The senior security officer on duty in the shack when the Porsche Carrera rolled up was a retired soldier who had spent twenty years in the Corps in the military police. His retirement pay wasn't going as far as he'd thought it would, and since he had enlisted at seventeen and retired at thirty-eight, he'd still been a young man who wanted to work.

Wachenhut had been glad to have him, assigned him- with a raise in pay-to Stockton Place after only six months on the job, and made him a supervisor eighteen months after he had joined the firm. His superiors thought he would be capable of handling the sometimes delicate Stockton Place assignment, and he had proven them right.

When the silver Porsche Carrera slowed as it approached the barrier, the senior security officer on duty nodded at it, then spoke softly to the trainee.

"Now this guy doesn't look like he's either about to break into an apartment, or try to sell something. Very few burglars drive cars like that. So you smile at him, ask him who he wishes to see, and then for his name. Then you say 'Thank you very much, sir,' raise the barrier, and call whoever he said he's going to see and tell them he's coming."

"Got it," the trainee said, and stepped out of the guard shack.

"Good evening, sir," he said to the driver. "How may I help you?"

"Matthew Payne to see Mr. Nesbitt," Matt said.

"Thank you, sir," the trainee said, and stepped inside the guard shack, and pushed the button that raised the barrier. Before the Porsche was past the barrier, the Wachenhut supervisor was on the interior telephone.

"Like this," he said, and then when the phone was answered, said, "This is the gate. We have just passed a Mr. Payne to see Mr. Nesbitt."

Matt pulled the Porsche to the curb in front of Number 9, got out, walked to the red-painted door, and pushed the doorbell.

The door was opened almost immediately by Mr. Nesbitt IV, who looked very much like Matt Payne but a little shorter and a little heavier.

"Hello, you ugly bastard," he said. Then he raised his voice. "Dump the dope! The cops are here!"

Then he embraced Matt.

"Thanks for coming. And for Christ's sake, behave yourself. "

The ground floor foyer of Number 9 was open to a skylight in the roof, invisible from the street. To the right was the door to the elevator, and to the left the door to the stairs. There were balconies on the first and second floors of the atrium.

Mrs. Chadwick T. Nesbitt IV, the former Daphne Elizabeth Browne, known for most of her life as "Daffy," a tall, attractive blonde, appeared on the upper balcony, looked down, smiled, and called, "Matt, how nice! Come up."

Matt and Chad got on the elevator, and when the door closed, and he was reasonably sure he couldn't be heard, Matt asked, " 'How nice'? Is she into the sauce?"

Chad laughed.

"Looketh not ye gift horse in ye mouth," he said.

The elevator stopped, and the door opened, revealing the living room of the apartment. Floor-to-ceiling tinted glass walls provided a view of the Delaware River, the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, and on the New Jersey shore, mounted on now-disused buildings, a huge illuminated sign showing a steaming bowl of soup and the legend "Nesfoods Delivers Taste and Nutrition!"

Daffy Nesbitt kissed Matt on the cheek, then turned and cried, "Terry, this is Chad's and my oldest friend in the world."

Sitting on the thickly carpeted floor with Miss Penelope Alice Nesbitt, aged twenty-two months, was Terry Davis.

She smiled at Matt's pleased surprise.

Matt looked at Mrs. Nesbitt.

"Get it over with, Daffy," he said.

"Get what over with?"

"Whatever you're going to say next in the mistaken belief that it will either be clever or terribly amusing."

"Hey, Matt, she's being nice," Chad said.

"That's what worries me," Matt said.

"Hello, again," Terry said.

"Again?" Daffy asked.

"We met this morning," Terry said.

"I'd tell Daffy we had breakfast together, but she would read something into that," Matt said, smiling at Terry.

"Now who's being clever and terribly amusing, you prick?" Daffy snapped.

"Daffy, please, try to control your vulgarity in front of my goddaughter," Matt said, unctuously.

Terry Davis laughed.

"Is she really?" she asked. "Your goddaughter?"

"Yeah," Matt said.

"She's adorable."

"Yeah."

"What do you mean you had breakfast?" Daffy asked.

"At the Ritz-Carlton, no less," Matt said.

"Anybody for a drink?" Chad asked.

"You got any champagne?" Matt asked.

"You hate champagne," Daffy said.

"Not on those days on which I get promoted, I don't," Matt said. "But I'll settle for scotch."

"Promoted to what?" Daffy asked.

"To sergeant, thank you for asking."

"No shit! Hey, good for you, Matt!" Chad said. He went behind a wet bar and came up with a bottle of champagne. "I knew there was one in here."

"Terry," Daffy said, "Matt is a police officer."

"I know. 'One of Philadelphia's finest,' " Terry said.

"Who said that?" Daffy asked in disbelief.

"The monsignor. What was his name?"

"Schneider," Matt said. "I think he's a closet cop groupie."

He dropped to the carpet and picked up the toddler, and tickled her.

She shrieked in delight.

"Matt, you know you're not supposed to do that with her," Daffy said.

"She obviously hates it," Matt said. "What have you got against tickling?"

He nonetheless handed the child to Terry and got up.

"It hyperexcites her," Daffy said.

"Oh," Matt said.

The champagne cork popped, and Matt walked to the wet bar and took a glass, then handed it to Terry.

"Thank you," she said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said, and turned to Daffy. "Yes, thank you very much, I'd love to."

"You'd love to what?"

"Stay for supper," Matt said.

"Would you believe, wiseass, that Chad tried to call you to ask you to supper? He said they said you were out of town, and they didn't know when you'd be back," Daffy said.

"I talked to him, but I didn't know if he could make it," Chad said. "So I didn't tell you."

"Daffy has this terrible habit of offering me up to the ugliest women," Matt said. "I think they pay her."

"That's what I thought she was doing to me when she said someone was coming she really wanted me to meet," Terry said. "You're not nearly as ugly as I thought you would be."

"Then you can't ask for your money back, can you?"

Terry laughed.

"You really are a bastard, aren't you?" she asked.

He took a second glass of champagne from Chad, then, making a show of thinking it over carefully, shrugged and handed it to Daffy.

"In these circumstances, I will give you a walk," he said.

"Which means what?"

"That tonight I will not wring your neck for playing cupid," Matt said. "Half the police department already knows I'm in love with Terry."

"Damn you, you're embarrassing Terry!"

"Are you embarrassed, Terry?" Matt asked.

"I'm still having trouble getting used to the idea that you're a policeman," she said. "And that you showed up here. Did you know I was here?"

"Of course. I had you under surveillance from the time you left the Savoy-Plaza. That man in the overcoat who exposed himself to you on Broad Street? One of my better men."

Terry laughed.

"Baloney!" she said.

"I'll prove it to you. He has a camera… delicacy forbids my telling where. I'll send you a print."

He mimed opening an overcoat, focused his hips, and then mimed pushing a shutter cord.

"Say 'Cheese.' Click. Gotcha!"

Chad laughed.

"Oh, God!" Terry said.

"I can't believe you did that!" Daffy said.

"But you're smiling, Daffy darling!"

"We thought we'd eat in," Daffy said, quickly changing the subject. "Terry has to be at the airport at eleven-thirty. I bought some shrimp at the Twelfth Street Market, but Monday the cook is off."