driver. The driver gave him a queer look and said, �You sure picked a lonely spot.�

Freddy looked at the cabman. He didn�t say anything.

The driver said, �You�re at least three miles off the highway. It�s gonna be a problem getting a ride home.�

�Is it your problem?� Freddy asked gently.

�Well, no��

�Then don�t worry about it,� Freddy said. He smiled amiably. The driver threw a glance at the blonde, smiled, and told himself that the man might have the right idea, after all. With an item like that, any man would want complete privacy. He thought of the bony, buck-toothed woman who waited for him at home, crinkled his face in a distasteful grimace, put the car in gear and drove away.

�Ain�t it nice?� Pearl said. �Ain�t it wonderful?�

They were walking through a glade where the moonlight showed the autumn colors of fallen leaves. The night air was fragrant with the blended aromas of wild flowers. He had his arm around her shoulder and he was leading her toward a narrow lane sloping downward through the trees.

She laughed lightly, happily. �It�s like as if you know the place. As if you�ve been here before.�

�No,� he said. �I�ve never been here before.�

There was the tinkling sound of a nearby brook. A bird chirped in the bushes. Another bird sang a tender reply.

�Listen,� Pearl murmured. �Listen to them.�

He listened to the singing of the birds. Now he was guiding Pearl down along the slope and seeing the way it levelled at the bottom and then went up again on all sides. It was a tiny valley down there, with the brook running along the edge. He told himself it would happen when they reached the bottom.

He heard Pearl saying, �Wouldn�t it be nice if we could stay here?�

He looked at her. �Stay here?�

�Yes,� she said. �If we could live here for the rest of our lives. Just be here, away from everything��

�We�d get lonesome.�

�No we wouldn�t,� she said. �We�d always have company. I�d have you and you�d have me.�

They were nearing the bottom of the slope. It was sort of steep now and they had to move slowly. All at once she stumbled and pitched forward and he caught her before she could fall on her face. He steadied her, smiled at her and said, �Okay?�

She nodded. She stood very close to him and gazed into his eyes and said, �You wouldn�t let me fall, would you?�

The smile faded. He stared past her. �Not if I could help it.�

�I know,� she said. �You don�t have to tell me.�

He went on staring past her. �Tell you what?�

�The situation.� She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. �I got it figured, Freddy. It�s so easy to figure.�

He wanted to close his eyes. He couldn�t understand why he wanted to close his eyes.

He heard her saying, �I know why you packed me in tonight. Orders from Herman.�

�That�s right.� He said it automatically, as though the mention of the name was the shifting of a gear.

�And another thing,� she said. �I know why you brought me here.� There was a pause, and then, very softly, �Herman.�

He nodded.

She started to cry. It was quiet weeping and contained no fear, no hysteria. It was the weeping of farewell. She was crying because she was sad. Then, very slowly, she took the few remaining steps going down to the bottom of the slope. He stood there and watched her as she faced about to look up at him.

He walked down to where she stood, smiling at her and trying to pretend his hand was not on the switchblade in his pocket. He tried to make himself believe he wasn�t going to do it, but he knew that wasn�t true. He�d been slated for this job. The combine had him listed as a top-rated operator, one of the best in the business. He�d expended a lot of effort to attain that reputation, to be known as the grade-A expert who�d never muffed an assignment.

He begged himself to stop. Fie couldn�t stop. The knife was open in his hand and his arm flashed out and sideways with the blade sliding in neatly and precisely, cutting the flesh of her throat. She went down very slowly, tried to cough, made a few gurgling sounds, and then rolled over on her back and died, looking up at him.

For a long time he stared at her face. There was no expression on her features now. At first he didn�t feel anything, and then he realized she was dead, and he had killed her.

He tried to tell himself there was nothing else he could have done, but even though that was true it didn�t do any good. He took his glance away from her face and looked down at the white-gold watch to check the hour and the minute, automatically. But somehow the dial was blurred, as though the hands were spinning like tiny propellers. He had the weird feeling that the watch was showing Time travelling backward, so that he found himself checking it in terms of years and decades. He went all the way back to the day when he was eleven years old and they took him to reform school.

In reform school he was taught a lot of things. The thing he learned best was the way to use a knife. The knife became his profession. But somewhere along the line he caught onto the idea of holding a daytime job to cover his night-time activities. He worked in stockrooms and he did some window-cleaning and drove a truck for a fruit-dealer. And finally he became an elevator operator and that was the job he liked best. He�d never realized why he liked it so much but he realized now. He knew that the elevator was nothing more than a moving cell, that the only place for him was a cell. The passengers were just a lot of friendly visitors walking in and out, saying �Good morning, Freddy,� and �Good night, Freddy,� and they were such nice people. Just the thought of them brought a tender smile to his lips.

Then he realized he was smiling down at her. He sensed a faint glow coming from somewhere, lighting her face. For an instant he had no idea what it was. Then he realized it came from the sky. It was the first signal of approaching sunrise.

The white-gold watch showed five fifty-three. Freddy Lamb told himself to get moving. For some reason he couldn�t move. He was looking down at the dead girl. His hand was still clenched about the switchblade, and as he tried to relax it he almost dropped the knife. He looked down at it.

The combine was a cell, too, he told himself. The combine was an elevator from which he could never escape. It was going steadily downward and there were no stops until the end. There was no way to get out.

Herman had made him kill the girl. Herman would make him do other things. And there was no getting away from that. If he killed Herman there would be someone else.

The elevator was carrying Freddy steadily downward. Already, he had left Pearl somewhere far above him. He realized it all at once, and an unreasoning terror filled him.

Freddy looked at the white-gold watch again. A minute had passed, and he knew suddenly that he was slated to do a job on someone in exactly three minutes now. The minutes passed and he stood there alone.

At precisely five fifty-seven he said goodbye to his profession and plunged the blade into his heart.

I picked her up on the Daylight. We had adjacent chairs, and fell into conversation. Or maybe she picked me up. With some girls, the ones who play the game subtly, you never know.

She was very young, and when she leaned sideways to hear my deathless comments on the landscape and the weather, she wafted spring odors towards me. She had a flippant nose and wide blue eyes, the kind that men like to call innocent. Her blonde hair bubbled like boiling gold around her small blue hat. She laughed in the right places, a little hectically. But in between the laughter, there was a certain somberness in her eyes, a pinched look around her mouth. When I invited her to join me in the buffet car for a drink, she said:

�Oh no. Really. Thank you. I couldn�t.�

�Why not?�

�I�m not twenty-one, for one thing. You wouldn�t want to contribute to the delinquency of a minor?�

�It sounds like pleasant work.�

She veiled her eyes and looked away. The hills plunged backward past the train window like giant green dolphins against the flat blue background of the sea. The afternoon sun was bright on her hair. I hoped I hadn�t offended her. She appealed to my paternal instincts. Call them paternal.

After a long minute she leaned towards me again and touched my arm with polished fingertips:

�I�ll tell you what I would like, and that�s a sandwich.� She wrinkled her nose in an anxious way. �Would it cost so much more than a drink?�

�A sandwich won�t break me. Let�s go.�

On the way to the diner, every man on the train looked at her ankles. She ordered a turkey sandwich, all white meat please, and drummed on the tablecloth until it arrived. It disappeared in no time. She was ravenous.

�Have another,� I said.

�Do you think I should?� She gave me a dubious look. Not calculating exactly, just questioning.

�You seem to be pretty hungry.�

�I am. But.�

�No personal obligation. I like to see hungry people cat.�

�You�re awfully kind. And I am awfully hungry. But. Are you sure you can afford it?�

�Money is no object. I just collected a thousand-dollar fee. If you can use a full-course dinner, say so.�

�Oh no. I couldn�t possibly accept that. But I would like another sandwich, since you�re so very kind.�

I signalled to the waiter. The second sandwich went the way of the first.

�Feeling better now? You were looking a little peaked.�

�Much better. I�m ashamed to admit it, but I hadn�t eaten all day. And I�ve been on short rations for a week.�

I looked her over, deliberately. Her dark blue suit was new, and expensively cut. Her bag was fine calfskin. She wore a wafer-thin wristwatch made of white gold. If she was broke, she was putting up a good front.

�I know what you�re thinking,� she said. �I could have pawned something. Only I couldn�t bear to. I spent my last cent on my ticket, and I thought I could hold out until I got to Los Angeles. I would have, too, if it hadn�t been for you. You broke me down with kindness.�

�Forget it about my kindness. I hope you have a job waiting for you. Or maybe a husband?�

�Neither of those things. You have one more guess.�

She giggled like a schoolgirl, and it gave me an idea:

�You flunked out of school.�

�Not exactly. I�m still enrolled at Berkeley. You�re very acute, aren�t you? Did you say you�re a lawyer?�

�What gave you that idea?�

�You mentioned a fee you earned. A thousand-dollar fee. That sounds like a lawyer to me.�

�I�m a private detective,� I said. �My name is Lew Archer.�

Her reaction was disconcerting. She gripped the edge of the table with her hands, and pushed herself away from it. Her eyes darkened to a turbulent purple. She said in a voice as thin and sharp as a razor:

�Did Edward hire you? To spy on me?�

�Of course,� I said conversationally. �That�s why I told you I�m a detective. I�m very sly. And who in hell is Edward?�

�Edward Illman. Arc you sure he didn�t employ you to pick � to contact me? Cross your heart?�

The colored waiter edged towards our table, attracted by the urgent note in her voice. �Something the matter, lady?�

�No, thank you.�

She managed to give him a strained smile, and he went away with many backward looks.

�Oh sure,� I said. �Why certainly. Edward employed me to feed you poisoned sandwiches. Don�t you feel your feet turning cold? You can expect the other symptoms in a little while. Cheyne-Stokes breathing and all.�

�Please. You mustn�t joke about such things. I wouldn�t put it past him. After what he did to Ethel.�

�And who is Ethel?�

�My sister, my older sister. She�s a darling. But Edward doesn�t think so. He hates us both. I wouldn�t be surprised if he�s responsible for all this.�

I said: �This is getting us nowhere. Obviously you�re in some kind of a jam. You want to tell me about it and I want to hear about it. Now take a few deep breaths and start over, from the beginning. Bear in mind that I don�t know these people from Adam. I don�t even know your name.�

�I�m sorry. My name is Clare Larrabee.�

Dutifully, she inhaled. Her snub-nosed breasts rose under her blouse, and she made a very pretty picture, three-dimensional. The third dimension was the prettiest.

�I�ve been talking like a silly fool, haven�t I? I�m worried about Ethel, though. I haven�t heard from her for several weeks. I don�t know where she is or what�s happened to her. Last week when my allowance didn�t come, I started to get really worried. I phoned her house in West Hollywood and got no answer. Since then I�ve been phoning several times a day, with never an answer. So finally I swallowed my pride and got in touch with Edward. He said he hasn�t seen her since she went to Nevada for her divorce. Of course I don�t necessarily believe him. He�s a notorious liar. You should have heard him when they arranged the settlement, perjuring himself right and left.�

�Edward keeps cropping up,� I said. �Let�s get it straight about Edward. Is he your sister Ethel�s husband?�

�He was. Ethel divorced him last month. And she�s well rid of him, even if he did cheat her out of her fair share. He claimed to be nearly broke, but I know better. He�s a big real estate operator, practically a millionaire. You must have heard of the Illman Tract in the Valley.�

�This is the same Illman?�

�Yes. Do you know him?�

�I�ve seen his name in the columns. He�s quite a Casanova, isn�t he?�

�He�s a terrible man.� Her mouth pounted out in girlish indignation. �He even had the gall to make a... make advances to me, when Ethel was still married to him. I told him what I thought of him, don�t worry.�

�And now you�re thinking he had something to do with your sister�s disappearance?�

�I�m sure of it. He sounded so smug when I phoned him long distance yesterday from Berkeley. I tell you, Edward is capable of anything. If something�s happened to Ethel, I know who�s responsible.�

�She�s probably all right,� I said, �off on a little trip or something.�

�You don�t know Ethel. She�d never dream of going away and leaving me stranded at school without any money. I held out as long as I could, hoping to hear from her. When I got down to my last twenty dollars, I decided to take the train home.�

�To Ethel�s house in West Hollywood?�

�Yes. It�s the only home I have since Daddy passed away. Ethel�s the only family I have. I couldn�t bear to lose her.� Her blue eyes filmed with tears.

�Do you have taxi-fare?�

She shook her head, shamefaced.

�I�ll drive you out. I don�t live far from there myself. My car�s stashed in a garage near the station.�

�You�re being good to me.� Her hand crept out across the tablecloth and pressed the back of mine. �Forgive me for saying those silly things, about Edward hiring you.�

�Skip it.�

We drove out Sunset and up into the hills. Afternoon was changing imperceptibly into evening. The horizontal sunlight flashed like blinding searchlights from the western windows of the hillside apartment buildings. Clare huddled anxiously in the far corner of the seat. She didn�t speak, except to direct me to her sister�s house.

It was a flat-roofed building set high on a sloping lot. The walls were redwood and glass, and the redwood had not yet weathered grey. I parked on the slanting blacktop drive and got out. Both stalls of the carport under the house were empty. The drapes were pulled over the giant windows that overlooked the valley.

I knocked on the front door. The noise resounded emptily through the building. I tried it. It was locked. So was the service door at the side.

I turned to the girl at my elbow. She was clutching the handle of her overnight bag with both hands, and looking pinched again. I thought that it was a cold homecoming for her.

�Nobody home,� I said.

�It�s what I was afraid of. What shall I do now?�

�You share this residence with your sister?�

�When I�m home from school.�

�And it belongs to her?�

�Since the divorce it does.�

�Then you can give me permission to break in.�

�All right. But please don�t damage anything if you can help it. Ethel is very proud of her house.�

The side door had a spring-type lock. I took a rectangle of plastic out of my wallet, and slipped it into the crack between the door and the frame. The lock slid back easily.

�You�re quite a burglar,� she said in a dismal attempt at humor.

I stepped inside without answering her. The kitchen was bright and clean, but it had a slightly musty, disused odor. The bread in the breadbox was stale. The refrigerator needed defrosting. There was a piece of ham mouldering on one shelf, and on another a half-empty bottle of milk which had gone sour.

�She�s been gone for some time,� I said. �At least a week. We should check her clothes.�

�Why?�

�She�d take some along if she left to go on a trip, under her own power.�

�I see.�

She led me through the living room, which was simply and expensively furnished in black iron and net, into the master bedroom. The huge square bed was neatly made, and covered with a pink quilted silk spread. Clare looked away from it, as if the conjunction of a man and a bed gave her a guilty feeling. While she went through the closet, I searched the vanity and the chest of drawers.

They were barer than they should have been. Cosmetics were conspicuous by their absence. I found one thing of interest in the top drawer of the vanity, hidden under a tangle of stockings: a bank book issued by the Las Vegas branch of the Bank of Southern California. Ethel Illman had deposited thirty thousand dollars on March 14 of this year. On March 17 she had withdrawn five thousand dollars. On March 20 she had withdrawn six thousand dollars. On March 22 she had withdrawn eighteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-five dollars. There was a balance in her account, after service charges, of $3.65.

Clare said from the closet in a muffled voice:

�A lot of her things are gone. Her mink stole, her good suits and shoes, a lot of her best summer clothes.�

�Then she�s probably on a vacation.� I tried to keep the doubt out of my voice. A woman wandering around the southwest with thirty thousand dollars in cash was taking a big chance. I decided not to worry Clare with that, and put the little bank book in my pocket.

�Without telling me? Ethel wouldn�t do that.� She came out of the closet, pushing her fine light hair back from her forehead. �You don�t understand how close we are to each other, closer than sisters usually are. Ever since father died��

�Does she drive her own car?�

�Of course. It�s a last year�s Buick convertible, robin�s-egg blue.�

�If you�re badly worried, go to Missing Persons.�

�No. Ethel wouldn�t like that. She�s a very proud person, and shy. Anyway, I have a better idea.� She gave me that questioning-calculating look of hers.

�Involving me?�

�Please.� Her eyes in the darkening room were like great soft centerless pansies, purple or black. �You�re a detective, and evidently a good one. And you�re a man. You can stand up to Edward and make him answer questions. He just laughs at me. I can�t pay you in advance��

�Forget the money for now. What makes you so certain that Illman is in on this?�

�I just know he is. He threatened her in the lawyer�s office the day they made the settlement. She told me so herself. Edward said that he was going to get that money back if he had to take it out of her hide. He wasn�t fooling, either. He�s beaten her more than once.�

�How much was the settlement?�

�Thirty thousand dollars and the house and the car. She could have collected much more, hundreds of thousands, if she�d stayed in California and fought it through the courts. But she was too anxious to get free from him. So she let him cheat her, and got a Nevada divorce instead. And even then he wasn�t satisfied.�

She looked around the abandoned bedroom, fighting back tears. Her skin was so pale that it seemed to be phosphorescent in the gloom. With a little cry, she flung herself face down on the bed and gave herself over to grief. I said to her shaking back:

�You win. Where do I find him?�

He lived in a pueblo hotel on the outskirts of Bel-Air. The gates of the walled pueblo were standing open, and I went in. A few couples were strolling on the gravel paths among the palm-shaded cottages, walking off the effects of the cocktail hour or working up an appetite for dinner. The women were blonde, and had money on their backs. The men were noticeably older than the women, except for one, who was noticeably younger. They paid no attention to me.

I passed an oval swimming pool, and found Edward Illman�s cottage, number twelve. Light streamed from its open french windows onto a flagstone terrace. A young woman in a narrow-waisted, billowing black gown lay on a chrome chaise at the edge of the light. With her arms hanging loose from her naked shoulders, she looked like an expensive French doll which somebody had accidentally dropped there. Her face was polished and plucked and painted, expressionless as a doll�s. But her eyes snapped open at the sound of my footsteps.

�Who goes there?� she said with a slight Martini accent. �Halt and give the password or I�ll shoot you dead with my atomic wonder-weapon.� She pointed a wavering finger at me and said: �Bing. Am I supposed to know you? I have a terrible memory for faces.�

�I have a terrible face for memories. Is Mr. Illman home?�

�Uh-huh. He�s in the shower. He�s always taking showers. I told him he�s got a scour-and-scrub neurosis, his mother was frightened by a washing machine.� Her laughter rang like cracked bells. �If it�s about business, you can tell me.�

�Are you his confidential secretary?�

�I was.� She sat up on the chaise, looked pleased with herself. �I�m his fianc�e, at the moment.�

�Congratulations.�

�Uh-huh. He�s loaded.� Smiling to herself, she got to her feet. �Are you loaded?�

�Not so it gets in my way.�

She pointed her finger at me and said bing and laughed again, teetering on her four-inch heels. She started to fall forward on her face. I caught her under the armpits.

�Too bad,� she said to my chest. �I don�t think you have a terrible face for memories at all. You�re much prettier than old Teddy-bear.�

�Thanks. I�ll treasure the compliment.�

I set her down on the chaise, but her arms twined round my neck like smooth white snakes and her mouth opened over mine, a fleshy red sea anemone. She clung to me like a drowning child. I had to use force to detach myself.

�What�s the matter?� she said, pointing. �You a fairy?�

A man appeared in the french windows, blotting out most of the light. In a white terry-cloth bathrobe, he had the shape and bulk of a Kodiak bear. Eyes like wet brown stones gleamed in the crannies of his face. The top of his head was as bald as an ostrich egg. He carried a chip on each shoulder, like epaulets.

�What goes on?�

�Your fianc�e swooned, slightly.�

�Fianc�e hell. I saw what happened.� Moving very quickly and lightly for a man of his age and weight, he pounced on the girl in the chaise and began to shake her. �Can�t you keep your hands off anything in pants?�

Her head bobbed back and forth. Her teeth clicked like castanets.

I put a rough hand on his shoulder. �Leave her be.�

He turned on me. �Who do you think you�re talking to?�

�Edward Illman, I presume.�

�And who are you?�

�The name is Archer. I�m looking into the matter of your wife�s disappearance.�

�I�m not married. And I have no intention of getting married. I�ve been burned once.� He looked down sideways at the girl. She gazed up at him in silence, taut with fear and hatred.

�Your ex-wife, then,� I said.

�Has something happened to Ethel?�

�I thought you might be able to tell me.�

�Where did you get that idea? Have you been talking to Clare?�

I nodded.

�Don�t believe her. She�s got a down on me, just like her sister. Because I had the misfortune to marry Ethel, they both think I�m fair game for anything they want to pull. I wouldn�t touch either one of them with an insulated pole. They�re a couple of hustlers, if you want the truth. They took me for sixty grand and what did I get out of it but headaches?�

�I thought it was thirty.�

�Sixty,� he said, with the money light in his eyes. �Thirty in cash, and the house is worth another thirty, easily.�

I looked around the place, which must have cost him fifty dollars a day. Above the palms, the first few stars sparkled like solitaire diamonds.

�You seem to have some left.�

�Sure I have. But I work for my money. Ethel was strictly from nothing when I met her. She owned the clothes on her back and what was under them and that was all. So she gives me a bad time for three years and I pay off at the rate of twenty grand a year. I ask you, is that fair?�

�I hear you threatened to get it back from her.�

�You have been talking to Clare, huh? All right, so I threatened her. It didn�t mean a thing. I talk too much sometimes, and I have a bad temper.�

�I�d never have guessed.�

The girl said: �You hurt me, Teddy. I need another drink. Get me another drink, Teddy.�

�Get it yourself.�

She called him several bad names and wandered into the cottage, walking awkwardly like an animated doll.

He grasped my arm. �What�s the trouble about Ethel? You said she disappeared. You think something�s happened to her?�

I shook his hand off. �She�s missing. Thirty thousand in cash is also missing. There are creeps in this town who would knock her off for one big bill, or less.�

�Didn�t she bank the money? She wouldn�t cash a draft for that amount and carry it around. She�s crazy, but not that way.�

�She banked it all right, on March 14. Then she drew it all out again in the course of the following week. When did you send her the draft?�

�The twelfth or the thirteenth. That was the agreement. She got her final divorce on March 11.�

�And you haven�t seen her since?�

�I have not. Frieda has, though.�

�Frieda?�

�My secretary.� He jerked a thumb towards the cottage. �Frieda went over to the house last week to pick up some of my clothes I�d left behind. Ethel was there, and she was all right then. Apparently she�s taken up with another man.�

�Do you know his name?�

�No, and I couldn�t care less.�

�Do you have a picture of Ethel?�

�I did have. I tore them up. She�s a well-stacked blonde. She looks very much like Clare, same coloring, but three or four years older. You should be able to get a picture from Clare. And while you�re at it, tell her for me she�s got a lot of gall setting the police on me. I�m a respectable businessman in this town.� He puffed out his chest under the bathrobe. It was thickly matted with brown hair, beginning to grizzle.

�No doubt,� I said. �Incidentally, I�m not the police. I run a private agency. My name is Archer.�

�So that�s how it is.� The planes of his broad face gleamed angrily in the light. He cocked a fat red fist. �You come here pumping me. Get out, by God, or I�ll throw you out.�

�Calm down. I could break you in half.�

His face swelled with blood, and his eyes popped. He swung a roundhouse right at my head. I stepped inside of it and tied him up. �I said calm down, mister. You�ll break a vein.�

I pushed him off balance and released him. He sat down very suddenly in the chaise. Frieda was watching us from the edge of the terrace. She laughed so heartily that she spilled her drink.

Illman looked old and tired, and he was breathing raucously through his mouth. He didn�t try to get up. Frieda came over to me and leaned her weight on my arm. I could feel her small sharp breasts.

�Why didn�t you hit him,� she whispered, �when you had the chance? He�s always hitting other people.� Her voice rose. �Teddy-bear thinks he can get away with murder.�

�Shut your yap,� he said, �or I�ll shut it for you.�

�Button yours, muscleman. You�ll lay a hand on me once too often.�

�You�re fired.�

�I already quit.�

They were a charming couple. I was on the point of tearing myself away when a bellboy appeared from nowhere, like a gnome in uniform:

�A gentleman to see you, Mr. Illman.�

The gentleman was a brown-faced young Highway Patrolman, who stepped forward rather diffidently into the light. �Sorry to trouble you, sir. Our San Diego office asked me to contact you as soon as possible.�

Frieda looked from me to him, and began to gravitate in his direction. Illman got up heavily and stepped between them:

�What is it?�

The patrolman unfolded a teletype flimsy and held it up to the light. �Are you the owner of a blue Buick convertible, last year�s model?� He read off the license number.

�It was mine,� Illman said. �It belongs to my ex-wife now. Did she forget to change the registration?�

�Evidently she did, Mr. Illman. In fact, she seems to�ve forgotten the car entirely. She left it in a parking space above the public beach in La Jolla. It�s been sitting there for the last week, until we hauled it in. Where can I get in touch with Mrs. Illman?�

�I don�t know. I haven�t seen her for some time.�

The patrolman�s face lengthened and turned grim. �You mean she�s dropped out of sight?�

�Out of my sight, at least. Why?�

�I hate to have to say this, Mr. Illman. There�s a considerable quantity of blood on the front seat of the Buick, according to this report. They haven�t determined yet if it�s human blood, but it looks like murder.�

�Good heavens! It�s what we�ve been afraid of, isn�t it, Archer?� His voice was as thick as corn syrup with phony emotionalism. �You and Clare were right after all.�

�Right about what, Mr. Illman?� The patrolman looked slightly puzzled.

�About poor Ethel,� he said. �I�ve been discussing her disappearance with Mr. Archer here. Mr. Archer is a private detective, and I was just about to engage his services to make a search for Ethel.� He turned to me with a painful smile pulling his mouth to one side. �How much did you say you wanted in advance? Five hundred?�

�Make it two. That will buy my services for four days. It doesn�t buy anything else, though.�

�I understand that, Mr. Archer. I�m sincerely interested in finding Ethel for a variety of reasons, as you know.�

He was a suave old fox. I almost laughed in his face. But I played along with him. I liked the idea of using his money to hang him, if possible.

�Yeah. This is a tragic occurrence for you.�

He took a silver money clip shaped like a dollar sign out of his bathrobe pocket. I wondered if he didn�t trust his roommate. Two centuries changed hands. After a further exchange of information, the patrolman went away.

�Well,� Illman said. �This looks like a pretty serious business. If you think I had anything to do with it, you�re off your rocker.�

�You talk too much.� I turned to Frieda, who looked as if the news had sobered her. �Who was this fellow you saw at Ethel�s house last week?�

�I dunno. She called him Owen, I think. Maybe it was his first name, maybe it was his last name. She didn�t introduce us.� She said it as if she felt cheated.

�Describe him?�

�Sure. A big guy, over six feet, wide in the shoulders, narrow in the beam. A smooth hunk of male. And young,� with a malicious glance at Illman. �Black hair and he had all of his hair, dreamy dark eyes, a cute little hairline moustache. I tabbed him for a gin-mill cowboy from L.V., but he could be a movie star if I was a producer.�

�Thank God you�re not,� Illman said.

�What made you think she�d taken up with him?�

�The way he moved around the house, like he owned it. He poured himself a drink while I was there. And he was in his shirtsleeves. A real sharp dresser, though. Custom-made stuff.�

�You have a good eye.�

�For me, she has,� Illman said.

�Lay off me,� she said in a hard voice, with no trace of the Martini drawl. �Or I�ll really walk out on you and then where will you be?�

�Right where I am now. Sitting pretty.�

�That�s what you think.�

I interrupted their communion: �Do you know anything about this Owen character, Illman?�

�Not me. He�s probably some jerk she picked up in Nevada while she was sweating out the divorce.�

�Have you been to San Diego recently?�

�Not for months.�

�That�s true,� Frieda said. �I�ve been keeping close track of Teddy. I have to. Incidentally, it�s getting late and I�m hungry. Go and put on some clothes, darling. You�re prettier with clothes on.�

�More than I�d say for you,� he leered.

I left them and drove back to West Hollywood. The night-blooming girls and their escorts had begun to appear on the Strip. Gusts of music came from the doors that opened for them. But when I turned off Sunset, the streets were deserted, emptied by the television curfew.

All the lights were on in the redwood house on the hillside. I parked in the driveway and knocked on the front door. The drapes over the window beside it were pulled to one side, then fell back into place. A thin voice drifted out to me:

�Is that you, Mr. Archer?�

I said that it was. Clare opened the door inch by inch. Her face was almost haggard:

�I�m so relieved to see you.�

�What�s the trouble?�

�A man was watching the house. He was sitting there at the curb in a long black car. It looked like an undertaker�s car. And it had a Nevada license.�

�Are you sure?�

�Yes. It lighted up when he drove away. I saw it through the window. He only left a couple of minutes ago.�

�Did you get a look at his face?�

�I�m afraid not. I didn�t dare go out. I was petrified. He shone a searchlight on the window.�

�Take it easy. There are plenty of big black cars in town, and quite a few Nevada licenses. He was probably looking for some other address.�

�No. I had a... a kind of a fatal feeling when I saw him. I just know that he�s connected in some way with Ethel�s disappearance. I�m scared.�

She leaned against the door, breathing quickly. She looked very young and vulnerable. I said:

�What am I going to do with you, kid? I can�t leave you here alone.�

�Are you going away?�

�I have to. I saw Edward. While I was there, he had a visitor from the IIP. They found your sister�s car abandoned near San Diego.� I didn�t mention the blood. She had enough on her mind.

�Edward killed her!� she cried. �I knew it.�

�That I doubt. She may not even be dead. I�m going to San Diego to find out.�

�Take me along, won�t you?�

�It wouldn�t be good for your reputation. Besides, you�d be in the way.�

�No, I wouldn�t. I promise. I have friends in San Diego. Just let me drive down there with you, and I can stay with them.�

�You wouldn�t be making this up?�

�Honest, I have friends there. Gretchen Falk and her husband, they�re good friends of Ethel�s and mine. We lived in San Diego for a while, before she married Edward. The Falks will be glad to let me stay with them.�

�Hadn�t you better phone them first?�

�I can�t. The phone�s disconnected. I tried it.�

�Are you sure these people exist?�

�Of course,� she said urgently.

I gave in. I turned out the lights and locked the door and put her unpacked bag in my car. Clare stayed very close to me.

As I was backing out, a car pulled in behind me, blocking the entrance to the driveway. I opened the door and got out. It was a black Lincoln with a searchlight mounted over the windshield.

Clare said: �He�s come back.�

The searchlight flashed on. Its bright beam swivelled towards me. I reached for the gun in my shoulder holster and got a firm grip on nothing. Holster and gun were packed in the suitcase in the trunk of my car. The searchlight blinded me.

A black gun emerged from the dazzle, towing a hand and an arm. They belonged to a quick-stepping cube-shaped man in a double-breasted flannel suit. A snap-brim hat was pulled down over his eyes. His mouth was as full of teeth as a barracuda�s. It said:

�Where�s Dewar?�

�Never heard of him.�

�Owen Dewar. You�ve heard of him.�

The gun dragged him forward another step and collided with my breastbone. His free hand palmed my flanks. All I could see was his unchanging smile, framed in brilliant light. I felt a keen desire to do some orthodontal work on it. But the gun was an inhibiting factor.

�You must be thinking of two other parties,� I said.

�No dice. This is the house, and that�s the broad. Out of the car, lady.�

�I will not,� she said in a tiny voice behind me.

�Out, or I�ll blow a hole in your boyfriend here.�

Reluctantly, she clambered out. The teeth looked down at her ankles as if they wanted to chew them. I made a move for the gun. It dove into my solar plexus, doubling me over. Its muzzle flicked the side of my head. It pushed me back against the fender of my car. I felt a worm of blood crawling past my car.

�You coward! Leave him alone.� Clare flung herself at him. He sidestepped neatly, moving on the steady pivot of the gun against my chest. She went to her knees on the blacktop.

�Get up, lady, but keep your voice down. How many boyfriends you keep on the string, anyway?�

She got to her feet. �He isn�t my boyfriend. Who are you? Where is Ethel?�

�That�s a hot one.� The smile intensified. �You�re Ethel. The question is, where�s Dewar?�

�I don�t know any Dewar.�

�Sure you do, Ethel. You know him well enough to marry him. Now tell me where he is, and nobody gets theirselves hurt.� The flat voice dropped, and added huskily: �I haven�t got much time to waste.�

�You�re wrong,� she said. �You�re completely mistaken. I�m not Ethel. I�m Clare. Ethel�s my older sister.�

He stepped back and swung the gun in a quarter-circle, covering us both. �Turn your face to the light. Let�s have a good look at you.�

She did as she was told, striking a rigid pose. He shifted the gun to his left hand, and brought a photograph out of his inside pocket. Looking from it to her face, he shook his head doubtfully:

�I guess you�re levelling at that. You�re younger than this one, and thinner.� He handed her the photograph. �She your sister?�

�Yes. It�s Ethel.�

I caught a glimpse of the picture over her shoulder. It was a blownup candid shot of two people. One was a pretty blonde who looked like Clare five years from now. She was leaning on the arm of a tall dark man with a hairline moustache. They were smirking at each other, and there was a flower-decked altar in the background.

�Who�s the man?� I said.

�Dewar. Who else?� said the teeth behind the gun. �They got married in L.V. last month. I got this picture from the Chaparral Chapel. It goes with the twenty-five dollar wedding.� He snatched it out of Clare�s hands and put it back in his pocket. �It took me a couple of weeks to run her down. She used her maiden name, see?�

�Where did you catch up with her? San Diego?�

�I didn�t catch up with her. Would I be here if I did?�

�What do you want her for?�

�I don�t want her. I got nothing against the broad, except that she tied up with Dewar. He�s the boy I want.�

�What for?�

�You wouldn�t be inarested. He worked for me at one time.� The gun nodded at Clare. �You know where your sister is?�

�No, I don�t. I wouldn�t tell you if I did.�

�That�s no way to talk now, lady. My motto�s cooperation. From other people.�

I said: �Her sister�s been missing for a week. The HP found her car in San Diego. It had bloodstains on the front seat. Are you sure you didn�t catch up with her?�

�I�m asking the questions, punk.� But there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice.

�What happened to Dewar if the blonde is missing?�

�I think he ran out with her money.�

Clare turned to me: �You didn�t tell me all this.�

�I�m telling you now.�

The teeth said: �She had money?�

�Plenty.�

�The bastard. The bastard took us both, huh?�

�Dewar took you for money?�

�You ask too many questions, punk. You�ll talk yourself to death one of these days. Now stay where you are for ten minutes, both of you. Don�t move, don�t yell, don�t telephone. I might decide to drive around the block and come back and make sure.�

He backed down the brilliant alley of the searchlight beam. The door of his car slammed. All of its lights went off together. It rolled away into darkness, and didn�t come back.

It was past midnight when we got to San Diego, but there was still a light in the Falks� house. It was a stucco cottage on a street of identical cottages in Pacific Beach.

�We lived here once,� Clare said. �When I was going to high school. That house second from the corner.� Her voice was nostalgic, and she looked around the jerry-built tract as if it represented something precious to her. The pre-Illman era in her young life.

I knocked on the Falks� front door. A big henna-head in a housecoat opened it on a chain. But when she saw Clare beside me, she flung the door wide:

�Clare honey, where you been? I�ve been trying to phone you in Berkeley, and here you are. How are you, honey?�

She opened her arms and the younger woman walked into them.

�Oh, Gretchen,� she said with her face on the redhead�s breast. �Something�s happened to Ethel, something terrible.�

�I know it, honey, but it could be worse.�

�Worse than murder?�

�She isn�t murdered. Put that out of your mind. She�s pretty badly hurt, but she isn�t murdered.�

Clare stood back to look at her face. �You�ve seen her? Is she here?�

The redhead put a finger to her mouth, which was big and generous looking like the rest of her. �Sh. Clare. Jake�s asleep, he has to get up early, go to work. Yeah, I�ve seen her, but she isn�t here. She�s in a nursing home over on the other side of town.�

�You said she�s badly hurt?�

�Pretty badly beaten, yeah, poor dear. But the doctor told me she�s pulling out of it fine. A little plastic surgery, and she�ll be as good as new.�

�Plastic surgery?�

�Yeah, I�m afraid she�ll need it. I got a look at her face tonight, when they changed the bandages� Now take it easy, honey. It could be worse.�

�Who did it to her?�

�That lousy husband of hers.�

�Edward?�

�Heck, no. The other one. The one that calls himself Dewar, Owen Dewar.�

I said: �Have you seen Dewar?�

�I saw him a week ago, the night he beat her up, the dirty rotten bully.� Her deep contralto growled in her throat. �I�d like to get my hands on him just for five minutes.�

�So would a lot of people, Mrs. Falk.�

She glanced inquiringly at Clare. �Who�s your friend? You haven�t introduced us.�

�I�m sorry. Mr. Archer, Mrs. Falk. Mr. Archer is a detective, Gretchen.�

�I was wondering. Ethel didn�t want me to call the police. I told her she ought to, but she said no. The poor darling�s so ashamed of herself, getting mixed up with that kind of a louse. She didn�t even get in touch with me until tonight. Then she saw in the paper about her car being picked up, and she thought maybe I could get it back for her without any publicity. Publicity is what she doesn�t want most. I guess it�s a tragic thing for a beautiful girl like Ethel to lose her looks.�

�I�m a private detective,� I said. �There won�t be any publicity if I can help it. Did you go to see the police about her car?�

�Jake advised me not to. He said it would blow the whole thing wide open. And the doctor told me he was kind of breaking the law by not reporting the beating she took. So I dropped it.�

�How did this thing happen?�

�I�ll tell you all I know about it. Come on into the living room, kids, let me fix you something to drink.�

Clare said: �You�re awfully kind, Gretchen, but I must go to Ethel. Where is she?�

�The Mission Rest Home. Only don�t you think you better wait till morning? It�s a private hospital, but it�s awful late for visitors.�

�I�ve got to see her,� Clare said. �I couldn�t sleep a wink if I didn�t. I�ve been so worried about her.�

Gretchen heaved a sigh. �Whatever you say, honey. We can try, anyway. Give me a second to put on a dress and I�ll show you where the place is.�

She led us into the darkened living room, turned the television set off and the lights on. A quart of beer, nearly full, stood on a coffee table beside the scuffed davenport. She offered me a glass, which I accepted gratefully. Clare refused. She was so tense she couldn�t even sit down.

We stood and looked at each other for a minute. Then Gretchen came back, struggling with a zipper on one massive hip.

�All set. You better drive, Mr. Archer. I had a couple of quarts to settle my nerves. You wouldn�t believe it, but I�ve gained five pounds since Ethel came down here. I always gain weight when I�m anxious.�

We went out to my car, and turned towards the banked lights of San Diego. The women rode in the front seat. Gretchen�s opulent flesh was warm against me.

�Was Ethel here before it happened?� I said.

�Sure she was, for a day. Ethel turned up here eight or nine days ago, Tuesday of last week it was. I hadn�t heard from her for several months, since she wrote me that she was going to Nevada for a divorce. It was early in the morning when she drove up, in fact she got me out of bed. The minute I saw her, I knew that something was wrong. The poor kid was scared, really scared. She was as cold as a corpse, and her teeth were chattering. So I fed her some coffee and put her in a hot tub, and after that she told me what it was that�d got her down.�

�Dewar?�

�You said it, mister. Ethel never was much of a picker. When she was hostessing at the Grant coffee shop back in the old days, she was always falling for the world�s worst phonies. Speaking of phonies, this Dewar takes the cake. She met him in L.V. when she was waiting for her divorce from Illman. He was a big promoter, to hear him tell it. She fell for the phony story, and she fell for him. A few days after she got her final decree, she married him. Big romance. Big deal. They were going to be business partners, too. He said he had some money to invest, twenty-five thousand or so, and he knew of a swell little hotel in Acapulco that they could buy at a steal for fifty thousand. The idea was that they should each put up half, and go and live in Mexico in the lap of luxury for the rest of their lives. He didn�t show her any of his money, but she believed him. She drew her settlement money out of the bank and came to L.A. with him to close up her house and get set for the Mexican deal.�

�He must have hypnotized her,� Clare said. �Ethel�s a smart business woman.�

�Not with something tall, dark and handsome, honey. I give him that much. He�s got the looks. Well, they lived in L.A. for a couple of weeks, on Ethel�s money of course, and he kept putting off the Mexican trip. He didn�t want to go anywhere, in fact, just sit around the house and drink her liquor and eat her good cooking.�

�He was hiding out,� I said.

�From what? The police?�

�Worse than that. Some gangster pal from Nevada was gunning for him, still is. Ethel wasn�t the only one he fleeced.�

�Nice guy, eh? Anyway, Ethel started to get restless. She didn�t like sitting around with all that money in the house, waiting for nothing. Last Monday night, a week ago Monday that is, she had a showdown with him. Then it all came out. He didn�t have any money or anything else. He wasn�t a promoter, he didn�t know of any hotel in Acapulco. His whole buildup was as queer as a three-dollar bill. Apparently he made his living gambling, but he was even all washed up with that. Nothing. But she was married to him now, he said, and she was going to sit still and like it or he�d knock her block off.

�He meant it, too, Ethel said. She�s got the proof of it now. She waited until he drank himself to sleep that night, then she threw some things in a bag, including her twenty-five thousand, and came down here. She was on her way to get a quickie divorce in Mexico, but Jake and me talked her into staying for a while and thinking it over. Jake said she could probably get an annulment right in California, and that would be more legal.�

�He was probably right.�

�Yeah? Maybe it wasn�t such a bright idea after all. We kept her here just long enough for Dewar to catch her. Apparently she left some letters behind, and he ran down the list of her friends until he found her at our place. He talked her into going for a drive to talk it over. I didn�t hear what was said � they were in her room � but he must have used some powerful persuasion. She went out of the house with him as meek as a lamb, and they drove away in her car. That was the last I saw of her, until she got in touch with me tonight. When she didn�t come back, I wanted to call the police, but Jake wouldn�t let me. He said I had no business coming between a man and his wife and all that guff. I gave Jake a piece of my mind tonight on that score. I ought to�ve called the cops as soon as Dewar showed his sneaking face on our front porch.�

�What exactly did he do to her?�

�He gave her a bad clobbering, that�s obvious. Ethel didn�t want to talk about it much tonight. The subject was painful to her in more ways than one.�

�Did he take her money?�

�He must have. It�s gone. So is he.�

We were on the freeway which curved past the hills of Balboa Park. The trees of its man-made jungle were restless against the sky. Below us on the other side, the city sloped like a frozen cascade of lights down to the black concavity of the bay.

The Mission Rest Home was in the eastern suburbs, an old California-Spanish mansion which had been converted into a private hospital. The windows in its thick stucco walls were small and barred, and there were lights in some of them.

I rang the doorbell. Clare was so close to my back I could feel her breath. A woman in a purple flannelette wrapper opened the door. Her hair hung in two grey braids, which were ruler-straight. Her hard black eyes surveyed the three of us, and stayed on Gretchen.

�What is it now, Mrs. Falk?� she said brusquely.

�This is Mrs.�� Miss Larrabee�s sister Clare.�

�Miss Larrabee is probably sleeping. She shouldn�t be disturbed.�

�I know it�s late,� Clare said in a tremulous voice. �But I�ve come all the way from San Francisco to see her.�

�She�s doing well, I assure you of that. She�s completely out of danger.�

�Can�t I just go in for a teensy visit? Ethel will want to see me, and Mr. Archer has some questions to ask her. Mr. Archer is a private detective.�

�This is very irregular.� Reluctantly, she opened the door. �Wait here, and I�ll see if she is awake. Please keep your voices down. We have other patients.�

We waited in a dim high-ceilinged chamber which had once been the reception room of the mansion. The odors of mustiness and medication blended depressingly in the stagnant air.

�I wonder what brought her here,� I said.

�She knew old lady Lestina,� Gretchen said. �She stayed with her at one time, when Mrs. Lestina was running a boarding-house.�

�Of course,� Clare said. �I remember the name. That was when Ethel was going to San Diego State. Then Daddy � got killed, and she had to drop out of school and go to work.� Tears glimmered in her eyes. �Poor Ethel. She�s always tried so hard, and been so good to me.�

Gretchen patted her shoulder. �You bet she has, honey. Now you have a chance to be good to her.�

�Oh, I will. I�ll do everything I can.�

Mrs. Lestina appeared in the arched doorway. �She�s not asleep. I guess you can talk to her for a very few minutes.�

We followed her to a room at the end of one wing of the house. A white-uniformed nurse was waiting at the door. �Don�t say anything to upset her, will you? She�s always fighting sedation as it is.�

The room was large but poorly furnished, with a mirrorless bureau, a couple of rickety chairs, a brown-enameled hospital bed. The head on the raised pillow was swathed in bandages through which tufts of blonde hair were visible. The woman sat up and spread her arms. The whites of her eyes were red, suffused with blood from broken vessels. Her swollen lips opened and said, �Clare!� in a tone of incredulous joy.

The sisters hugged each other, with tears and laughter. �It�s wonderful to see you,� the older one said through broken teeth. �How did you get here so fast?�

�I came to stay with Gretchen. Why didn�t you call me, Ethel? I�ve been worried sick about you.�

�I�m dreadfully sorry, darling. I should have, shouldn�t I? I didn�t want you to see me like this. And I�ve been so ashamed of myself. I�ve been such a terrible fool. I�ve lost our money.�

The nurse was standing against the door, torn between her duty and her feelings. �Now you promised not to get excited, Miss Larrabee.�

�She�s right,� Clare said. �Don�t give it a second thought. I�m going to leave school and get a job and look after you. You need some looking after for a change.�

�Nuts. I�ll be fine in a couple of weeks.� The brave voice issuing from the mask was deep and vibrant. �Don�t make any rash decisions, kiddo. The head is bloody but unbowed.� The sisters looked at each other in the silence of deep affection.

I stepped forward to the bedside and introduced myself. �How did this happen to you, Miss Larrabee?�

�It�s a long story,� she lisped, �and a sordid one.�

�Mrs. Falk has told me most of it up to the point when Dewar made you drive away with him. Where did he take you?�

�To the beach, I think it was in La Jolla. It was late and there was nobody there and the tide was coming in. And Owen had a gun. I was terrified. I didn�t know what more he wanted. He already had my twenty-five thousand.�

�He had the money?�

�Yes. It was in my room at Gretchen�s house. He made me give it to him before we left there. But it didn�t satisfy him. He said I hurt his pride by leaving him. He said he had to satisfy his pride.� Contempt ran through her voice like a thin steel thread.

�By beating you up?�

�Apparently. He hit me again and again. I think he left me for dead. When I came to, the waves were splashing on me. I managed somehow to get up to the car. It wasn�t any good to me, though, because Owen had the keys. It�s funny he didn�t take it.�

�Too easily traced,� I said. �What did you do then?�

�I hardly know. I think I sat in the car for a while, wondering what to do. Then a taxi went by and I stopped him and told him to bring me here.�

�You weren�t very wise not to call the police. They might have got your money back. Now it�s a cold trail.�

�Did you come here to lecture me?�

�I�m sorry. I didn�t mean��

�I was half-crazy with pain,� she said. �I hardly knew what I was doing. I couldn�t bear to have anybody see me.�

Her fingers were active among the folds of the sheets. Clare reached out and stroked her hands into quietness. �Now, now darling,� she crooned. �Nobody�s criticizing you. You take things nice and easy for a while, and Clare will look after you.�

The masked head rolled on the pillow. The nurse came forward, her face solicitous. �I think Miss Larrabee�s had enough, don�t you?�

She showed us out. Clare lingered with her sister for a moment, then followed us to the car. She sat between us in brooding silence all the way to Pacific Beach. Before I dropped them off at Gretchen�s house, I asked for her permission to go to the police. She wouldn�t give it to me, and nothing I could say would change her mind.

I spent the rest of the night in a motor court, trying to crawl over the threshold of sleep. Shortly after dawn I disentangled myself from the twisted sheets and drove out to La Jolla. La Jolla is a semi-detached suburb of San Diego, a small resort town half-surrounded by sea. It was a grey morning. The slanting streets were scoured with the sea�s cold breath, and the sea itself looked like hammered pewter.

I warmed myself with a short-order breakfast and went the rounds of the hotels and motels. No one resembling Dewar had registered in the past week. I tried the bus and taxi companies, in vain. Dewar had slipped out of town unnoticed. But I did get a lead on the taxi-driver who had taken Ethel to the Mission Rest Home. He had mentioned the injured woman to his dispatcher, and the dispatcher gave me his name and address. Stanley Simpson, 38 Calle Laureles.

Simpson was a paunchy, defeated-looking man who hadn�t shaved for a couple of days. He came to the door of his tiny bungalow in his underwear, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. �What�s the pitch, bub? If you got me up to try and sell me something, you�re in for a disappointment.�

I told him who I was and why I was there. �Do you remember the woman?�

�I hope to tell you I do. She was bleeding like a stuck pig, all over the back seat. It took me a couple of hours to clean it off. Somebody pistol-whipped her, if you ask me. I wanted to take her to the hospital, but she said no. Hell, I couldn�t argue with her in that condition. Did I do wrong?� His slack mouth twisted sideways in a self-doubting grimace.

�If you did, it doesn�t matter. She�s being taken good care of. I thought you might have got a glimpse of the man that did it to her.�

�Not me, mister. She was all by herself, nobody else in sight. She got out of a parked car and staggered out into the road. I couldn�t just leave her there, could I?�

�Of course not. You�re a good Samaritan, Simpson. Exactly where did you pick her up?�

�Down by the Cove. She was sitting in this Buick. I dropped a party off at the beach club and I was on my way back, kind of cruising along��

�What time?�

�Around ten o�clock, I guess it was. I can check my schedule.�

�It isn�t important. Incidentally, did she pay you for the ride?�

�Yeah, she had a buck and some change in her purse. She had a hard time making it. No tip,� he added gloomily.

�Tough cheese.�

His fogged eyes brightened. �You�re a friend of hers, aren�t you? Wouldn�t you say I rate a tip on a run like that? I always say, better late than never.�

�Is that what you always say?� I handed him a dollar.

The Cove was a roughly semicircular inlet at the foot of a steep hill, surmounted by a couple of hotels. Its narrow curving beach and the street above it were both deserted. An offshore wind had swept away the early-morning mist, but the sky was still cloudy, and the sea grim. The long swells slammed the beach like stone walls falling, and broke in foam on the rocks that framed the entrance to the Cove.

I sat in my car and watched them. I was at a dead end. This seaswept place, under this iron sky, was like the world�s dead end. Far out at sea, a carrier floated like a chip on the horizon. A Navy jet took off from it and scrawled tremendous nothings on the distance.

Something bright caught my eye. It was in the trough of a wave a couple of hundred yards outside the Cove. Then it was on a crest: the aluminum air-bottle of an Aqualung strapped to a naked brown back. Its wearer was prone on a surfboard, kicking with black-finned feet towards the shore. He was kicking hard, and paddling with one arm, but he was making slow progress. His other arm dragged in the opaque water. He seemed to be towing something, something heavy. I wondered if he had speared a shark or a porpoise. His face was inscrutable behind its glass mask.

I left my car and climbed down to the beach. The man on the surfboard came towards me with his tiring one-armed stroke, climbing the walled waves and sliding down them. A final surge picked him up and set him on the sand, almost at my feet. I dragged his board out of the backwash, and helped him to pull in the line that he was holding in one hand. His catch was nothing native to the sea. It was a man.

The end of the line was looped around his body under the armpits. He lay face down like an exhausted runner, a big man, fully clothed in soggy tweeds. I turned him over and saw the aquiline profile, the hairline moustache over the blue mouth, the dark eyes clogged with sand. Owen Dewar had made his escape by water.

The skin-diver took off his mask and sat down heavily, his chest working like a great furred bellows. �I go down for abalone,� he said between breaths. �I find this. Caught between two rocks at thirty-forty feet.�

�How long has he been in the water?�

�It�s hard to tell. I�d say a couple of days, anyway. Look at his color. Poor stiff. But I wish they wouldn�t drown themselves in my hunting-grounds.�

�Do you know him?�

�Nope. Do you?�

�Never saw him before,� I said, with truth.

�How�s about you phoning the police, Mac? I�m pooped. And unless I make a catch, I don�t eat today. There�s no pay in fishing for corpses.�

�In a minute.�

I went through the dead man�s pockets. There was a set of car-keys in his jacket pocket, and an alligator wallet on his hip. It contained no money, but the driver�s license was decipherable: Owen Dewar, Mesa Court, Las Vegas. I put the wallet back, and let go of the body. The head rolled sideways. I saw the small round hole in the neck, washed clean by the sea.

�Holy Mother,� the diver said. �He was shot.�

I got back to the Falk house around mid-morning. The sun had burned off the clouds, and the day was turning hot. The long, treeless street of identical houses looked cheap and rundown by daylight. It was part of the miles of suburban slums that the war had scattered all over Southern California.

Gretchen was sprinkling the brown front lawn with a desultory hose. She looked too big for the pocket-handkerchief yard. The sunsuit that barely covered her various bulges made her look even bigger. She turned off the water when I got out of my car.

�What gives? You�ve got trouble on your face if I ever saw trouble.�

�Dewar is dead. Murdered. A skin-diver found him in the sea off La Jolla.�

She took it calmly. �That�s not such bad news, is it? He had it coming. Who killed him?�

�I told you a gunman from Nevada was on his trail. Maybe he caught him. Anyway, Dewar was shot and bled to death from a neck wound. Then he was dumped in the ocean. I had to lay the whole thing on the line for the police, since there�s murder in it.�

�You told them what happened to Ethel?�

�I had to. They�re at the rest home talking to her now.�

�What about Ethel�s money? Was the money on him?�

�Not a trace of it. And he didn�t live to spend it. The police pathologist thinks he�s been dead for a week. Whoever got Dewar got the money at the same time.�

�Will she ever get it back, do you think?�

�If we can catch the murderer, and he still has it with him. That�s a big if. Where�s Clare, by the way? With her sister?�

�Clare went back to L.A.�

�What for?�

�Don�t ask me.� She shrugged her rosy shoulders. �She got Jake to drive her down to the station before he went to work. I wasn�t up. She didn�t even tell me she was going.� Gretchen seemed peeved.

�Did she get a telegram, or a phone call?�

�Nothing. All I know is what Jake told me. She talked him into lending her ten bucks. I wouldn�t mind so much, but it was all the ready cash we had, until payday. Oh well, I guess we�ll get it back, if Ethel recovers her money.�

�You�ll get it back,� I said. �Clare seems to be a straight kid.�

�That�s what I always used to think. When they lived here, before Ethel met Illman and got into the chips, Clare was just about the nicest kid on the block. In spite of all the trouble in her family.�

�What trouble was that?�

�Her father shot himself. Didn�t you know? They said it was an accident, but the people on the Street � we knew different. Mr. Larrabee was never the same after his wife left him. He spent his time brooding, drinking and brooding. Clare reminded me of him, the way she behaved last night after you left. She wouldn�t talk to me or look at me. She shut herself up in her room and acted real cold. If you want the honest truth, I don�t like her using my home like it was a motel and Jake was a taxi-service. The least she could of done was say goodbye to me.�

�It sounds as if she had something on her mind.�

All the way back to Los Angeles, I wondered what it was. It took me a little over two hours to drive from San Diego to West Hollywood. The black Lincoln with the searchlight and the Nevada license plates was standing at the curb below the redwood house. The front door of the house was standing open.

I transferred my automatic from the suitcase to my jacket pocket, making sure that it was ready to fire. I climbed the terraced lawn beside the driveway. My feet made no sound in the grass. When I reached the porch, I heard voices from inside. One was the gunman�s hoarse and deathly monotone:

�I�m taking it, sister. It belongs to me.�

�You�re a liar.�

�Sure, but not about this. The money is mine.�

�It�s my sister�s money. What right have you got to it?�

�This. Dewar stole it from me. He ran a poker game for me in L.V., a high-stakes game in various hotels around town. He was a good dealer, and I trusted him with the house take. I let it pile up for a week, that was my mistake. I should�ve kept a closer watch on him. He ran out on me with twenty-five grand or more. That�s the money you�re holding, lady.�

�I don�t believe it. You can�t prove that story. It�s fantastic.�

�I don�t have to prove it. I�m the one with the gun. Gelt talks, but iron talks louder. So hand it over.�

�I�ll die first.�

�Maybe you will at that,� he said blandly.

I edged along the wall to the open door. Clare was standing flat against the opposite wall of the hallway. She was clutching a sheaf of bills to her breast. The gunman�s broad flannel back was to me, and he was advancing on her.

�Stay away from me, you.� Her cry was thin and desperate. She was trying to merge with the wall, her body agonized by an orgiastic terror.

�I don�t like taking candy from a baby,� he said in a very reasonable tone. �Only I�m going to have that money back.�

�You can�t have it. It�s Ethel�s. It�s all she has.�

��you, lady. You and your sister both.�

He raised his armed right hand and slapped the side of her face with the gun-barrel, lightly. Fingering the welt it left, she said in a kind of despairing stupor:

�You�re the one that hurt Ethel, aren�t you? Now you�re hurting me. You like hurting people.�

�Listen to reason, lady. It ain�t just the money, it�s a matter of business. I let it happen once, it�ll happen again. I can�t afford to let nobody get away with nothing. I got a reputation to live up to.�

I said from the doorway: �Is that why you killed Dewar?�

He let out an animal sound, and whirled in my direction. I shot before he did, twice. The first slug rocked him back on his heels. His bullet went wild, ploughed the ceiling. My second slug took him off balance and slammed him against the wall. His blood splattered Clare and the money in her hands. She screamed once, very loudly.

The man from Las Vegas dropped his gun. It clattered on the parquetry. His hands pressed his perforated chest, trying to hold the blood in. He slid down the wall slowly, his face a mask of smiling pain, and sat with a bump on the floor. He blew red bubbles and said:

�You got me wrong. I didn�t kill Dewar. I didn�t know he was dead. The money belongs to me. You made a big mistake, punk.�

�So did you.�

He went on smiling, as if in fierce appreciation of the joke. Then his red grin changed to a rictus, and he slumped sideways.

Clare looked from him to me, her eyes wide and dark with the sight of death. �I don�t know how to thank you. He was going to kill me.�

�I doubt that. He was just combining a little pleasure with business.�

�But he shot at you.�

�It�s just as well he did. It leaves no doubt that it was self-defense.�

�Is it true what you said? That Dewar�s dead? He killed him?�

�You tell me.�

�What do you mean?�

�You�ve got the money that Dewar took from your sister. Where did you get it?�

�It was here, right in this house. I found it in the kitchen.�

�That�s kind of hard to swallow, Clare.�

�It�s true.� She looked down at the blood-spattered money in her hands. The outside bill was a hundred. Unconsciously, she tried to wipe it clean on the front of her dress. �He had it hidden here. He must have come back and hid it.�

�Show me where.�

�You�re not being very nice to me. And I�m not feeling well.�

�Neither is Dewar. You didn�t shoot him yourself, by any chance?�

�How could I? I was in Berkeley when it happened. I wish I was back there now.�

�You know when it happened, do you?�

�No.� She bit her lip. �I don�t mean that. I mean I was in Berkeley all along. You�re a witness, you were with me on the train coming down.�

�Trains run both ways.�

She regarded me with loathing.

�You�re not nice at all. To think that yesterday I thought you were nice.�

�You�re wasting time, Clare. I have to call the police. But first I want to see where you found the money. Or where you say you did.�

�In the kitchen. You�ve got to believe me. It took me a long time to get here from the station on the bus. I�d only just found it when he walked in on me.�

�I�ll believe the physical evidence, if any.�

To my surprise, the physical evidence was there. A red-enameled flour canister was standing open on the board beside the kitchen sink. There were fingermarks in the flour, and a floury piece of oilskin wrapping in the sink.

�He hid the money under the flour,� Clare said. �I guess he thought it would be safer here than if he carried it around with him.�

It wasn�t a likely story. On the other hand, the criminal mind was capable of strange things. Whose criminal mind, I wondered: Clare�s, or Owen Dewar�s, or somebody else�s? I said:

�Where did you get the bright idea of coming back here and looking for it?�

�Ethel suggested it last night, just before I left her. She told me this was his favorite hiding-place while she was living with him. She discovered it by accident one day.�

�Hiding-place for what?�

�Some kind of drug he took. He was a drug-addict. Do you still think I�m lying?�

�Somebody is. But I suppose I�ve got to take your word, until I get something better. What are you going to do with the money?�

�Ethel said if I found it, that I was to go down and put it in the bank.�

�There�s no time for that now. You better let me hold it for you. I have a safe in my office.�

�No. You don�t trust me. Why should I trust you?�

�Because you can trust me, and you know it. If the cops impound it, you�ll have to prove ownership to get it back.�

She was too spent to argue. She let me take it out of her hands. I riffled through the bills and got a rough idea of their sum. There was easily twenty-five thousand there. I gave her a receipt for that amount, and put the sheaf of bills in my inside pocket.

It was after dark when the cops got through with me. By that time I was equipped to do a comparative study on the San Diego and Los Angeles P.D.�s. With the help of a friend in the D.A.�s office, Clare�s eye-witness account, and the bullet in the ceiling, I got away from them without being booked. The dead man�s record also helped. He had been widely suspected of shooting Bugsy Siegel, and had fallen heir to some of Siegel�s holdings. His name was Jack Fidaris. R.I.P.

I drove out Sunset to my office. The Strip was lighting up for business again. The stars looked down on its neon conflagration like hard bright knowing eyes. I pulled the Venetian blinds and locked the doors and counted the money: twenty-six thousand, three hundred and eighty dollars. I wrapped it up in brown paper, sealed it with wax and tucked it away in the safe. I would have preferred to tear it in little pieces and flush the green confetti down the drain. Two men had died for it. I wasn�t eager to become the third.

I had a steak in the restaurant at International Airport, and hopped a shuttle plane to Las Vegas. There I spent a rough night in various gambling joints, watching the suckers blow their vacation money, pinching my own pennies, and talking to some of the guys and girls that raked the money in. The rest of Illman�s two hundred dollars bought me the facts I needed.

I flew back to Los Angeles in the morning, picked up my car and headed for San Diego. I was tired enough to sleep standing up like a horse. But something heavier than sleep or tiredness sat on the back of my neck and pressed the gas-pedal down to the floorboards. It was the thought of Clare.

Clare was with her sister at the Mission Rest Home. She was waiting outside the closed door of Ethel�s room when Mrs. Lestina took me down the hall. She looked as if she had passed a rougher night than mine. Her grooming was careless, hair uncombed, mouth unpainted. The welt from Fidaris� gun had turned blue and spread to one puffed eye. And it hought how very little it took to break a young girl down into a tramp, if she was vulnerable, or twist her into something worse than a tramp.

�Did you bring it with you?� she said as soon as La Lestina was out of earshot. �Ethel�s very angry with me for turning it over to you.�

�I�m not surprised.�

�Give it to me. Please.� Her hand clawed at my sleeve. �Isn�t that what you came for, to give it back to me?�

�It�s in the safe in my office in Los Angeles. That is, if you�re talking about the money.�

�What else would I be talking about? You�ll simply have to go back there and get it. Ethel can�t leave here without it. She needs it to pay her bill.�

�Is Ethel planning to go someplace?�

�I persuaded her to come back to Berkeley with me. She�ll have better care in the hospital there, and I know of a good plastic surgeon��

�It�ll take more than that to put Ethel together again.�

�What do you mean?�

�You should be able to guess. You�re not a stupid girl, or are you? Has she got you fooled the way she had me fooled?�

�I don�t know what you�re talking about. But I don�t like it. Every time I see you, you seem to get nastier.�

�This is a nasty business. It�s rubbing off on all of us, isn�t it, kid?�

She looked at me vaguely through a fog of doubt. �Don�t you dare call me kid. I thought you were a real friend for a while, but you don�t even like me. You�ve said some dreadful things. You probably think you can scare me into letting you keep our money. Well, you can�t.�

�That�s my problem,� I said. �What to do with the money.�

�You�ll give it back to Ethel and me, that�s what you�ll do. There are laws to deal with people like you��

�And people like Ethel. I want to talk to her.�

�I won�t let you. My sister�s suffered enough already.�

She spread her arms across the width of the door, in the attitude of crucifixion. I was tempted to go away and send her the money and forget the whole thing. All I had for Clare was longer and sharper nails. But the need to finish it pushed me, imperative as a gun at my back.

I lifted her by the waist and tried to set her aside. Her entire body was rigid and jerking galvanically. Her hands slid under my arms and around my back and held on. Her head rolled on my shoulder and was still. Suddenly, like delayed rain after lightning, her tears came. I stood and held her vibrating body, trying to quench the dangerous heat that was rising in my veins, and wondering what in hell I was going to do.

�Ethel did it for me,� she sobbed. �She wanted me to have a good start in life.�

�Some start she�s giving you. Did she tell you that?�

�She didn�t have to. I knew. I tried to pretend to myself, but I knew. When she told me where to look for the money that night.�

�You knew that Ethel took it from Dewar and hid it in her house?�

�Yes. The thought went through my mind, and I couldn�t get rid of it. Ethel�s always taken terrible chances, and money means so much to her. Not for herself. For me.�

�She wasn�t thinking of you when she gambled away the money she got from lllman. She went through it in a week.�

�Is that what happened to it?�

�That�s it. I flew to Las Vegas last night and talked to some of the people that got her money, dealers and croupiers. They remembered her. She had a bad case of gambling fever that week. It didn�t leave her until the money was gone. Then maybe she thought of you.�

�Poor Ethel. I�ve seen her before when she had a gambling streak.�

�Poor Dewar,� I said. �He was the goat.�

The door beside us creaked open. The empty eye of a blue revolver looked out. Above it, Ethel�s eyes glared red from her bandaged face.

�Come in here, both of you.�

Clare stretched out her hands towards her sister. �No, Ethel. Darling, you mustn�t. Give me that gun.�

�I have a use for it. I know what I�m doing.�

She backed away, supporting herself on the doorknob.

I said to Clare: �We better do as she says. She won�t hurt you.�

�Nor you unless you make me. Don�t reach for your gun, and don�t try anything funny. You know what happened to Dewar.�

�Not as well as you do.�

�Don�t waste any tears on that one. Save them for yourself. Now get in here.� The gun wagged peremptorily.

I edged past her with Clare at my back. Ethel shut the door and moved to the bed, her eyes never leaving mine. She sat on its edge, and supported the elbow of her gun arm on her knee, hunched far over like an aged wreck of a woman.

It was strange to see the fine naked legs dangling below her hospital gown, the red polish flaking off her toenails. Her voice was low and resonant:

�I don�t like to do this. But how am I going to make you see it my way if I don�t? I want Clare to see it, too. It was self-defense, understand? I didn�t intend to kill him. I never expected to see him again. Fidaris was after him, and it was only a matter of time until he caught up with Owen. Owen knew that. He told me himself he wouldn�t live out the year. He was so sure of it that he was paralyzed. He got so he wouldn�t even go out of the house.

�Somebody had to make a move, and I decided it might as well be me. Why should I sit and wait for Fidaris to come and take the money back and blow Owen�s head off for him? It was really my money, anyway, mine and Clare�s.�

�Leave me out of this,� Clare said.

�But you don�t understand, honey,� the damaged mouth insisted. �It really was my money. We were legally married, what was his was mine. I talked him into taking it in the first place. He�d never have had the guts to do it alone. He thought Fidaris was God himself. I didn�t. But I didn�t want to be there when Jack Fidaris found him. So I left him. I took the money out of his pillow when he was asleep and hid it where he�d never look for it. Then I drove down here. I guess you know the rest. He found a letter from Gretchen in the house, and traced me through it. He thought I was carrying the money. When it turned out that I wasn�t, he took me out to the beach and beat me up. I wouldn�t tell him where it was. He threatened to shoot me then. I fought him for the gun, and it went off. It was a clear case of self-defense.�

�Maybe it was. You�ll never get a jury to believe it, though. Innocent people don�t dump their shooting victims in the drink.�

�But I didn�t. The tide was coming in. I didn�t even touch him after he died. He just lay there, and the water took him.�

�While you stood and watched?�

�I couldn�t get away. I was so weak I couldn�t move for a long time. Then when I finally could, it was too late. He was gone, and he had the keys to the car.�

�He drove you out to La Jolla?�

�Yes.�

�And held a gun on you at the same time. That�s quite a trick.�

�He did, though,� she said. �That is the way it happened.�

�I hear you telling me, Mrs. Dewar.�

She winced behind her mask at the sound of her name. �I�m not Mrs. Dewar,� she said. �I�ve taken back my maiden name. I�m Ethel Larrabee.�

�We won�t argue about the name. You�ll be trading it in for a number, anyway.�

�The hell I will. The shooting was self-defense, and once he was dead the money belonged to me. There�s no way of proving he stole it, now that Fidaris is gone. I guess I owe you a little thanks for that.�

�Put down your gun, then.�

�I�m not that grateful,� she said.

Clare moved across the room towards her. �Let me look at the gun, Ethel. It�s father�s revolver, isn�t it?�

�Be quiet, you little fool.�

�I won�t be quiet. These things have to be said. You�re way off by yourself, Ethel, I�m not with you. I want no part of this, or the money. You don�t understand how strange and dreadful�� Her voice broke, momentarily. She stood a few feet from her sister, held back by the gun�s menace, yet strongly drawn towards it. �That�s father�s revolver, isn�t it? The one he shot himself with?�

�What if it is?�

�I�ll tell you, Ethel,� I said. �Dewar didn�t pull a gun on you. You were the one that had the gun. You forced him to drive you out to the beach and shot him in cold blood. But he didn�t die right away. He lived long enough to leave his marks on you. Isn�t that how it happened?�

The bandaged face was silent. I looked into the terrible eyes for assent. They were lost and wild, like an animal�s. �Is that true, Ethel? Did you murder him?� Clare looked down at her sister with pity and loathing.

�I did it for you,� the masked face said. �I always tried to do what was best for you. Don�t you believe me? Don�t you know I love you? Ever since father killed himself I�ve tried��

Clare turned and walked to the wall and stood with her forehead against it.

Ethel put the muzzle of the gun in her mouth. Her broken teeth clenched on it the way a smoker bites on a pipestem. The bone and flesh muffled its roar.

I laid her body out on the bed and pulled a sheet up over it.