"You haven't heeded the warnings, have you?"

His voice was no longer feeble. It was the voice of a younger man and what's more, it was vaguely familiar. My mind still on muggers, I was trying to think who had warned me about them when he moved the knife in a terrifying manner.

"You'll have one more chance. When you're asked where the stuff is, you'd better be ready to tell."

"Stuff?" I asked stupidly but I was stalling for time because it was becoming clear what he meant.

"The spice" he said venomously. "The spice!"

I tried to see his face but the white beard was thick and bushy and I couldn't make out any features. Some people have distinctive hands and others can recognize people by their hands but his didn't look familiar. Furthermore, one of them had a dangerous-looking knife in it and that was enough to drive all other thoughts out of my mind.

"You'll be paid. Just hand it over when and how you're told-you'll be paid for it. But no tricks." The knife moved again. "Remember what happened to your partner."

There was a shout from across the street, and from a handful of pedestrians coming toward us a girl emerged, breaking into a run. The man turned to look and that was my chance to grab his arm and take the knife away from him. I didn't do it, though. I don't like violence and I don't like knives. I don't know any unarmed combat and anyway, I'm a coward.

The girl was close now and she had obviously seen the knife. She pointed as she ran and shouted again. The man gave me a push and I fell into the road. He turned and ran off, long legs pounding. The girl had a horrified look on her face as she reached me.

"Are you hurt?" Clearly she thought that when the man had pushed me, he had stabbed me with the knife.

I was winded but I dragged myself to the curb and sat there, trying to get more breath. The girl wore tight blue jeans and a form-fitting black sweater with metallic letters proclaiming SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY across the b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She had a black beret and strands of dark hair straggled out of it.

She sat down beside me, looking at me solicitously.

"No, I'm all right," I said weakly. There was something about her ...

"Gabriella!" I couldn't believe it.

She was looking down the street. "Too late to go after him," she was saying. "I thought he had-anyway, let's get you mobile again." She helped me to my feet. The remainder of the pedestrians had reached us by now. One or two looked at us curiously but most went about their business as if it were no concern of theirs.

"Tell me," I said, "do you moonlight as a guardian angel or did you just happen to be pa.s.sing my hotel?"

She was examining me and nodded, satisfied.

"Since you told me about that incident on the subway platform, we've had you watched. Hal said if there was going to be another attempt, it would be within twenty-four hours. Ralph, another one of our team, was following you today until you went into the Phoenicia Restaurant, then I picked you up when you left it."

"You had no trouble?" I asked weakly.

"None. You left a very clear trail for us."

"How about a cup of coffee? We could both use one."

We strolled back to the Framingham Hotel. I tossed a few nervous glances in all directions and almost had palpitations when an ambulance started up its siren but once settled in a corner booth in the coffee shop, I felt better.

Gabriella took off her beret and shook out her luxuriant dark hair.

"Do you have any idea how different you look in that beret?" I asked her.

"Sure," she said. "That's why I wore it."

"The sweater and the jeans make you look different too but they don't conceal you as much."

She smiled that delicious smile. "You're back to normal, I can tell."

She regarded me for a moment. "You know, if I hadn't thought that man had stabbed you, I would have caught him."

"Sorry I couldn't oblige."

"It's okay," she said offhandedly. "It would have been a lot of paperwork-and I hate paperwork."

We both laughed and drank coffee.

"Anything about him seem familiar?" she asked.

"Yes. It was certainly the same man as the one who pushed me on the subway platform."

"But you didn't recognize him at first?"

"Not when I first saw him, no."

"It was the voice?"

"Yes, and then something else, maybe the way he moved once he'd abandoned the old man guise."

"What did he say?"

I told her.

"Hm-so he thinks you and Renshaw stole the Ko Feng?"

"Apparently. But then Gaines hasn't given up that notion altogether either."

Gabriella pursed her lips. "He's coming around."

"Speaking of coming around," I said, "would you do something for me?" I handed her the package of King's Balm that I had bought at the Spice Warehouse. "See that he takes two spoonfuls of this in hot water, twice a day."

She looked at me, surprised. "Are you a medicine man too? Where's your wagon?"

"I know something about herbal remedies and this one gives spectacular results."

"Why should you be concerned?" she asked.

"I don't like to see a man who can't enjoy his food. This'll help his dyspepsia."

"Why don't you give it to him?"

"He probably wouldn't take it. From you, he might."

She gave a wry smile. "Okay."

"So back to what we were saying-I'm not off his list yet?"

"You're slipping down it."

"What do I have to do to get off it? Get killed?"

"Don't worry. You're near the bottom."

"I seem to be on lots of people's lists," I said.

Her dark eyes examined me thoughtfully.

"Who else?"

"Alexander Marvell."

"Anybody else?"

"Most of the restaurateurs I've talked to probably think so too.

She smiled again. "You're a really suspicious kind of person, aren't you?"

"Not really. You should see me on a good day."

She finished her coffee. "Maybe I will."

"What do you mean?

"Maybe that good day is coming up."

"Tell me more," I invited.

"We've had a tipoff."

"About the Ko Feng?" I was excited.

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"We get lots of tipoffs, of course. The NYPD recently loosened its pursestrings and made more money available for paying for 'information received,' as we put it on the books."

"And this is from somebody who's tipped you off before? That means you know how reliable he is."

She nodded gently. "Worth following up anyway. What we need is a person who can identify the Ko Feng." She gave me the full eye treatment. "Know anyone like that?"

"I can think of one fellow-mind you, he's kind of hard to get."

"I can handle that," she murmured.

"He's English, too."

She shrugged. "n.o.body's perfect."

"Some Italians come close. Especially Italian girls."

She became all businesslike and it was back to Sergeant Rossini. "I'll call you as soon as it's set up."

"Will it be-well, dangerous?" I asked. "Not that it bothers me at all if it is," I added hastily. "I just like to be prepared, that's all."

"You're carrying, aren't you?"

"Carrying? You mean a gun! Of course not."

A hint of a smile played around her lips.

"You're kidding, of course," I said, relieved. "Anyway, how could I have brought one into the country? Metal detectors, X rays, all that stuff."

"As a detective, you could have got a pa.s.s that would let you-"

"I'm not really a detective" I insisted. "I'm-"

"I know." She was smiling fully now. "You told me."

"I never carry a gun," I said firmly.

"I know the London police don't normally carry but I would have thought that when you're on a special case, you might make an exception."

"A special case to me is deciding if the green veins in gorgonzola cheese have been put there by corroding copper wire."

"They don't!" She was astonished. "They don't do that!" "They certainly do." "Not Italians, surely! I can't believe it!" I had the feeling that she was humoring me but as I looked at her pretty, animated face, I decided to let her continue ...

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

"WOULDN'T TOUCH ANYTHING IN there if I was starving to death!" said Professor Walter Willenbroek.

He had left a message stating that he planned on visiting me at my hotel at nine thirty the next morning. I was asked to let him know only if it was not convenient and his name was too well known for me to do that.

His comment referred to the Framingham's coffee shop so we sat in the lobby by a palm tree of dubious authenticity and in leather chairs of equally dubious origin.

I knew of him, of course. He was as well known to anyone interested in food as Colonel Sanders, Milton S. Hershey or Betty Crocker. He was dapper in a lightweight linen suit that was as white as some of the bread that had made him a rich man. His tie was the light brown of one of his breakfast cereals and his shoes were the darker brown of another. His eyes were bright and lively as a squirrel's and they never stopped darting everywhere. I found this a little disconcerting at first but I quickly learned that it didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. His carefully groomed white goatee jutted out at a pugnacious angle. He must have been well into his late eighties but his skin was firm and smooth and his whole demeanor that of a man thirty years younger.