The big study window looked down on a dark harbor with a T-shaped dock. There were lights on the dock. Some sailboats were anchored or moored farther out; they seemed to be floating in mist. A power cruiser with a broad, square stern displaying twin exhausts and the name Osprey lay along the stem of the T; and a big white schooner was tied across the far end. Apparently the Freya had been brought out of hiding after the story in the paper. A lighted porthole indicated that somebody was on board. Well out beyond the harbor, an arching chain of lights hung over the mist, reaching off across the Bay.

"I hate that damn Bay Bridge," Robin Rosten said abruptly. "We used to have a ferry, you know. It was picturesque and-well nice. They wrecked my farm, some of the best land in the state, to build that bridge right after the war. You didn't know I was a farmer, did you, Jim?"

"No," I said. "I didn't know."

"I was, though. Louis couldn't understand that; he thinks when you have money all you ought to do is sit back and spend it. He couldn't understand why I wanted to go around in boots, smelling like a barn. I had a beautiful dairy farm north of here; and they ran their approach highway right through the middle of it. Four lanes of concrete and a fence. They wouldn't even let us cross it. We had to go halfway to town to use the north pasture, which wasn't really practical. You don't know why I'm telling you this, do you?"

"No," I said. I put my hands on her shoulders. "But you go right ahead and tell me. I'm listening."

"Easy," she murmured without turning her head. "Take it very easy, Jim. I don't like to be mauled."

"Nobody's mauling you," I said. "I wouldn't maul you." She laughed. "You have a very short memory."

"That's different," I said.

"You're a horrible man."

"Sure."

"I still haven't got all the sand out of my hair. How did you know I wouldn't call the police?"

"Some chances you've got to take. 1 thought you'd rather deal, one way or another. It was a gamble."

"What would you have done if I had called them?"

"I had a story to tell."

"I know. I saw the way you left my shoes and purse on the beach."

"There was this crazy society dame, see, who got drunk and tried to drown herself. Petroni just happened along in time to fish her out."

"It's a ridiculous story."

"Maybe. I had answers to most of the questions, not good, but good enough. I've got people who'll hire lawyers for me, as good as yours. It would have been your word against mine. And afterwards you'd have got another phone call. And if you'd sent the maid with a snotty message this time, well, the rich Mrs. Rosten might just kind of managed to bump herself off on the second try. I was laying the ground work, you might say."

"You're a dreadful person," she said. "Leave my zipper alone, darling. I don't like to be picked at." She reached back and caught my hands and brought them forward, and leaned back against me, inside the circle of my arms, holding my hands to her breasts. "There's a cheap thrill for you, you despicable creature," she said without turning her head.

There wasn't anything under my hands but Robin Rosten and some lace. It was, let's say, a disturbing sensation, even for a man as devoted to his country's interests, as dedicated to his mission, as that grim, implacable undercover operative, Matthew Helm.

I cleared my throat and said, "Which brings up the question, why does the aristocratic Mrs. Rosten, instead of simply having him arrested, invite a nasty hoodlum into the house to fondle her tits."

She stiffened against me. "Don't be coarse." Then she laughed and relaxed. "I like you, Petroni. You've got a refreshing directness. And you don't pretend to be something you aren't."

Here was another woman telling me I wasn't pretending, sincerely or otherwise. I remembered something else Teddy Michaelis had said. I'd have to put the kid straight. She'd done the older woman an injustice. They weren't spectacularly large, but they'd certainly be missed.

"Everybody likes Petroni," I said. "You haven't answered my question."

"You know the answer."

"You want to know who hired me," I said. "And you didn't think the police would get it out of me. Smart girl. But I told you at the cove, I've got principles."

"Still?" she murmured, warm in my arms.

"Cut it out," I said. "You're making the mistake dames always make. They all think their bodies have got something to do with business."

She was silent for a moment; then her soft laughter came again. "Rebuked, by God! Petroni, you're wonderful! It was Louis, wasn't it?" I didn't say anything, and she went on, "Oh, don't bother to deny it. He was pretty obvious about picking a quarrel with me so I'd drive off alone. And I saw his face when I came home. He'd never expected to see me alive again; he was absolutely petrified. He's off getting drunk right now, recovering from the shock. He'd have betrayed himself right there if that odd little girl, Michaelis' idiot child, hadn't managed to spill whisky all over herself, gawking. That gave him time to recover, helping to mop her off. You know Louis. If the world was coming to an end, he still wouldn't pass up the chance to pat a pretty girl with a paper towel."

"You know Louis," I said. "I didn't say I knew Louis."

She patted my hands lightly, and lifted them away, disengaging herself. "I think that's enough erotic stimulation for the moment. Where's my drink?"

"Where you left it," I said. "Erotic stimulation. That's fancy for kicks? I'll have to remember it."

"I didn't think Louis would have the nerve to kill me," she said, moving towards the coffee table. "Or even hire someone to have it done. Of course, he's been acting strangely of late, ever since Norman disappeared. I wonder."

She gave me my glass as I came up. I took it and said, "Thanks. I still haven't said anything."

She smiled, raising her own glass to me. "Keep your damn principles. I know it was Louis. The only question is why."

"I'm not saying one way or another. But if he did want you killed, I could think of a reason."

"Money?" She shook her head. "Louis wouldn't kill for money. Oh, I don't mean he doesn't like it; but he's even more cowardly than he's greedy. He's a rat; he'll only bite if he's cornered and scared, really scared."

"That's a hell of a way to talk about your own husband."

She ignored the comment. "Louis has been scared ever since we found Norman's boat empty; scared I'd noticed something, I guess. Only it goes back farther. I think dear Louis has got himself involved in something big and dangerous, so big and dangerous he has to kill his way out. Did he ever mention Mendenhall to you?"

"Mendenhall?" I said. "What's that? And who's Norman?"

"Mendenhall used to be the family estate; it's part of a restricted Marine training area now. Norman was-is a friend of mine. He vanished mysteriously some weeks ago. Louis must have told you."

"Don't be clever. Why should he tell me and when? For the record, I've only seen your damn husband a couple of times in my life, and talked to him, never. What about this Mendenhall place?"

"The government took it away from me," she said. "We talk big about how bad they have it over there, with the dirty communists and their tyranny; and all the time we've got our own little bureaucratic tyrants right here, with their confiscatory income taxes and ruthless condemnation proceedings. Well, never mind all that. The funny thing is, Louis was almost as upset as I was when it happened, although he doesn't give a damn about the family. He's been fascinated by Mendenhall for years, for some reason, particularly the island-"

"The island?" I couldn't help asking the question. "What island?"

She didn't seem to notice that I'd stepped Out of character, if I had. "Well, it wasn't originally an island," she said. "Originally, when the land was first settled, it was a peninsula, a long, wooded point of land; and the first house was built out there among the pines, facing the little bay. Then the land gradually washed away, and even the big house