CHAPTER Twelve

Over breakfast she said, “I don’t know if you remember this, Bern, but just before you fell asleep you were saying something about Ilona’s disappearance being tied in with Captain Hoberman’s murder. But you wouldn’t say how, and then you passed out.”

“I remember.”

“You do?”

“Except for the part about passing out.”

“I’m surprised you remember any of it. I figured you were delirious. I was mad at you because I was sure I’d be up all night looking for a connection, but the next thing I knew it was morning and Ubi and Archie were yowling for their breakfast.”

Ubi’s a Russian Blue, Archie an extremely vocal Burmese. “I never even heard them,” I said.

“Well, you’re a sound sleeper, Bern. Plus they weren’t walking on you at the time. Anyway, the last thing you said was you’d tell me in the morning. It’s morning, so let’s hear it. Unless you weren’t serious.’

“I was serious.”

“So?”

“I can’t remember how much I already told you. Do you know about the photograph? The one Ilona lights candles to?”

“King Whatsis.”

“Vlados.”

“Whatever. You recognized him from the stamps, because your parents let you have a stamp collection when you were a kid.”

“You mean yours didn’t?”

She shook her head. “Too butch. I think they had an inkling, and they tried to steer me in the other direction. Instead of stamps, I got Story Book Dolls. You know, in the little boxes, and wearing their national costumes?”

“What did you do, break their heads off?”

“Are you kidding? I loved those dolls.”

“You did?”

“I thought they were adorable. I’d still have ’ em if I had the space. I gave them to my cousin’s kids on the Island. ‘This is just a loan,’ I told them. ‘They still belong to Aunt Carolyn.’ In case I ever move to a larger apartment, but I never will, and if I did I’d have trouble getting the dolls back from those kids. They’re crazy about them, especially Jason.”

“Jason?”

“Yeah, and his father’s getting a little nervous about it. ‘Look how I turned out,’ I told him. As soon as I could I moved to the Village and tried to get a girlfriend from every country.”

“Wearing their national costumes.”

“I don’t think I ever had an Anatrurian doll,” she said, “or an Anatrurian girlfriend, either, since I never even heard of the country until you started going to the movies with Ilona. I had a couple of dolls from that part of the world, though, with peasant blouses and lots of embroidery on their skirts. Beautiful faces, too.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’m sorry, Bern. Look, Ilona’s from Anatruria and she had a picture of the king and queen. How does that tie her in with Candlemas and Hoberman and Tiglath Whatchamacallit-”

“Rasmoulian.”

“If you say so. And Sarnoff.”

“Tsarnoff.”

“Tso? I still don’t see the connection.”

“Neither did I. It wasn’t until last night that it hit me. I was in the cab, and Max Fiddler was telling me this incredible story about a woman and her disgusting pet monkey. I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not going to. Before that he went on and on about his memory and how great it was, and maybe that planted a seed and got me thinking about memory, I don’t know. But just as we got to my apartment building, I remembered. That’s why I had him bring me back downtown again.”

“I thought you wanted to see me.”

“I did,” I said, “but I probably would have waited until morning. Or I would have gone upstairs first and put my things away and then come downtown on the subway.” I patted my pockets. “I’ve still got my picks and my flashlight,” I said. “Well, that’s just as well. I may need them.”

“ Bern, what was it you remembered?”

“The photograph.”

“The one of King-”

“Vlados,” I supplied. “Right. I thought I recognized it from the stamps. But I didn’t.”

“You didn’t? But you checked in the Scott catalog, and there he was, big as life and twice as ugly.”

“Not ugly at all,” I said. “He’s a good-looking man. Or was, because he’d have to be a hundred and ten by now. But one thing he certainly wasn’t in the stamp catalog was big. The pictures are tiny. I had to use a magnifying glass to make sure it was the same person I saw in the photograph.”

“So?”

“So the point is I recognized him from another photograph, and that was what triggered the memory.”

“What other photo? The one of Ilona with her mother and her father?” Her mouth dropped open. “ Bern, is it the Anatrurian version of Anastasia? Is Ilona a long-lost princess? Bern!”

“What is it?”

“Don’t you see? That explains why she packed up and disappeared. She’s in love with you, Bern.”

“That would explain it, all right.”

“No,” she said, impatient. “Don’t you get it? She can’t marry you because you’re a commoner!” She got a faraway look in her eye. “Maybe she’ll abdicate, like the Duke of Windsor, giving up the Anatrurian throne for the man she loves. Why are you looking at me like that, Bern? It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“It’s not?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think she’s a princess, either, any more than that apartment was Buckingham Palace. Ilona’s father didn’t look anything like Vlados the First. They’re two different guys.”

“Oh.”

“The photo I’m talking about,” I said, “was the one at the Boccaccio.”

“At the Boccaccio?” Light dawned. “In the apartment you burgled!”

“Tried to burgle.”

“There was a photo of a guy in a uniform. And it was him? Vlad the Unveiler?”

“I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at the photograph,” I admitted. “At the time I didn’t notice much besides his teeth and the way he combed his hair. It was parted in the middle and slicked down.”

“He sounds like a dreamboat.”

“And his uniform,” I said. “I noticed his uniform. He looked like a member of the palace guard in a Sigmund Romberg operetta. That was before I went to Ilona’s apartment, and there was something faintly familiar about the guy, but I just thought he looked like Teddy Roosevelt would have looked if he was going on a date with a flapper. Then the next night I saw Ilona’s photo and I knew I’d seen the guy somewhere before. But I wasn’t thinking of the photo from the Boccaccio, not consciously. I don’t know, maybe Max Fiddler’s right. Maybe I ought to start taking ginkgo biloba.”

“If you can remember to buy it,” she said, “you don’t need it.”

“Good point. Anyway, when I saw Ilona’s photo Thursday night it rang a bell, and I didn’t know why. Last night it finally came to me.”

“And you couldn’t wait to get downtown with the news. Except you forgot to tell me.”

“I had other things to tell you. And the reason I was in a rush to come downtown, well, I didn’t want to go into my own building.”

“Why not?”

“I had a feeling somebody might be waiting there for me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t mean Ilona. You mean somebody dangerous.”

I nodded. “I already had a gun pulled on me. I snapped at Rasmoulian to behave himself and put it away, and damned if he didn’t. But how many times can you get away with that? The next time around he might shoot me. How did he know to come to the bookstore? He even knew my middle name, for God’s sake.”

“Is he Anatrurian, too, Bern?”

“I don’t know what he is. Rasmoulian sounds as though it could be Armenian. And Tiglath might be Assyrian.”

“Assyrian? You mean like from Assyria? Is that a country?”

“Not recently,” I said. “Remember ‘The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold’? It’s a poem, but that’s the only line I remember. I think the king of ancient Assyria was Tiglath-Pileser. But I might have him confused with somebody else.”

“How do you know all this, Bern? Did Tiggy happen to have his picture on a stamp?”