"Schell?" said Antony.

"If the teacher has it right, and it's a morpho, they're from South America. Why would a ship coming up from the south circle around to the sound to approach New York? Besides, with the temperature as it is, I doubt it would have made the flight in from the sound to wherever this town is. This has got to be Schell leaving his calling card," I said.

"Where the hell is Fort Solanga?" said Antony. "Ever hear of it?"

"No," I said, "but I bet the place he released the butterfly from has to be fairly close by."

"I've got the map in the car," he said.

A few minutes later, we were back at the kitchen table, Antony hunched over the map. "Fort Solanga," he said, "what kind of half-assed name is that?"

"You've got to give me a cigarette," I said. I couldn't sit still. Whereas earlier I'd been so depressed I could hardly think straight, a new nervous energy made my legs twitch beneath the table.

Antony reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his butts and the lighter. With his eyes still trained on the map, he handed them over. "Light me one too," he said.

Two cigarettes apiece later, he finally said, "Okay, we're in business. Fort fucking Solanga. Quick, get me a pencil before I lose it."

He took the pencil I got him from the office and circled the location, blowing a smoke ring at the same time. "It's out east a ways," he said. "Almost due north of King's Park up by the sound, south of a spot called Crab Beach."

"Tomorrow," I said, "we'll go out there. There's an address in the article for the kid who found the blue. We'll tell him we're biologists or something, slip him a buck, and get him to show us the exact place he bagged it."

That night, after dinner at the cottage, we sat around the table and sipped tumblers of the good stuff from the cloudy bottle. Morgan joined us and seemed to be in somewhat better spirits than she had that morning. Everyone was a little high with the promise that the article about the butterfly meant Schell was still alive.

Antony described how when he had collected the dead butterflies, a breeze from the rug-covered front door must have blown down the hall and entered the Bugatorium. "It was too slight for me to feel," he said, "but when I looked down at the table where I'd laid out the dead bugs, I saw their wings start to move, and for second, I thought they were coming back to life. I swear I thought it was some kind of ghost mess; like a miracle."

Sometime during the third round of drinks, Morgan said, "I've been thinking hard today about the past, and I remember my foster mother telling me one night when she was drunk that I had a brother. Actually, when I was very young, I might have met him."

"What about Agarias?" I asked. "Did his name ever come up?"

"I'm not sure, but again, when I was young, I remember a doctor coming to the house to see me. I thought it was just a regular checkup, but for a while he came quite often."

"I have a theory," I said.

"I know what you're going to say," she told me and held up her hand. "The person who left me the clues to where the bodies were was Merlin."

"Yes," I said. "The fellow you lived with in New York was killed the way Stintson and another researcher were killed. I'll bet Agarias was keeping an eye on you the whole time. He didn't like what you were doing, so he ended that relationship for you."

"I could almost thank him for that," she said.

"He followed you out to the island, kept tabs on you, but left you alone until recently, when he decided he needed your blood. Agarias's goons would drive by and send Merlin to the cabin to get you, but instead of breaking in and rousting the place, he'd leave you the notes about the bodies and the flowers and so forth."

"Why?" asked Antony.

"Maybe old Merlin isn't as stupid as Agarias wishes he was. Perhaps he'd overheard him telling one of his henchmen that you were his sister. Who knows?"

"Which would mean," said Morgan, "he knows what Agarias is up to."

"Exactly," I said. "Even if he's a monster, he may be a reluctant monster, but I wouldn't count on it. We have to remember that he gouged out Parks's eyes, broke the security guard's neck, and strangled the butler all in one night."

"He doesn't seem to have much affection for me," said Antony. "I'll tell you right now, if it comes down to it, I wouldn't hesitate to put his lights out."

"Antony, what you say, I understand. But I feel sorry for him a little bit," said Isabel.

"I'm glad you didn't know anything about him that night at the Parks place," said Antony.

Morgan started to cry, huge glistening tears running down her face.

"I'm sorry, Morgan," said Antony.

She reached over and patted his forearm. "It's not you. The whole thing is just so sad." Antony offered her a cigarette to make amends, and, I suppose, to prove she meant what she had told him, she sang him a couple of verses of "You Forgot Your Gloves."

After that, I needed another drink.

SWEATING THE KID

With another hit from the dregs of the cloudy bottle to cure the morning funk, Antony and I set out early for Schell's place. Once we were there, I took a bath and picked another suit this time, a double-breasted, gray pinstripe. Antony also bathed, applied some of his special tear-inducing cologne, and changed in order for us to make the best impression we could with the parents of the kid who'd found the butterfly. It was Saturday, so we knew he'd at least be out of school. Before nine, we were on our way to Fort Solanga.

Maybe it was on my mind from having recently dealt with Agarias, but I decided an Anglo face would be more convincing in this situation, so Antony led the way as we took the steps to the house on Clayton Road. He knocked on the door and a young boy of around ten with freckles and red hair answered.

Before speaking, the big man took his hat off. "Is this the residence of the remarkable young man who discovered the blue butterfly?" he asked.

"Yeah," said the kid. "It was me."

"May we please speak to your mother or father?" asked Antony.

The kid disappeared and a few minutes later came back with a woman in tow. She took one look at the two of us and her expression went south. "Yes?" she asked, looking as if it might not be a better idea to close and lock the door.

"I'm Professor Cramshaft from the Royal Academy of Butterflies, and this," he said pointing over his shoulder at me, "is Dr. San Francisco, our South American specialist."

"Hola," I said and bowed.

"Dr. San Francisco?" said the woman. It was evident she wasn't buying it. Antony must have sensed that too and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a five-dollar bill.

"At the academy, we're very interested in the butterfly that your son found. We were wondering if you would allow him to show us exactly where he located it."

The woman looked hesitant. Antony flashed the cash. "Of course, we'd be willing to offer a small fee for your trouble," he said.

"I don't know," said the woman.

Antony took out another five and held the two bills in one hand, flapping them slightly. Like some sleight of hand that Schell might pull off, the woman moved so fast I could hardly track it. Next I looked, she was holding the bills.

"Jimmie," she said. A second later, the kid reappeared. "Put your coat on and take these two professors out in the woods and show them where you found it."

"Yes, Mom," he said and went to get his coat.

The kid returned again, dressed for the outdoors. Even though the mother still had a sketchy look on her face, a deal was a deal, and she kissed the kid and told us she'd be watching from the back window. "If you want to buy it from us, we can make arrangements," she said.