“I already got a job, remember? I’m a police officer.”

“That’s not a job, it’s a license to steal. What’s that line in Casablanca?”

“‘Play it again, Sam.’”

“Actually he never says it exactly that way. It’s ‘Play it, Sam,’ or ‘Play the song, Sam,’ or some variation like that, but he never says, ‘Play it again, Sam.’”

“That’s really fascinatin’, Bern.”

“But that wasn’t the line I meant. ‘Round up the usual suspects.’ That’s the line I meant. And that’s what I want you to do.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You will when I explain.”

“Bernie, it’s been a madhouse here. Things are just starting to settle down. How about that kid of mine, huh?”

“He’s a trouper.”

“His fathead of a father called up. How could I allow such a thing, and he’s thinking seriously of instituting a custody suit, unless of course I agree to a reduction in alimony and child support payments, blah blah blah. Jared says he’ll live at the Hewlett before he lives with his old man. You think he’s got a case?”

“I don’t even think he thinks he’s got a case, but I’m not a lawyer. How’s Jared holding up under questioning?”

“His answers turn into political speeches. Don’t worry. He hasn’t mentioned you.”

“What about his buddies?”

“You mean the other members of his cadre? They couldn’t mention you if they wanted to. Jared’s the only one who knows this afternoon’s incident was anything other than a political action of the Young Panthers.”

“Is that what they’re calling themselves?”

“I think it’s a media invention, but I also think it might stick. Jared’s friend Shaheen Vladewicz suggested Panther Cubs, but his other friend Adam informed them that panthers don’t have cubs, they have kittens, and Panther Kittens was rejected as insufficiently militant. Anyway, our secret’s safe. I think Jared’s beginning to believe he thought up the whole thing and you cashed in on it at the last minute.”

“A quick-witted opportunist of a thief.”

“Well, if the shoe fits. Incidentally, you left that case here. That cat carrier or whatever it is.”

“Well, give it to someone with a cat. I won’t be needing it. Carolyn got her cat back.”

“No shit?”

“Only in the litter box.”

“She really got the cat back?”

“So she tells me.”

“And the Hewlett? Are they going to get their Mondrian back?”

“What Mondrian?”

“Bernie-”

“Don’t worry, Denise. Everything’s going to work out fine.”

“Everything’s going to work out fine.”

“Gee, I hope you’re right, Bernie. I don’t know, though. I went out this morning figuring to do fifteen miles, and after ten miles I started to get this funny feeling on the inside of my right knee. Not a pain exactly but a feeling, a sensitivity, you know what I mean? Now what they say is you run to pain but not through pain, but what do you do about sensitivity? I figured as soon as it became pain I’d stop, but it just stayed sensitive and got a little more sensitive, and I did my fifteen miles and then did three miles on top of it, eighteen miles altogether, and I came home and took a shower and lay down, and now my knee’s throbbing like a bastard.”

“Can you walk on it?”

“I could probably run another eighteen miles on it. It’s throbbing with sensitivity, not with pain. It’s crazy.”

“Well, it’ll work out. Wally, there was an incident at a museum this afternoon-”

“Jesus Christ, I almost forgot. I don’t even know if I should be talking to you. Were you involved in that?”

“Of course not. But the leader of the kids’ protest is the son of a friend of mine, and-”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Wally, how’d you like to make a name for yourself representing the Young Panthers? I don’t think anybody’s going to bring charges against them, but there’ll be reporters wanting interviews and there might even be a book or a movie in the thing, and Jared’s going to need someone to look out for his interests. And his father’s talking about a custody suit, so Jared’s mother’s going to need somebody looking out for her interests, and-”

“You got an interest in the mother?”

“We’re just good friends. As a matter of fact, Wally, I think you might like the mother. Denise, her name is.”

“Oh?”

“Got a pencil? Denise Raphaelson, 741- 5374.”

“And the kid’s name is Jason?”

“Jared.”

“Same difference. When should I call her?”

“In the morning.”

“It’s already morning, for Christ’s sake. Do you know what time it is?”

“I don’t call my lawyer to find out the time. I call my lawyer when there’s something I want him to do for me.”

“Is there something you want me to do for you?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Miss Petrosian? ‘I sing of sorrow / I sing of weeping / I have no sorrow. / I only borrow-’”

“Who is this?”

“‘I only borrow / From some tomorrow / Where it lies sleeping / Enough of sorrow / To sing of weeping.’ It’s Mary Carolyn Davies, Miss Petrosian. Your old favorite.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? It’s a nice straightforward poem, it seems to me. The poet’s saying that she draws against a store of future miseries in order to write about a depth of emotion she hasn’t yet experienced.”

“Mr. Rhodenbarr?”

“The same. I have your painting, Miss Petrosian, and you have only to come and collect it.”

“You have-”

“The Mondrian. It’s yours for a thousand dollars. I know that’s no money, a ridiculous sum, but I have to get out of town fast and I need every cent I can raise.”

“I can’t get to the bank until Monday and-”

“Bring what cash you can and a check for the balance. Get a pencil and write down the address and time. And don’t be early or late, Miss Petrosian, or you can forget all about the painting.”

“All right. Mr. Rhodenbarr? How did you find me?”

“You wrote down your name and number for me. Don’t you remember?”

“But the number-”

“Turned out to be that of a Korean fruit store on Amsterdam Avenue. I was disappointed, Miss Petrosian, but not surprised.”

“But-”

“But you’re listed in the book, Miss Petrosian. The Manhattan phone book, the white pages. I can’t be the first person to have called the fact to your attention.”

“No, but-but I didn’t give you my name.”

“You said Elspeth Peters.”

“Yes, but-”

“Well, with all due respect, Miss Petrosian, I wasn’t fooled. The way you hesitated when you gave your name, and then the wrong number, well, it was a dead giveaway.”

“But how on earth did you know my real name?”

“A bit of deduction. When amateurs select an alias, they almost always keep the same initials. And they very frequently choose as a last name some form of modified first name. Jackson, Richards, Johnson. Or Peters. I guessed that your real name began with a P, and that it very likely had the same root as Peters. Something about your features suggested further that you might be of Armenian descent. I pulled out the phone book, turned to the P-e-t’s, and looked for an Armenian-sounding name with the initial E.”

“But that’s extraordinary.”

“The extraordinary is only the ordinary, Miss Petrosian, with the addition of a little extra. That’s not mine, by the way. A grade-school teacher of mine used to say that. Isabel Josephson was her name, and as far as I know it was not an alias.”

“I’m only a quarter Armenian. And I’m said to take after my mother’s side of the family.”

“I’d say there’s a distinct Armenian cast to your features. But perhaps I just had one of those psychic flashes people are subject to now and then. It hardly matters. You want that painting, don’t you?”

“Of course I want it.”

“Then write this down…”

“Mr. Danforth? My name is Rhodenbarr, Bernard Grimes Rhodenbarr. I apologize for the lateness of the call, but I think you’ll excuse the intrusion when you’ve heard what I have to say. I have a couple of things to tell you, sir, and a question or two to ask you, and an invitation to extend…”