'All right,' I said. 'We're going to move now. Just drive north.'
'Why not?' Mr Pincus said equably, finishing lighting his cigar. 'You're the boss. For eight dollars' worth.'
I saw Knurr get into the taxi and start north on Sixth Avenue. Then my driver started up and we travelled north, keeping about a block behind Knurr's cab. At 14th Street, Knurr turned left.
'Turn left,' I said to my driver.
'We following that cab ahead?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'Why didn't you say so? All my life I been waiting for someone to get in my cab and say, "Follow that car!" Like in the movies and TV — you know? This was my big chance and you blew it. He the guy that's fooling around with your tootsie?'
'That's the one,' I said.
'I won't lose him,' he promised. 'Up to eight dollars, I won't lose him.'
Knurr's cab zigzagged northward and westward, with us a block behind but sometimes closing up tighter when my driver feared he might be stopped by a traffic light. Finally we were on Eleventh Avenue, heading directly northward.
'You from New Jersey?' A. Pincus asked.
'No,' I said. 'Why?'
'I thought maybe he's heading for the George Washington Bridge and Jersey. You can't go there for eight bucks.'
'No,' I said, 'I don't think he's going to New Jersey.'
'Maybe you and your creampuff can get back together again,' Mr Pincus said. 'As the old song goes. "Try a little tenderness." '
'Good advice,' I said, hunching forward on my seat, watching the taillights of the cab ahead.
Then we were on West End Avenue, still speeding north.
'He's slowing,' Pincus reported, then, 'he's stopping.'
I glanced up at a street sign. We were at 66th Street.
'Go a block past him, please,' I said. 'Then let me out.'
'Why not?' he said.
While I huddled down in my seat, we passed Knurr's halted cab and stopped a block farther north.
'You got about six bucks on the clock,' my driver said.
'Give or take. You want me to wait?'
'No,' I said, 'thank you. I'll get out here.'
I gave him nine dollars, figuring I could take the bus or subway home.
'Lots of luck,' Pincus said.
'Thank you,' I said. 'You've been very kind.'
'Why not?' he said. His cab roared away.
I was on the east side of West End Avenue, on a tree-lined block bordering an enormous apartment development. There were towering buildings and wide stretches of lawn, shrubbery, and trees everywhere. It must have been pleasant in daylight. At that time of night, it was shadowed, deserted, and vaguely sinister.
I had been watching Knurr through the rear window of my cab as he waited for a break in the traffic to dash across the avenue. Now I walked rapidly back to where his cab had stopped.
As I scurried southward, I spotted him on the west side of West End. He was heading for the brightly lighted entrance of a public underground garage in the basement of one of the tall apartment houses bordering the river.
There were large signs in front stating the parking rates by the hour, day, week, and month.
I positioned myself across the street from the garage, standing in the deep shadow of a thick-trunked plane tree.
I watched Knurr walk rapidly into the bright entrance. As he approached the attendant's booth, a woman stepped out of the shadows, and she and the Reverend embraced briefly. Then an attendant appeared. He and Knurr spoke for a moment. The Pastor handed him something. The attendant turned and disappeared. Knurr and the woman remained where they were, close together, conversing, his arm about her shoulders.
She was wearing what I guessed to be a mink coat that 273
came a little lower than calf-length. It was very full and had a hood that now covered her head, shadowing her features.
Finally, a long, heavy car came rolling into the lighted area of the garage entrance. It was a black Mercedes-Benz sedan, gleaming, solid, and very elegant. The garage attendant got out of the driver's side and handed something to Godfrey Knurr. The Reverend then gave something to the attendant.
Knurr opened the door on the passenger's side. He assisted the lady into her seat, then went around to the driver's side, got in, slammed the door — I heard it chunk from where I stood — and slowly, carefully, pulled out into West End Avenue. He turned north. I watched the taillights fade away.
I wasn't thinking about where he might be heading. I couldn't care less. I was too shocked.
For when he had helped the woman into the car, she had flung back the hood of her fur coat. Her features, for a brief moment, were revealed in the bright light. I saw her clearly.
It wasn't Tippi Kipper.
It was Glynis Stonehouse.
Part III
1
That night I awoke frequently, dozed off as often, and finally lost all ability to determine if I was fully conscious or dreaming. I vividly remember wondering if I had actually seen Glynis Stonehouse and Godfrey Knurr together.
My brain continued churning all night, and things were no better when I arose early Sunday morning, showered, dressed, and poked disconsolately at a bowl of sodden cornflakes. I simply didn't know what to do. It seemed to me I was in over my head and badly in need of wise counsel,
I hated to bother Percy Stilton, but what I had learned was of such moment that I wanted him to know at once. I dialled the only number I had for him and learned that he wouldn't be in the precinct until Monday morning.
'Couldn't you call him at home and ask him to contact me?' I tried to convey the urgency of the situation to the officer on the other end of the phone.
'Can't anyone else help you?' he asked, still reticent.
'No,' I said firmly. 'It's got to be Stilton. It's really very important, honest, to me and to him.'
Silence.
'A case he's on?' he said finally.
'Yes,' I said, lying valiantly. 'Just call and ask him to call Joshua Bigg. As soon as possible.'
A short silence again, then: 'What was that name — Pigg?'
'Bigg. B-i-g-g. Joshua Bigg. Tell him it's a matter of life and death.'
'I'll tell him that,' the officer said.
I tried to read the Sunday papers. I watched TV for a while, but didn't see it. My phone finally rang shortly before noon.
'Hello?' I said breathlessly.
The voice was low, husky, soothing. 'Mr Bigg?'
'Yes.'
'This is Maybelle Hawks,' she said pleasantly. 'I am Percy Stilton's consenting adult.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Mr Bigg, Perce received your message, but he's really in no, ah, condition to speak intelligibly to you at the moment.'
'Is he ill?' I asked anxiously.
'You might say that,' she replied thoughtfully. 'Nothing fatal. I would judge that he will recover, in time. But right now he's somewhat unhinged. It being Sunday morning. I do hope you understand.'
'Yes, ma'am,' I said miserably. 'He's hung over.'
'Oh, Mr Bigg,' she laughed gaily, 'that is the understatement of the year. He's comatose, Mr Bigg.
Com-a-tose. He asked that I return your call and explain why it might be best if you call him at the precinct tomorrow.'
'Miss Hawks,' I said, 'is — '
'Call me Belle,' she said.
'Thank you. Belle, is there no chance of my seeing him today? It really is urgent. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't. Surely Perce, and you too, of course, have to eat sometime today. It would give me great pleasure if you would both join me for dinner some place. Any place.'
'Mr Bigg, you sound to me like a sober, reasonable man.'
'Yes, ma'am,' I said, 'I mean to be.'