"I thought I heard the chimes sound."

"I didn't hear a thing."

"But someone was there."

"Who? Alec?"

"No, Inspector Cargill."

"Is it about Alec?" She stood up hastily and peered into the woods behind Eathen, as if searching for something lost.

"I wouldn't know," he said.

"Then bring him out and I'll ask him." She sat down.

"Bring him out here?"

"Yes. Of course. Why not? Do as I say. This isn't our private frolicking place."

But Eathen had already gone to fetch the visitor.

Eight.

Cargill first materialized as a vague shape flickering between the trees. He approached alone; a tiny white point- his head-swam through a sea of green. But, at last, a final tree slid from his path and he emerged, fully revealed, dressed in his official black burlap, a silver badge pinned demurely to his chest.

Anna said nothing. She allowed Cargill to come forward, entering the clearing on fastidious tiptoes, as though this were a sacred place and he were violating some shameful privacy. He bowed, nodded, smiled. His eyes darted suspiciously, peering into the dark shadowed places of the garden, but these anxieties-if they were real-failed to be reflected in the feelings he radiated. The control he exercised over his mind-as always-astonished Anna. Unlike Eathen, Cargill clearly possessed such things as thoughts and feelings. Yes, she could sense them vaguely, lurking down below. But the content of his inner life-its significance-that was firmly hidden from her view.

He had nearly reached the empty bench, mouthing her name as he came, when she stood up, towering high above him, gazing down at the pink smooth dome of his skull. "Well," she said, "where is he?"

Cargill feigned surprise. (His radiations remained unchanged.) "Your father?" He glanced furtively up, avoiding her eyes.

She shook her head and pointed to the empty bench. As he moved off in the indicated direction, she spoke to his back: "I mean Alec."

Cargill seated himself with deliberation, smiling a grin of achievement when he seemed securely lodged: "Who?"

"My husband. Alec. He went to see you yesterday and hasn't been home since."

"Sylvia Mencken," Cargill mumbled. He did radiate something: surprise.

"Who?"

"Mencken's daughter." He adopted a stiff, official tone. "I requested her presence yesterday in order to identify the body. I arranged that her appointment should coincide with Alec's, a saving of both time and money. Both accompanied me to the morgue. When they left, they went together."

"Is that where he is now?" she asked, her voice dropping to the level of a harsh whisper. It seemed so ugly-so base. How low would Alec choose to stoop?

"I haven't the slightest idea," Cargill said. "They left the morgue together. But they may have separated before they reached the bottom step of the Hall."

"But you don't believe that."

"I told you that I didn't know." He was plainly impatient and willingly radiated the fact. "Your husband-his present or past whereabouts-is not my concern. I was not hired to search for him or to prevent him from getting lost."

Eathen had joined them, standing unobtrusively at the edge of the clearing, so quiet and motionless that Anna would never have noticed him if her eyes had not happened, by chance, to stray past that point. But Cargill knew he was there. He didn't look. She sensed his sharp awareness. He knew.

Sighing, she attempted to impart the impression of dismissing the previous subject.

"Then what did you come here to say?"

"This." Reaching into the billowing folds of his burlap garment, he removed a folded slip of paper. "A clue."

"Well-what is it?" Deliberately impatient.

"The name of your father." Without modesty.

"His name?" Now she really did manage to dismiss Alec from her thoughts. "I can't believe it. How-?"

"I have my methods," he said, proudly.

"Then he's actually alive?"

Cargill shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't say."

"Well, what can you say?"

"I told you-his name. Beyond that-to carry the investigation further-it will be a complex and time consuming process. I-"

"You want more money?"

She nearly laughed at the anger he radiated. Touche!

"If it becomes necessary, I will inform you without hesitation," he said.

"I'm sorry. Please continue."

"Thus far, I have traced the name through our national network with, of course, negative results. I have contacted most of the networks in the civilized nations with similar results. I have not tried the primitive nations, but I will. Their record-keeping is notoriously-well-primitive, but I suspect we will pick up the scent over there. My time, however, is severely limited. When I accepted this assignment, I believe I informed you that any private work I choose to undertake must assume a subsidiary priority in relation to my official duties."

"Yes, yes. But-when? That's what I want to know."

"Oh, soon." He dismissed any strict construction of timekeeping with a wave of the hand. "I must complete this Mencken investigation first."

"But that may not be for months."

"Oh, no, sooner, much sooner than that."

"You mean you know who did it?"

"Oh, yes."