“We had a fight, is what we had!” she said. “I told him I don’t play second fiddle to no twelve-year-old piece of trash-” She slammed her fist against the side of her forehead. “But now all my things are down there…”

I smiled a little. “All your things? Kat, you got two dresses, one coat, and a shawl-”

“And my papa’s old wallet!” she protested. “The one with my mother’s picture in it-that’s there, too!”

I gave her a straight look. “But that ain’t what’s makin’ this hard, right?” I touched her elbow, trying to get her to look at me. “He won’t give you any burny, will he?”

“Bastard!” she grunted, sobbing again. “He knows how much I need it now, he swore he’d never cut me off!” She finally glanced once into my eyes, real pathetically, then threw herself against me hard. “Stevie, I’m just about going out of my skull, I’m hurtin’ for it so bad.”

I put my arms around her shivering shoulders. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get inside-a little strong coffee’ll take some of the edge off of it.”

I got her up and half carried her to the front door of the Doctor’s house, where she paused once fearfully.

“They’re-all gone, right?” she said, looking up at the parlor windows. “I waited for ’em to go, I don’t want you gettin’ into no trouble-”

“They’re gone,” I said as reassuringly as I knew how. “But there wouldn’t be any trouble, anyway. The Doctor ain’t that way.”

She let out a doubtful little noise as we went inside.

I guided her to the kitchen and a mug of Cyrus’s coffee. Her eyes got wider as she began drinking it and taking the house in; and I’ll confess that, seeing the look in those eyes, my notion of bringing her to work for the Doctor resurfaced in my thoughts. So I took her on up to the parlor, to let her get the full effect of the place. Strengthened by the strong coffee, she began to move around more bravely and even smiled, amazed at all the wondrous and beautiful things the Doctor owned-and even more amazed that I lived in such a place.

“He must work you to the bone,” she said, opening the silver cigarette case on the marble mantel.

“It ain’t the work that’s tough,” I said, sitting in the Doctor’s chair like I was lord of the house. “He makes me study.”

“Study?”Kat said, her face filling with near disgust. “What the hell for?”

I shrugged. “Says if I ever want to live in a house like this, that’s what’s gonna get me there.”

“Who’s he kiddin’?” she answered. “I bet it wasn’t studyin’ that got him here.”

I just shrugged again, not wanting to admit that the Doctor came from money.

“I can see why you like it so much, though,” Kat went on, looking around. “Beats hell out of Hudson Street, that’s for sure.”

At the sound of those words a thought suddenly occurred to me, a thought that maybe should’ve jumped into my head as soon as I saw Kat, if only worrying about her hadn’t, as usual, scrambled my mind up so much.

“Kat,” I said slowly, considering the thing, “how long you been spending time at the Dusters’ joint?”

She sat down in the big easy chair across from me, holding her arms into her like she was cold and then shrugging as she sipped at her coffee. “Dunno-maybe a month or so. First met Ding Dong about then, anyways.”

“You know pretty much who comes in and outta there, then, I guess, right?”

She shrugged again. “The regulars, sure. But you know that place, Stevie, they got swells from all over town slummin’ every night. Half the city’s been through there at some point or other.”

“But the regulars-you would recognize them?”

“Probably. Why do you wanna know?” She got up and moved over to me. “What’s that look on your face, Stevie? You’re actin’ so odd all of a sudden.”

I just stared at the carpet for a few seconds, then grabbed her hand. “Come on with me.”

Making for the staircase, I half dragged Kat up to the Doctor’s office. The drapes were still drawn in the dark-paneled room, and it was hard to make anything out clearly. I tripped a couple of times on my way to the window, and when I gave the drapery cord a good tug I saw that it was still more piles of books what had waylaid me: the study was an even bigger mess than it’d been the previous week.

Kat glanced around, frowning and wiping at her nose. “This room don’t do much for me,” she said, mystified and put off. “What’s he want with so many damned books, anyway?”

I didn’t answer; I was too busy going through papers on the Doctor’s desk, looking for something, hoping that the detective sergeants had left at least one copy-

I found it lying underneath a thick book by Dr. Krafft-Ebing: one of the photographed copies of the sketch that Miss Beaux had done of Nurse Hunter.

Moving it closer to the light that came in through the sheer white curtains that still covered the windows, I signaled to Kat that she should join me.

“You ever seen this lady?” I asked, showing her the picture.

Her face filled with recognition right away. “Sure,” she said. “That’s Libby.”

“Libby?”

“Libby Hatch. One of Goo Goo’s molls,” she went on, referring to Goo Goo Knox, the leader of the Dusters. Kat’s face twisted up in that way it did when she didn’t understand something, like her nose’d been attached to a drill bit. “What the hell’s your doctor pal doin’ with a picture of Libby? A good one, too.”

“Libby Hatch,” I said quietly, looking out the window for a few seconds-enough time to realize that, as Miss Howard had said the day before, this whole thing was a lot more complicated than it’d originally looked.

Again I grabbed Kat’s hand. “Come on!”

She flew along behind me like a rag doll as I ran back for the door, then spun round again and headed back to the desk, slapping open a leather-bound book of addresses and telephone numbers what the Doctor kept on it. “Stevie!” Kat said. “Do you think you could quit yanking me around like that? I ain’t exactly feeling athletic, you know!”

“Sorry,” I said, opening the book to the “I” section with one hand, finding a number, and then charging back to the door with Kat still in tow.

“Ow!” she cried. “Stevie, are you listening to me at all?”

I didn’t answer as we shot back down to the kitchen, then through to the pantry. Finally letting go of Kat’s hand, I grabbed hold of the telephone’s receiver and mouthpiece. In a couple of seconds I had an operator on the line, and I gave her the number of the detective sergeants’ house, or rather, their parents’ house, what was located down on Second Street between First and Second Avenues, next to the old Marble Cemetery and not far from two or three synagogues.

The phone on the other end rang, and a woman’s voice answered, yelling into the thing the way people who still considered it a fantastic invention were like to do.

“Hallo?” the woman said, through a thick accent. “Who ist da?”

“Yes,” I answered, “I’d like to speak to one of the detective sergeants, please.”

Kat took a step back, looking worried. “Stevie-you ain’t callin’ the cops on me?” As usual, her first calculation was that anything what happened had something to do with her.

“Relax,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s-business.” I liked the feeling of being able to tell her that. “Go get yourself some more coffee. We got an icebox, too, if you want-”

I stopped when I realized that the woman on the phone was yelling at me. “Detective sergeant-vat vun? Lucius or Marcus?”

“Hunh? Oh. Either, it don’t-it doesn’t matter.”

“Marcus iss not here! Headqvarters! I get Lucius! Who ist-whom ist calling?”

“Just tell him it’s Stevie.”

“Stevie?” she repeated, not sounding too impressed. “Stevie who? Stevie vat?”

I was getting a little impatient. “Doctor Stevie!” I said, raising a small laugh out of Kat, who’d gone to investigate the food in the new icebox.