"Some people get all the breaks," he said. "Where did you find it?" "In the pocket of my sweater-the one I was wearing on the night of Andy's accident. The sweater dipped in his blood, and I rolled it up in a ball and stuffed it on a closet shelf. My cleaning woman found it this weekend, and that's when the twenty dollar bill came to light." "Where did it come from?" "I picked it up in Andy's workroom." "You mean you found money at the scene of the accident? And you picked it up? Didn't you realize it might be an important clue?" Mary shrugged and looked appealingly guilty. "Banker's child," she explained.

"Was it folded?" She nodded.

"How was it folded?" "Lengthwise — and then in half." "Did Andy fold his money that way?" "No, He used a billfold." Qwilleran turned his head suddenly, "Koko! Get away from that lamp!" The cat had crept onto the table and was rubbing his jaw against the wick regulator of the lamp decorated with pink roses. At the same moment Qwilleran felt a flicker of awareness in the same old place, and he smoothed his moustache with the stem of his pipe.

"Mary," he said, "who were the people who were coming to look at the light fixture?" "I don't know. Andy merely said a woman from the suburbs was bringing her husband to approve it before she bought it." Qwilleran leaned forward in his Morris chair, "Mary, if Andy was getting the chandelier down from the ceiling when he fell, it means that the customers had already okayed it! Andy was getting the thing down so they could take it with them! Don't you see? If the accident was genuine, it means the suburban couple were in the store when it happened, Why didn't they call the police? Who were they? Were they there at all? And if not, who was there?" Mary looked guilty again. "I guess it's all right to tell you — now…. When I went to Andy's shop to apologize, I went twice, The first time I peeked in and saw him talking with someone, so I made a hasty retreat and tried again later." "Did you recognize the person?" "Yes, but I was afraid to let anyone know I had seen anything." "What did you see, Mary?" "I saw them arguing — Andy and C. C. And I was afraid C. C. might have seen me. You have no idea how relieved I was when I heard about his accident this morning. That's a terrible thing to say, I know." "And you've been living in fear of that guy! Did he give you any reason to be?" "Not actually, but… that's when the mysterious phone calls started." "I knew it!" Qwilleran said. "I knew there was something fishy about that call the other night. How of ten — ?" "About once a week — always the same voice — obviously disguised. It sounded like a stage whisper — raspy — asthmatic." "What was said?" "Always something stupid and melodramatic. Vague hints about Andy's death. Vague predictions of danger. Now that C. C. is gone, I have a feeling the calls will stop." "Don't be too sure," Qwilleran said. "There was a third person in Andy's shop that night-the owner of that twenty dollar bill. C. C. used a billfold and filed his currency flat. Someone else… I wonder how Ben Nicholas folds his money?" "Qwill — " "Would a woman ever fold a bill lengthwise?" "Qwill," she said earnestly, "you're not serious about this, are you? I don't want any official interest to be revived in Andy's death." She said it bluntly and confronted him squarely.

"Why do you say that?" Her eyes wavered. "Suppose you continued to investigate… and suppose you found an answer that pointed to murder… you would report it, wouldn't you?" "Of course." "And there would be a trial." Qwilleran nodded.

"And because I found the body, I would have to testify, wouldn't I? And then my position would be exposed!" She slid out of the rocking chair and knelt on the floor at his side. "Qwill, that would be the end of everything I live for! The publicity — my father-you know what would happen!" He put aside his pipe, and it fell on the floor. He studied her face.

"It's the newspapers I'm afraid of!" she said. "You know how they are about names. Anything for a name! Leave matters the way they are," she begged. "Andy's gone. Nothing will bring him back. Don't make any more inquiries. Qwill.

Please!" She reached for his hands and stared at him with eyes wide and pleading. "Please do it for me." She bent her head and rubbed her smooth cheek against the back of his hand, and Qwilleran quickly raised her face to his.

"Please, Qwill, tell me you'll drop the whole matter." "Mary, l don't…" "Qwill, please promise." Her lips were very close. There was a breathless moment. Time stood still. Then they heard: "Grrrowrrr… yeowww!" Then a hissing: "Hhhhhhh!" "Grrrowrrr! Ow!!" "KOKO!" shouted the man.

"Ak-ak-ak-ak-ak!" "Yum Yum!" "GRRRRR!" "Koko, quit that!"

16

Qwilleran dreamed about Niagara Falls that night, and when the tumult of the cataract succeeded in waking him, he glanced about wildly in his darkened room. There was a roar of water — a rushing, raging torrent. Then, with a gasp and a choking groan, it stopped.

He sat up in his swan bed and listened. In a moment it started again, somewhat less deafening than in his dream — a gushing, swishing whirlpool, followed by a snort, a shuddering groan, a few final sobs, and silence.

Gradually the source of the noise penetrated his sleep- drugged mind. Plumbing! The aged plumbing of an old house! But why was it flushing in the night? Qwilleran swung his legs out of bed and staggered to the bathroom.

He switched on the light. There, balancing on the edge of the baroque bathtub, was Koko, with one paw on the porcelain lever of the old-fashioned toilet, watching the swirling water with an intent, nearsighted gaze. Yum Yum I was sitting in the marble washbowl, blinking her eyes at the sudden brightness. Once more Koko stepped on the lever and stared in fascination as the water cascaded, churned, gurgled, and disappeared.

"You monkey!" Qwilleran said. "How did you discover that gadget?" He was unsure whether to be peeved at the interruption of his sleep or proud of the cat's mechanical aptitude. He lugged Koko, squalling and writhing, from the bathroom and tossed him on the cushions of the Morris chair. "What were you trying to do? Resurrect Yum Yum's mouse?" Koko licked his rumpled fur as if it had been contaminated by something indescribably offensive.

Daylight in a menacing yellow-gray began to creep over the winter sky, devising new atrocities in the form of weather. While opening a can of minced clams for the cats, Qwilleran planned his day. For one thing, he wanted to find out how Ben Nicholas folded his money. He also wished he knew how that red feather had transferred from a tweed porkpie to a silk tophat. He had asked Koko about it, and Koko had merely squeezed one eye. As for the avalanche, Qwilleran had discussed it with Mary, and she had a glib explanation: "Well, you see, the attic in Ben's building is used for sleeping rooms, and it's heated." He had not exactly promised Mary that he would drop his unofficial investigation. He had been on the verge of promising when Koko created that commotion. Afterwards, Qwilleran had simply said, "Trust me, Mary. I won't do anything to hurt you," and she had become nicely emotional, and altogether it had been a gratifying evening. She had even accepted his Christmas Eve invitation. She said she would go to the Press Club as Mary Duxbury — not as Mary Duckworth, junk dealer — because the society writers would recognize her.

Qwilleran still faced a dilemma, however. To drop his investigation was to shirk his own idea of responsibility; to pursue it was to hurt Junktown, and this neglected step- child of City Hall needed a champion, not another antagonist.

By the time the junk shops opened and Qwilleran started his rounds, the weather had devised another form of discomfort: a clammy cold that chilled the bones and hovered over Junktown like a musty dishrag.