"No, I was still rounding up witnesses, why?"

"We kept being interrupted and finally Flythe told one of them if he had any more questions to go ask one of the crew members with more experience. Barbara, he said."

"I think I talked with her," said Matt Eberstadt, pawing through his notes. "A Barbara Freeman."

"I don't see her in these pictures.

Wasn't she older than the others?"

He nodded. "In fact I got the impression she thought she should be running the tournament instead of Flythe."

He pointed to a stocky figure with her face only partially in view.

"Oh, yeah," said Albee. "I remember her."

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-eight or thirty," Eberstadt hazarded.

"More like thirty-three or thirty-four," said Albee.

"I'd like to know for sure. You interviewed her, Eberstadt? See if you can get her exact birth date. And as long as you're at it, check the ages of everyone on the Graphic Games crew. Take Peters with you and try not to be too obvious about what you're looking for."

Eberstadt shook his head in puzzlement. "What exactly are we looking for, Lieutenant?"

"A thirty-seven-year-old killer," she said bluntly.

Alan Knight arrived after the others had left-Peters and Eberstadt for Graphic Games, Lowry and Albee for the Hotel Maintenon. They were to question Gustaffason, the hotel's staff artist, about the pairings list, and they also planned to ask Molly Baldwin which of the maids might have entered the d'Aubigné Room Wednesday morning. Their final chore would be to see that Mr. George was available when Sigrid arrived later that morning.

There was paperwork that could wait no longer for her attention, but it received only half her mind while the other half zipped among the possibilities.

Her telephone rang just as Knight finished reporting that the Georgia Crayfish Association had confirmed Vassily Ivanovich's presence at an all-day meeting on Thursday.

"Lieutenant?" came Albee's breathless voice. "I think Victor Earle just came in the hotel."

"What?"

"He looks exactly like you described Earle: bald, enormous moustache, really creepy stare."

The creepy stare convinced her. "I'mo n my way."

Sigrid slammed down the phone. "Is

Schmitt downstairs with your car?"

"Yeah, but I've got to tell you-"

"Tell me later," she said grabbingu p the case folder with its papers andp hotographs.

Followed by a protesting Alan Knight,h e darted down the stairs and out thew ide front entrance, spotted Petty Officer

Schmitt, and raced towards the stationw agon.

"Hurry up!" she told Knight. To

Schmitt she said, "Hotel Maintenon asf ast as you can."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Almost immediately they were careering uptown with as much speed as any New

York cabbie ever made on a Wednesday morning.

"You aren't listening to me," said

Alan. "I've been pulled back to my own office. My C.O. asked for a report this morning and he agrees with me that

Commander Dixon wasn't the intended victim, so-"

"The Navy can have you back this afternoon," said Sigrid, easing her arm back into the sling. "In fact, they can have you back as soon as you drop me at the hotel. Victor Earle just turned up there."

"The hell you say!"

For the first time, Sigrid began to believe that Alan Knight might be halfway competent in an investigation. Certainly he could add two and two.

"The little bastard!" he said softly. "So he did spot something in those pictures. I wondered. But what?"

He almost tore the folder from Sigrid's grasp and began turning the photographs rapidly.

Sigrid stopped him at a long view of the room and pointed to the figure of Barbara Freeman. "Elaine Albee thinks she's about thirty-three or thirty-four."

"Huh?"

"A woman usually lies about her age. What if she's really thirty-six or thirty-seven?"

"I don't get you."

"No?" Sigrid riffled through the pictures and touched another face as the car jounced over a bone-rattling pothole and zoomed around a stalled delivery truck. "Don't tell me I'm out of my mind. Just remember what that lying Victor Earle told us about Fred Hamilton.

The car swerved in toward the curb in front of the hotel and Sigrid had the door open before it came to a complete stop. Alan Knight was right beside her as she dashed into the luxurious lobby and looked around for Lowry or Albee, ignoring the startled looks of several hotel guests.

Elaine Albee signaled from across the lobby. "We just lost him," she moaned as they hurried over. "We knew he was watching for someone by the elevators

– he made a call on the house phone

– the woman didn't get off; just held the door open while she spoke to him and then he got on and the doors closed before we realized what was happening."

"How old was she?" asked Knight. "Old? I don't know-thirty-nine or forty maybe. Why?"

They reached Lowry at the elevator bank, Sigrid flashed her ID at a nearby attendant while Albee commandeered another elevator and the two men watched to see where Earle's car would stop.

"NYPD," Sigrid said. "There was a man just here. Short, bald, large moustache. He met a woman on the elevator-"

"Mrs. O'Riley," he nodded.

"The car's stopped at thirty," said Lo wry.

"That's where she works," said the attendant. "Up in the office there."

They piled into the next elevator; but without a key to turn it into an express, they were forced to pause twice along the way.

On the thirtieth floor, they stopped a startled secretary and said, "Quick! A Mrs. O'Riley. Where does she work?" a "Th-there!"

They burst through the double doors into a quiet executive office. A woman with light frosted hair looked up from behind a nameplate which read Susan O'Riley.

Sigrid had her ID out again. "Police, Mrs. O'Riley. You were just seen with a man, Victor Earle. Where is he?"

"May I ask what this is all about?"

"There's no time to explain. Whose office is this? Where did you take him? Through there?"

"Now just a minute!" said Mrs. O'Riley, rising from her desk. "You can't go in there!"

She was too late. They'd already flung open the door.

It was a corner office with tall windows from floor to ceiling and a magnificent view of midtown Manhattan 's spires and towers. It was also quite empty.

"Is this Madame Ronay's office?"

"Yes," cried the bewildered secretary.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know! I thought she was here with him. He said he had something that belonged to her husband."

She trailed them across the office as they found a rear exit to a private elevator. There were no floor indicators in sight. Sigrid pushed the button.

"Where does this go?" she asked.

Mrs. O'Riley hesitated and Sigrid turned on her fiercely. "Can't you understand the danger? Someone could get killed."

Mrs. O'Riley took a deep breath and became the very enable executive secretary that she was.

"There are only three stops: this floor, her penthouse, and the basement where her car is garaged. You can get to the garage from any of the elevators outside, but this is the only one that goes directly to the penthouse. I'll get my keys."

"Albee, you and Lowry take the garage; Knight and I will try the penthouse."

Mrs. O'Riley was almost bowled over as they shot past her. She hurried back and inserted a key in the slot and within seconds, the door slid open. Less than a minute later, they were pounding on the door of Lucienne Ronay's penthouse.

Mrs. O'Riley was fumbling through the key ring, but Sigrid nodded to Alan Knight and he smashed the flimsy lock with one solid kick.

Just as they broke down the door, they heard Madame Ronay scream for help, then a deafening explosion. Through a wide arch, they glimpsed two figures struggling, then a gun fell to the floor, and a split-second later Victor Earle crumpled and fell on top of it.