"And it's absurd," said Heller in a low voice. "When you add up all the interlocking points given in just these available books, it says the planet DOES have an emperor, that the emperor has two planetary command posts and TOTAL planetary control. I'm wasting my time."
"Where are the command posts and WHO is the emperor?" said the Countess Krak.
"I know a nice place to have lunch," said Heller.
"No, no, Jettero. Except for certain females, I have never seen you do an absurd thing ever. You are always right on. Tell me."
"You'll laugh. The planet doesn't have an emperor and its royal palaces are actually just tourist attractions. But I'll finish it anyway, if you like."
Under "command posts" he wrote in the center of the plot OCTOPUS OIL COMPANY BUILDING and POKANTICKLE ESTATE, HAIRYTOWN, NEW YORK.
In the center of the plot, in red, he printed, EMPEROR: DELBERT JOHN ROCKECENTER.
He laughed again and spun the big sheet with its geometric symbols and names to the Countess Krak. "Here. You can use it to teach the cat to run in circles. Now let's go have some lunch."
She looked at it. She carefully folded it up and put it in her shoulder purse.
She began to help him pile the book tonnage back on the counters.
My hair was standing straight up!
Heller was dead right!
And even though he discounted it, I could see from the careful way she had folded it and preserved it that SHE KNEW IT!
She seemed very preoccupied as they went down the broad steps of the huge Grecian-design library building.
They jogged north on Fifth Avenue, dodging adroitly through the lunch hour crowds. They came to 53rd Street, crossed and went a short distance west. I carefully spotted place after place where a sniper's bullet could have hit the Countess in the back. And now she was simply standing still, staring at two revolving doors. An easy target!
"The Museum of Modern Art?" she said. "I thought you were taking me to lunch. Are we going to eat paintings?"
He laughed and pushed her through the revolving doors and was beside her again in the entrance lobby. He paid four dollars for two tickets and walked her through the main hall. Glass and marble were everywhere, and invitations to go this way and that to special exhibitions, but he steered her right on through the main hall and out a door and they were in a huge garden. Amongst the trees could be seen numerous odd-shaped sculptures, but he was guiding her along a terrace. He turned and edged her through a door. A cafeteria.
He gave her a tray and knives and forks and they went on down the line. The cases full of attractive food were all a mystery to her. She wound up with five different salads, several sweet rolls, hot chocolate and three different kinds of ice cream. His was not much more sensible than hers.
Heller pointed the way and they went back outside and sat down at a table. The noonday spring sun was
flickering down through the budding leaves of trees. A nearby fountain tinkled. Spread before them was the garden.
"Nice," said the Countess Krak. And then she began, experimentally, to eat. She had mastered forks but regarded them with some caution.
Heller was an old hand by now. He chomped away and then at last sat back. His eyes were on the garden but he wasn't looking at Rodin or Renoir.
Suddenly he started chuckling. "Crown Prince Junior," he said. He laughed again and then said it again.
The Countess Krak was still working on the ice cream, but she said, "What are you going on about?"
He said, "Nothing." But he was still chuckling.
She said, "Jettero, you're always accusing me of being secretive, but you're the one who isn't frank. What are you laughing about?"
He gave another chuckle. "Name I had once," he said. "How do you like that ice cream? It's called Picasso Pistachio."
"Jettero, you're going to get Picasso Pistachio in your face if you don't tell me what you are laughing about."
"It's just a joke. Crown Prince Junior." And he laughed again.
"That doesn't make any sense, Jettero."
"I'm sorry. It's just that it's kind of involved. You see, if Delbert John Rockecenter was the emperor of Earth, why then, the name they gave me would have made me Crown Prince Junior. It's completely silly. It's just that it is a beautiful day and you're beautiful and I'm glad to be here sitting with you in the Sculpture Garden of the Museum of Modern Art, watching you eat Picasso Pistachio."
"Jettero," she said in a deadly voice, "you are trying to put me off. And furthermore, royalty is not something one laughs about. When an emperor signs a proclamation it becomes the law of the land. A proclamation is a very valuable thing. Now sit right there quietly and tell me if somebody, since you landed here, made you a Crown Prince or something."
"All right," he said. "You sit there quietly and eat your Picasso Pistachio and the court minstrel will entertain you with the harrowing tale of Crown Prince Junior."
"That's better," said the Countess Krak, smiling.
"Well, once upon a time, in a dark wood, a space tug landed in the field of an old Virginia plantation." And he continued on. He told her about the birth certificate as Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior. He included a humorous account of Stonewall Biggs, the County Clerk, of Stupewitz and Maulin, the FBI agents. He omitted utterly the late Mary Schmeck. He laughed about the fake family butler, "Buttlesby," and then he went into the events at the Brewster Hotel where Bury had bought the birth certificate off of him, made sure he had no other trace of the name Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior, and then had intended to kill him.
"So you see," he concluded, "I was not Crown Prince Junior very long. And you now know how the frog turned into Jerome Terrance Wister. And here he sits today, eating ice cream with a gracious lady of the court. The minstrel bows now off the stage and thinks he'll have another cup of hot chocolate."
When he went inside the cafeteria, the Countess Krak sat there in a deep study.
He came back, cooled his chocolate and began to sip it.
The Countess Krak said, "You ought to do something about it."
Heller laughed. "My dear, if a combat engineer went diving off the job to pursue justice and wreak vengeance every time his fuses didn't work, he would get nothing done at all."
"Tell me again what that Stonewall Biggs said," she wanted to know.
"He said, 'Ifn ah can evah be moah help t'you, you jus' yell fo' Stonewall Biggs.'"
"No, no, no. When he gave you the birth certificate."
"He said, 'Ah wondered if it would evah come to this.' And he looked at me closely and said, 'So you be Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior.'"
"And this Bury fellow wanted you killed."
"He certainly tried," said Heller.
"Hmm," said the Countess Krak. "That proves it."
"Proves what?"
"There really IS a Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior."
Heller shook his head. "I've looked in the Who's Who. There is no such person listed. Delbert John Rockecenter is unmarried and has no children or direct heirs."
"You men don't understand these things," said Krak. "And you certainly don't understand royal families, Jettero. Even aristocrats do it."
"Do what?" said Heller, quite puzzled.
"Get rid of an heir. Oh, it is all very plain to me. There IS a Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior. And this lawyer Bury is hiding him. He's never seen him so he thought you were him. And they don't have any dungeons or castles on remote islands to throw unwanted heirs in, so Bury tried to assassinate you."
Heller laughed. "I'm afraid I'm no expert on royal families."