His gestures were a ballet, graceful and flowing. His expression was never in repose, but he smiled, frowned, grimaced, pursed those full lips, pouted, made little moues. He was, Delaney decided, a very scrutable Oriental.

"Dr. Ho," the Chief said, "about the blood… There's no doubt it's from a Caucasian female?"

"No doubt!" the doctor cried. "No doubt whatsoever!"

"Then what…?"

Dr. Ho leaned forward, looking at them in a conspiratorial manner. He held one pudgy forefinger aloft.

"That blood," he said in almost a whisper, "has a very high potassium count."

Delaney and Boone looked at each other. "Uh, doctor," the sergeant said, "what does that mean? I mean, what's the significance?"

Dr. Ho leaned back, crossed his little legs daintily. He stared at the ceiling.

"Ah, at the moment," he said dreamily, "it has no significance. It means only what I said: a high potassium count. But I must tell you I feel, I know, it has a significance, if only we knew what it was. Normal blood does not have such a high potassium level."

Edward X. Delaney was getting interested. He hitched his chair closer to Dr. Patrick Ho, got a whiff of the man's flowery cologne, and leaned hastily back.

"You're saying the potassium content of that blood is abnormal?"

"Ah, yes!" the doctor said, grinning, nodding madly. "Precisely. Abnormal."

"And what could cause the abnormality?"

"Oh, many things. Many, many things."

Again, Delaney and Boone glanced at each other. The sergeant's shoulders rose slightly in a small shrug.

"Well, doctor," Boone said, sighing, "I don't see how that's going to help our investigation."

Dr. Patrick Ho frowned, then showed his little teeth, then pouted. Then he leaned forward, began to speak rapidly.

"Ah, I have said I wish to be a detective. I am but a lowly scientist-let me speak the truth: I am but a lowly technician; nothing more-but in a way, I am a detective. I detect what can be learned from a drop of blood, a chip of paint, a piece of glass, a hair. And about this high-potassium blood, I have a suspicion. No, I have a-a-what is the word?"

"A hunch?" Delaney offered.

The doctor laughed with delight. "What a word! A hunch! Exactly. Something is wrong with this blood. The high potassium should not be there. So I would like to make a much more thorough analysis of this puzzling blood."

"So?" Sergeant Boone said. "Why don't you?"

Dr. Ho sighed deeply. His face collapsed into such a woebegone expression that he seemed close to tears. This time he held up two fingers. He gripped one by the tip. He talked around his shortened cigarette, tilting his head to keep the smoke out of his eyes.

"One," he said, "we are, of course, very busy. A certain amount of time must be allotted to each task. I have, at this moment, many things assigned to me. All must be accomplished. I would like to be relieved-temporarily, of course," he added hastily- "of everything but the detection of this strange blood. Second," he said, folding down one finger, switching his grip to the other, "second, I must tell you in all honesty that we do not have the equipment in our laboratory necessary for the subtle blood analysis I wish to make."

"And where is this equipment available?" Delaney asked.

"The Medical Examiner has it," Dr. Ho said sorrowfully.

"So?" Boone said again. "Ask them to do the analysis."

That expressive face twisted. "Ah," the doctor said in an anguished voice, "but then it is out of my hands. You understand?"

Delaney looked at him intently. This little man was trying to score points, to further his career. Nothing wrong with that. In fact, in the right circumstances, it might be admirable. But he also might be wasting everyone's time.

"Let me get this straight," the Chief said. "What you'd like is to be temporarily relieved of all your other duties and assigned only to the analysis of the blood found on the bathroom floor at the Hotel Adler. And then you'd like to use the machines or whatever in the Medical Examiner's office to make that analysis. Have I got it right?"

Dr. Ho slapped his plump thigh. His eyes glowed with happiness… briefly.

"Exactly," he said. "Precisely." Then his face fell; the glee disappeared. "But you must understand that between my section and the Medical Examiner's office there is, ah, I would not say bad feeling, oh no, but there is, ah… what shall I say? Competition! Yes, there is competition. Professional jealousy perhaps. A certain amount of secrecy involved. You understand?" he pleaded.

Indeed, Edward X. Delaney did understand. It was nothing new and nothing unusual. Since when was there perfect, wholehearted cooperation between the branches of any large organization, even if their aims were identical?

The FBI vs. local cops. The army vs. the air force. The navy vs. the Marines. The Senate vs. the House of Representatives. The federal government vs. the states. Infighting was a way of life, and it wasn't all bad. Competing jealousies were a good counter for smug indolence.

"All right," the Chief said, "you want us to get you assigned full time to this analysis and you want us to get the ME's office to cooperate. Correct?"

Dr. Patrick Ho bent forward from the waist, put a soft hand on Delaney's arm.

"You are a very sympathetic man," he said gratefully.

The Chief, who hated to be touched by strangers, or even by friends, jerked his arm away. He rose swiftly to his feet.

"We'll let you know, doctor. As soon as possible."

There was a round of half-bows and handshaking. They watched Dr. Ho dance from the room.

"A whacko," Sergeant Boone said.

"Mmm," Delaney said.

They slumped back in their chairs. They stared at each other.

"What do you think, Chief?"

"A long shot."

"I think it's a lot of bullshit," Boone said angrily. "Thorsen is the only man who could give Ho what he wants, and he'd have to pull a lot of strings and crack a lot of skulls to do it. I just don't have the juice."

"I understand that."

"But if I go to Thorsen with that cockamamie story of potassium in the blood, he'll think I'm some kind of a nut."

"That's true," Delaney said sympathetically. "On the other hand, if you turn him down cold, that crazy doctor is liable to go over your head. Then, if he gets action and it turns out to be something, your name is mud."

"Yeah," the sergeant said miserably, "I know."

"It may be nothing, but I think you should move on it."

"That's easy-" Boone started to say, then shut his mouth so abruptly that his teeth clicked. The Chief looked at him steadily.

"I know what you're thinking, sergeant-that I've got nothing to lose, but you have. I understand all that. But I don't think you can afford to do nothing. Look, suppose we do this… I'll call Thorsen and tell him the doctor came to see me, but you sat in on the meet. I'll recommend he gets Dr. Ho what he wants and I'll tell him you'll go along. That way the blame is on me if it turns sour. I couldn't care less. If it turns out to be something, you'll be on record as having been on it from the start."

Abner Boone thought it over.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Let's do it that way. Thanks, Chief."

Delaney tried to call Thorsen from Boone's office, but the Deputy Commissioner was in a meeting. The Chief said he'd try him later from home.

He waved so-long to the sergeant and walked home slowly through Central Park. It was a hot, steamy day, but he didn't take off his hat or doff his jacket. He rarely complained about the weather. He was constantly amazed at people who never seemed to learn that in the summer it was hot and in the winter it was cold.

As usual, Monica was out somewhere. He went upstairs to take off jacket, vest, and tie. Then he peeled off his sodden shirt and undershirt and wiped his torso cool with a soaked washcloth. He pulled on a knitted polo shirt of Sea Island cotton.