"You said they were probably going to call you before long."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Think about it, Matthew," Penny said, and then, a naughty look in her eyes, she put her hand to the towel around his waist and snatched it away.

"Jesus!" he said.

"You ever hear of first things first?" she said.

A very large man of about thirty-five who had been sitting with what the General Services Administration called a Chair, Metal, Executive, w/arms FSN 453 232234900 tilted as far back as it would go, and with his feet on what the GSA called a Desk, Metal, Office, w/six drawers, FSN 453 232291330, moved with surprisingly speed and grace when one of the three telephones on the desk rang, snatching the handset from the cradle before the second ring.

"Six Seven Three Nineteen Nineteen," he said.

"Mr. Larkin, please," the caller said.

"May I ask who's calling?" the large man said, then covered the microphone with his large hand. "For you, sir," he called.

Across the room, H. Charles Larkin, who had been lying, in fact half dozing, on what the GSA called a Couch, Office, Upholstered, w/ three cushions, FSN 453 232291009, pushed himself to an erect position. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:52.

"My name is Young, I'm the Criminal A-SAC, FBI, for Philadelphia."

"Young, FBI," the large man said, and took his hand off the microphone. "One moment, please, Mr. Young."

Larkin walked to the desk, grunting, his hand on the small of his back.

I'm getting old, he thought. Too old for that goddamned couch.

He took the phone from the large man.

"Hello, Frank."

"Charley, we have a name," Young said. "Matthews just called. That property is owned by Richard W. and Marianne Wheatley, husband and wife."

"Spell it, please," Larkin said, snatching a ballpoint pen extended in the hand of the large man.

"What about an address?" Larkin asked when he had written the name down.

"No. Just the address of the property."

"Damn!"

"And we've checked the Philadelphia area, plus Camden and Wilmington phone books. No Richard W. Wheatley."

"Maybe the Philadelphia cops can help," Larkin said. "Let me get back to you, Frank. Where are you?"

"I'm in the office about to go home. Let me give you that number. I've told our night guy what's going on."

Larkin wrote down Young's home phone number, and repeated, "Let me get back to you, Frank. And thank you."

He hung up, and turned to the large man.

"Get on the phone to Washington. Have them send somebody over to the Pentagon. Tell them that Richard W. and Marianne might be parents' names. Tell them to get me anything with Wheatley."

"You don't think the FBI will be on that?"

"I think they will, but I don't know they will," Larkin said sharply. "Just do it."

He took out his notebook, found Peter Wohl's home telephone number, and dialed it.

Detective Matthew M. Payne thought that one of the great erotic sights in the world had to be a blonde wearing a man's white shirt, and nothing else, especially when, whenever she leaned forward to help herself to the contents of one of the goldfish boxes from the Chinese Take-out, it fell away from her body and he could see an absolutely perfect breastworks.

"Here," Penny said, putting an egg roll in his mouth. "This is the last one. You can have one bite."

"Your generosity overwhelms me," Matt said.

"I try to please."

"Are you going to tell my sister that you came here and seduced me?"

"Meaning what?"

"You told her what happened in the Poconos."

"She's my shrink," Penny said. "She said I seemed very happy, and wanted to know why, so I told her. I didn't think she'd tell you!"

"She is convinced that I'm taking advantage of you."

"I can't imagine where she got that idea."

"She was pretty goddamned mad," Matt said.

"I'm pretty goddamned mad that she told you I told her."

"She's afraid that… that this won't be good for you."

"That's my problem, not hers. How did we get on this subject?"

"Penny, the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"Relax. I'm making no demands on you. But that does raise the question I've had in the back of my mind."

"Which is?"

"Have you got someone?"

"No," he said.

"I didn't think so," Penny said. "Otherwise you would have taken her to the Poconos."

She looked at him, and she was close enough to kiss, and he did so, tenderly.

The phone rang.

"Damn!" Penny said.

Please God, don't let that be Evelyn!

"Payne," Matt said to the telephone.

"We have a name," Peter Wohl said, without any preliminaries. " Just a name. Do you know where Tiny Lewis lives?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go pick him up, he'll be waiting, and then come to Chief Lowenstein's office in the Roundhouse."

"Yes, sir."

Wohl hung up.

Matt put the telephone down.

"I've been called."

"So I gathered."

He swung his legs out of the bed and went searching for underwear in his chest of drawers.

Penny watched him get dressed.

"You want to take me to the movies again, sometime?"

"Why not?" he asked.

"Would it be all right with you if I hung around here until the movie would be over?"

"Of course. There's anInquirer in the living room. Go look up what we saw, so we can keep our stories straight."

She got out of bed with what he considered to be a very attractive display of thighs and buttocks and went into the living room.

When he had tied his tie and slipped into a jacket he went after her.

"They're showingCasablanca for the thousandth time. How about us having seen that?"

"'Round up the usual suspects,'" he quoted. "Sure. Why not?"

He went to the mantelpiece and picked up his revolver and slipped it into a holster.

"I suppose that's what cops' wives go through everyday, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Watching their man pick up his gun and go out, God only knows where."

"You are not a cop's wife, and you are very unlikely to become a cop's wife."

"You said it," she said.

He went and bent and kissed her, intending that it be almost casual, but she returned it with a strange fervor that was somehow frightening.

"I'll call you," he said.

"Enjoy the movie," Penny said.

He went down the stairs.

Penny looked at the mantel clock and did the mental calculations. She had an hour and a half to kill, before she went home after an early supper and the movies.

She gave in to feminine curiosity and went around the apartment opening closets and cabinets, and when she had finished, she sat down in Matt's chair and read theInquirer.

The doorbell sounded.

"Damn!" she said aloud. "What do I do about that?"

She went to the solenoid button and pushed it and looked down the stairwell.

A woman came in, and looked up at her in surprise.

"Who are you?" Evelyn asked.

"To judge by the look on your face, I'm the other woman," Penny said. "Come on up, and we'll talk about the lying sonofabitch."