“Yes.” He didn’t turn as he added, “We almost lost you, last time around.”

That was a surprise: I’d been so convinced that Mary Palmer would be foremost in his thoughts when it came to considering the Linares case that I’d clear forgotten that I’d had a pretty close brush with the Reaper during the same attack that’d left her dead-and so had Cyrus, a fact what I quickly reminded the Doctor of.

“Cyrus is a grown man,” he answered. “If he tells me he is willing to take the risks involved with this case, then that is his decision. God knows the Beecham affair should have given him a-point of reference…” He paused, then took in a very deep, tired breath and let it out in a slow hiss. “But you are a different case.”

I pondered the thing. “I never thought-I mean, I figured you’d be thinking of-”

“I know,” the Doctor answered. “It wouldn’t have been like you to think anything else. You haven’t had many years of believing that you’re important, Stevie. But you are. Mary was, too, I don’t have to tell you that. But she’s-gone now.” It was as much as he could bear to say about her, and more than he ever had, to me.

“Still doesn’t seem natural,” I said, letting the words out before I’d had time to think. “Not having her around.”

“No. And it never will.” The Doctor pulled out his watch and began to fiddle with it in a way that was strange for him: like he wasn’t sure just how to say what was on his mind. “I-do not expect to ever have children, Stevie. Of my own, I mean. But if I were to have a son-I could only wish that he would have your courage. In all ways.” He tucked the watch away. “I can’t let my actions put you in danger again.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I get that. But-” Words were becoming a problem for me, too. “But I was in danger my whole life. I mean, before I came to live with you. It ain’t that big of a thing-so long as there’s some kind of sensible reason for it. And this case-well, you seen that picture of the little girl. And it’s pretty obvious what could be hanging on the thing.” I stamped my foot once, lightly, trying to be clear. “I wouldn’t want to think that I kept you out of it, that’s all. The rest of them, they all know they need you. If I’m in the way, you can-I don’t know, ship me off someplace. But you oughtta help them. Because like Detective Sergeant Lucius said, this thing could get real big and real ugly.”

The Doctor smiled at that and gave me what you might call a scrutinizing look. “And when did he say that?”

I laughed a bit, knocking a fist lightly to my forehead. “Oh. Right. That would’ve been last night, I guess.”

“Ah.”

For what seemed quite a while but couldn’t actually have been more than a few minutes-not even enough time for Cyrus to finish up in the carriage house-we both just stood there, looking out at Stuyvesant Park. Then the Doctor said:

“The detective sergeants found the weapon this morning-did they tell you?”

I spun toward him in excitement. “No. Mr. Moore said there’d been developments, though. What was it, a piece of pipe?”

“Your old trademark,” the Doctor answered with a nod, pulling out his cigarette case. “It was under one of the benches around the Egyptian obelisk. They dusted for fingerprints and found several. There was also some blood on the thing, though it’s impossible to say who or even what it came from. Much work to be done in that area of forensics, I’m afraid…” He lit his cigarette, then blew smoke out the open window with a troubled but fascinated look on his face. “Who the devil would kidnap the daughter of a high Spanish official and then fail to capitalize on it in some way?”

A smile crept into my face. “Then you are going to help them.”

The Doctor sighed again. “I have a dilemma, it seems. I wouldn’t want you to have to be sent away, Stevie, yet I can’t be the agent of further threats to your safety.” He took another long drag off his cigarette. “Tell me-what would your solution to such a problem be?”

“Mine?”

“Yes. How do you think I should handle it?”

I groped for words. “You should-well, you should do what you’ve always done. Just be my friend. Trust that I know how to handle myself. Because I do.” I let out a small grunt of a laugh. “Good as the rest of you, anyway.”

The Doctor smiled, then walked over to tousle my hair lightly. “True enough. And stated with your usual respect for your elders.”

Then we heard the front door open and close, after which Cyrus came loping up the stairs. He paused when he saw me in the parlor, as if he thought that the conversation might be private; but the Doctor called him in.

“You may as well know, too, Cyrus,” he said, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray. “We seem to be reentering the detection business-that is, if you wish.”

Cyrus just nodded once. “Very much, sir.”

“You’ll keep an eye on our young friend here, won’t you?” the Doctor added. “It seems that he’s already been knocking about the city at all hours of the night with the detective sergeants.” The Doctor looked up from the ashtray to Cyrus. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?”

Cyrus only smiled, crossed his hands, and glanced at the floor. “I might know something about it, yes, Doctor.”

“I thought you might,” the Doctor answered, heading for the stairs. “Well… I, for one, intend to get some sleep. It may be in short supply soon.” He paused before heading upstairs and turned to us. “Do be careful-both of you. God knows where this thing will lead.”

Cyrus and I mumbled solemn pledges that we’d try to watch ourselves; but when the Doctor had disappeared up the stairs and into his bedroom, there was no way on earth we could keep ourselves from smiling.

CHAPTER 9

The Doctor telephoned Miss Howard, Mr. Moore, and the detective sergeants the next morning to inform them of his decision and to direct Miss Howard to set up a meeting with Señora Linares for that evening at Number 808 Broadway so that he could personally interview her. Miss Howard soon called back, saying she’d been able to schedule an appointment for 8:30. Then the Doctor withdrew into his study, to begin gathering his thoughts and assembling his research for the job ahead. He issued occasional orders to Cyrus and me, dispatching one or the other of us to various stores and libraries to track down books and journals. This activity nearly kept me from my own urgent mission of the morning: getting bets down for myself and Mr. Moore on the first real class horse race of the season, the Suburban handicap at the Coney Island Jockey Club’s track in Sheepshead Bay. But I juggled it all fine, and Mr. Moore and I finished the day with some very tidy winnings.

At about 7:45 in the evening, the Doctor announced that we’d better get ready to go, as he wanted to walk downtown. He claimed that it was on account of the fine weather, but I think he really felt much more nervous about going back to Number 808 than he’d expected to. The walk over to Broadway and then downtown did seem to calm him, though, and by the time we’d reached the old headquarters sunset was beginning, the rich golden color that spread over the rooftops making it hard to imagine that we were venturing into anything really dangerous.

Dr. Kreizler entered Number 808 much as the rest of us had two days earlier: slowly, cautiously, letting the memories take full effect before he made any definitive movement or statement. As the elevator carried us up to the sixth floor, silence abounded, though when the Doctor saw the sign that Miss Howard’d had painted on the door, he couldn’t help but laugh once quietly and shake his head.

“Sufficiently euphemistic, I should think,” he murmured. “Sara certainly knows her audience…”

Then it was inside, to find Miss Howard and the señora once again sitting in two of the easy chairs. Señora Linares wore the same black clothing, and her veil was up, showing that her wounds had healed only a little since the last time we saw her. She seemed very relieved to meet Dr. Kreizler, and as they spoke she opened up in a way she hadn’t when Mr. Moore and the Isaacsons had examined her. As for the Doctor, he stayed intensely focused on the visitor for most of the time, though his occasional quick glances around the room tipped me off to the fact that he was thinking about other things, too: things that weren’t far enough in the past yet to seem really finished.