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“That won’t give me any time to change.”

“It’ll be a come-as-you-are date, okay?”

“I usually wear flats and a dirty old sweater to school.”

“Fine!” he said enthusiastically.

“I suppose I could wear a dress and heels, though. It might shock some of the slobs in our hallowed halls, but then again, it might set a precedent.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“All right,” she said.

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

“Good-bye.”

“Bye.” He hung up, grinning. He was stepping out of the booth when he remembered. Instantly, he reached into his pocket for another dime. He had no change. He went to the proprietor of the candy store, who was busy doling out a couple of two-cent seltzers. By the time he got his change, five minutes had rushed by. He dialed the number rapidly.

“Hello?”

“Claire, this is me again.”

“You got me out of the shower again, you know that, don’t you?”

“Gee, I’m awfully sorry, but you didn’t tell me which school.”

“Oh.” Claire was silent. “Nope, I didn’t. It’s Women’s U. Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Go to Radley Hall. You’ll find the office of our alleged college newspaper there. The paper is called The Radley Clarion, but the sign on the door says The Radley Rag. I keep my coat in a locker there. Don’t let all the predatory females frighten you.”

“I’ll be there on the dot,” Kling said.

“And I, exercising a woman’s prerogative, shall be there ten minutes after the dot.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Good. Now, you don’t mind, do you, but I’m making a big puddle on the carpet.”

“I’m sorry. Go wash.”

“You said that as if you thought I was dirty.”

“If you’d rather talk, I’ve got all night.”

“I’d rather wash. Good-bye, Tenacious.”

“Good-bye, Claire.”

“You are tenacious, you realize that, don’t you?”

Kling grinned. “Tenacious, anyone?” he asked.

“Ouch!” Claire said. “Good-bye,” and then she hung up.

He sat in the booth grinning foolishly for a good three minutes. A fat lady finally knocked on the glass panel in the door and said, “Young man, that booth isn’t a hotel.”

Kling opened the doors. “That’s funny,” he said. “Room service just sent up a sandwich.”

The woman blinked, pulled a face, and then stuffed herself into the booth, slamming the door emphatically.

At 10:00 that night, Kling stepped off an express train onto the Peterson Avenue station platform of the Elevated Transit System. He stood for a moment looking out over the lights of the city, warm and alive with color against the tingling autumn air. Autumn did not want to die this year. Autumn refused to be lowered into the grave of winter. She clung tenaciously (Tenacious, anyone? he thought, and he grinned all over again) to the trailing robes of summer. She was glad to be alive, and humanity caught some of her zest for living, mirrored it on the faces of the people in the streets.

One of the people in the streets was a man named Clifford.

Somewhere among people who rushed along grinning, there was a man with a scowl on his face.

Somewhere among the thousands who sat in movie houses, there might be a murderer watching the screen.

Somewhere where lovers walked and talked, he might be sitting alone on a bench, brooding.

Somewhere where open, smiling faces dispelled plumed, brittle vapor on to the snappish air, a man walked with his mouth closed and his teeth clenched.

Clifford.

How many Cliffords were there in a city of this size? How many Cliffords in the telephone directory? How many unlisted Cliffords?

Shuffle the deck of Cliffords, cut, and then pick a Clifford, any Clifford.

This was not a time for picking Cliffords.

This was a time for walks in the country, with the air spanking your cheeks, and the leaves crisp and crunching underfoot, and the trees screaming in a riot of splendid color. This was a time for brier pipes and tweed overcoats and juicy red McIntosh apples. This was a time to contemplate pumpkin pie and good books and thick rugs and windows shut tight against the coming cold.

This was not a time for Clifford, and this was not a time for murder.

But murder had been done, and the Homicide cops were cold-eyed men who had never been seventeen.

Kling had once been seventeen.

He walked down the steps and directly to the change booth. The man behind the grilled window was reading a “comic” book. Kling recognized it as one of the more hilarious attempts now on the stands, a strip dealing with a widow who had multiple sclerosis. The attendant looted up.

“Good evening,” Kling said.

The attendant eyed him suspiciously. “Evening,” he replied.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Depends what the questions are,” the attendant said.

“Well—”

“If you’re planning a holdup, young man, forget it,” the attendant advised. “You won’t get a hell of lot for your trouble, and the cops in this town are pretty damn good on transit stickups.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t planning a holdup.”

“Good thing. My name’s Ruth, Sam Ruth. The fellows call this ‘Ruth’s Booth.’ What can I do for you?”

“Are you usually working nights?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Why?”

“I’m trying to trace a young girl who generally boarded a train from this platform.”

“Lots of young girls get on trains here.”

“This one usually came up between ten and ten-thirty. Are you on at that time?”

“When I work the afternoon shift, I come on at four, and I go off at midnight.”

“Then you’re on at ten.”

“It would appear that way, yeah.”

“This girl was a blonde,” Kling said. “A very pretty blonde.”

“There’s a blonde widow works in the bakeshop downstairs. She comes up about eight each night.”

“This girl was young. Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t recall,” Ruth said.

“Think.”

“What for? I don’t recall her.”

“Very pretty. If you’d seen her, you’d remember her. Well built, big blue eyes, a knockout.”

Ruth squinched up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I remember. Nice young kid. Yeah, I remember.”

“What time did she come up?”

“‘Bout ten twenty-five usually. Yeah, I remember her, all right. Always went up the downtown side of the platform. Used to watch her all the way. A damn pretty girl. Only seventeen, you say? Seemed a lot older.”

“Only seventeen. Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl?”

“Listen, how do I know? This blonde came up about ten twenty-five most of the time. Reason I remember her is she once asked me to change a ten-dollar bill. We ain’t allowed to change bigger than two dollars, not that many folks carry two-dollar bills, you know. Consider it hard luck. Superstition’s bad, bad.” Ruth shook his head.

“Did you change it for her?” Kling asked.

“Out of my own pocket. That’s how I remember her. She gave me a big smile. Nice smile, that girl. Nice everything, you ask me. Yeah, she’s the one, all right. Used to go up on the downtown side, caught the ten-thirty train.” Ruth pulled a gold watch from his pocket. He nodded, replaced the watch. “Yeah, caught the ten-thirty.”

“All the time?”

“Whenever I seen her, she caught the same train. After I cashed that bill for her, she always give me a smile. She was worth looking at, all right.”

Kling glanced over his shoulder. The clock on the wall read 10:16.