She looked up briefly. “He didn’t take offense. Instead-well, I don’t know if you’ve met him in person, but he can have a great deal of charm, and he exercised it on me. I also was-relieved-that he didn’t start haranguing me as a race traitor, or something of that ilk, as people do sometimes when you don’t go in lockstep with them. He said he would leave the door open for further discussions.”

“And has he?” I prodded, when she stopped.

“He called me this morning and said he would take it as a favor if I would overlook his having asked me for the material. He said it had been out of line for him, and he was embarrassed to think that I might have thought of him as a man who would behave with such little attention to ethics.”

She turned her head away. “Now that I’m here, this seems-you know someone stole all my research notes.”

“And you’re worrying whether he might have engineered the theft? And that he’s called to ask you to lay off because he already has what he needs?”

She nodded, miserable, still unable to look at me. “When he called this morning, I was only annoyed. I thought, How gullible do you believe I really am, although I didn’t say it.”

“You want my professional opinion? Just with that bit of information-I’d agree with you. You see an empty cream jug and a cat licking its whiskers-you don’t need to be Marie Curie to add two and two together. But there’s another little wrinkle on this.”

I told her about Rossy and Durham talking in the middle of Tuesday afternoon’s demonstration and Durham going up to Rossy’s apartment an hour later. “I’ve wondered if Ajax was trying to buy off Durham. Now-your news makes me wonder if Durham was trying to blackmail Rossy. Was there anything in the data that Edelweiss would pay blackmail to keep quiet?”

“I didn’t see anything that struck me as that kind of secret. Nothing on Holocaust files, for instance, or even a serious slavery exposure. But there were hundreds of pages of archives, things I copied that I thought I might look at later for a different project, for instance. I’d have to be able to see them. And of course I can’t.” She turned her head so I wouldn’t see the tears of frustration.

Durham and Rossy. What had brought them together? Posner had said it was only after he had started demonstrating outside Ajax that Durham began his campaign-but that didn’t prove anything except Durham ’s flair for the limelight.

I leaned forward. “You’re a trained thinker. I told you yesterday what’s been going on around here. Now Durham ’s demonstration has completely stopped. He was a big presence at the Ajax building last week and up to Tuesday afternoon, when Rossy spoke to him. I called his office: they say they’re pleased that Ajax blocked the Holocaust Asset Recovery Act since it didn’t include an African slave reparations section. So they’re putting their demonstrations on hold.”

She flung up her hands. “It could be that simple. I suppose it could have nothing to do with my papers at all. I see it’s a complicated problem. I’m sorry to say that I have another appointment-I’m teaching a seminar at the Newbery Library at seven-but if you can give me one of the photocopies I’ll study it later. If something occurs to me, I’ll call you.”

I walked out with her, locking everything carefully. I brought the photocopies I’d made along with the two books themselves. I wanted Max to look at the material to see if he understood the German. The original might be easier for him to decipher than a photocopy.

I stopped at home to collect Ninshubur from the dryer. The little dog was still slightly damp, and he was a paler blue than he used to be, but the stains around his head and left side were almost gone: a week of being dragged around by a child would soon mix enough dirt into his fur to make the faint line of blood unnoticeable. Before I left, I tried Rhonda Fepple again, but she was either still out, or not up to answering the phone. I left my name and cell-phone number a second time.

I was getting into my car when I decided to go upstairs to my safe for my Smith & Wesson. Someone was shooting guns awfully close to me. If they started firing right at me, I wanted to be able to shoot back.

As I drove north, I turned on the local news. Police were anxious to speak to the woman who had admitted paramedics to the home of a Lincoln Park shooting victim.

She told paramedics she was a family friend but didn’t give a name. By the time police arrived to investigate the crime scene, she had fled, shedding the navy service coverall she was wearing. It’s possible she belonged to a cleaning service and surprised a robbery in progress, since no obvious valuables were missing. The police are not releasing the name of the victim, who is in critical condition following surgery to remove a bullet from his heart.

Dang. Why hadn’t I thought to say I was with a cleaning service? My navy coverall had been perfect for it. Hopefully the paramedics thought I was an illegal immigrant who had fled to avoid revealing my papers to the cops. Hopefully I hadn’t left my prints on anything. Hopefully the person who had shot Paul hadn’t been hanging around the house when I walked up to it.

To my surprise, when I got to Max’s, not only was Michael Loewenthal there but also Carl Tisov-and Lotty. The strain was still evident in the lines around Lotty’s mouth and forehead, but she and Carl actually seemed to be laughing together.

Agnes Loewenthal greeted me exuberantly. “I know I shouldn’t be so pleased that someone’s lying in hospital, but I’m ecstatic-Christmas and my birthday tied up in one gorgeous package. And Michael here to enjoy it with us.”

Carl bowed to me with an extravagant flourish and handed me a glass of champagne. They were all drinking, except Lotty, who seldom touches alcohol.

“You came with Michael?” I asked.

He nodded. “Max is after all my oldest friend on the planet. If anything happened-well, a child is more important than one concert more or less. And Lotty even decided the same thing about one operation more or less. Then we got here and found we could relax, that that delusional menace won’t be around again, at least not while the little one is here.”

Before I could respond, Calia hurled herself into the living room, yelling, “Give me my Ninshubur!” Agnes promptly went to her, urging her to display a few manners.

I pulled the dog from my briefcase. “Your little puppy had a big adventure today. He saved a man’s life, and he had to have a bath: he’s still a bit damp.”

She grabbed the dog from me. “I know, I know, he jumpted into the river and carried the princess to safety. He’s wet because ‘Ninshubur, the faithful hound, leapt from rock to rock, heedless of any danger.’ Did that bad man take his collar? Where are his tags like Mitch? Now Mitch won’t know him.”

“I took off his collar to give him his bath. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“You’re bad, Aunt Vicory, you stoled Ninshubur’s collar.” She butted my leg.

“Aunt Vicory is good,” Agnes remonstrated. “She went to a lot of trouble to get your little dog back. I want to hear you say thank you.”

Calia ignored her, running around the room like a demented bumblebee, bouncing off furniture, off Michael, off me, and off Tim, who had appeared with a tray of sandwiches. Excitement over the sudden arrival of her father, whom she hadn’t expected to see for some time, and excitement over the day’s events had sent her completely over the top. At any rate, she didn’t need my explanation of why her dog was damp and stained-it fit perfectly with the story of the faithful hound.

Michael and Agnes tolerated her antics for about three minutes before marching upstairs with her to the nursery suite. When they had gone, Max asked for a detailed capitulation of the events around Paul’s shooting. I told him everything, including the frightening display devoted to himself and his family in Paul’s closet.