"Do you think that fire in your office set itself" he asked.

Thomas was mystified.

"How could a man in his late seventies be so dangerous?"

"I don't know. And I don't recommend finding out."

Thomas considered the blaze at his office. And he considered Leslie McAdam, struggling naked on a bed while her own father's hired killer attempted to murder her.

"I have a client," he said.

Zenger was livid.

"You also have sawdust between the ears if you take this woman seriously. First off, she is an impostor Second, Sandler's not the type of man you'll want to try pinning a paternity suit on even if she's not an imposter. Third, you'll never collect a cent of inheritance. This girl will never be able to prove she's a real daughter of Arthur Sandler. And you'll never be able to prove that a man legally dead twenty-two years ago is alive today. You'd have to successfully trace a man who's been gone for almost a quarter of a century."

"It could be done."

"Thomas! Come to your senses! Do you think Sandler's going to let you and some girl pick through his wealth and his interlocked companies? Do you think he'd risk having his new ident.i.ty exposed?"

"How is he going to stop me?"

"Listen, boy," said Zenger, shaking his head in disgust, 'you don't want to live as long as I have, do you? I'll tell you how he's going to stop you " Zenger paused and caught his breath. He was very weak, but his anger-or fear-kept him going.

"All I know is what I learned from your father. In confidence, in the years after the war. But when Sandler got a new face he also got a job in our government. High. Very high. So high that only two people knew who he was. Both were murdered in their homes within a week. Both the same night. Both with a wire" Thomas Daniels practically bolted upright.

"A wire?"

"A wire'" said Zenger, elaborating in hopes of scaring Thomas off the case.

"It was a trick Sandler learned in the war. In a hollow heel of a shoe he carried two bra.s.s rings with a piano wire strung between them. A makeshift garrotte. Always with him and d.a.m.ned effective.

His favorite."

Thomas broke into a slow smile. Zenger c.o.c.ked his head, looking at the younger man.

"What did I say?" Zenger asked.

"You just proved that my client is telling the truth'" Thomas said.

"I'm sorry. I'm taking her case."

Chapter 8

Thomas returned to New York the same evening. When he unlocked and pushed open the door to his apartment the white envelope was immediately conspicuous. "I Thomas turned on the light, closed the door behind him, and tossed his travel case onto a table. He picked up the envelope and tore it open.

From it he pulled a yellow ticket. Second Promenade, the ticket said, Madison Square Garden. Hockey. Rangers vs. Boston Bruins. February eight. Sunday evening.

It made no immediate sense. Then he unfolded a small piece of plain white paper that accompanied the ticket. It read: Mr. Daniels, Please be there. And don't tell anyone.

Leslie McAdam Thomas searched for a further explanation and found none.

He crumpled the note and dropped it into a wastebasket. He walked to a bookcase that was so crowded that each shelf held two rows of books, front and back, mostly paperback. He withdrew a novel, third from the left on the middle shelf, inserted the ticket in the book, and returned the book to its place.

A few minutes later he was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of black coffee steaming in front of him, and visions of the cryptic Adolph Zenger dancing before him. Zenger was a sneak if ever a sneak had walked the earth. But had the retired attorney at least been forthright with his trusted partner's only son?

Thomas wondered.

The telephone rang.

He took his coffee with him, sat in an armchair in the living room, and took the call on the fourth ring.

"Find out anything?" a female voice asked.

For a split second he envisioned Leslie. But the voice was familiar.

He felt a small tremor of disappointment as he recognized the caller.

Andrea Parker.

"Let's say that I'm in hot pursuit of the facts" he said.

"This Sandler mess is a can of worms. Walter Mitty's secret life was gossip-column stuff compared to this' ' "I'm onto a good story, in other words," she said.

"Of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be calling so often" "Don't be mean, Tom" she countered softly.

"I've done some homework for you, too. Did you see Zenger?"

"Yes, "Any help?"

"Some. He had some of the answers, but not all of them." He sipped the black coffee and listened to a guarded silence on the other end.

"This whole thing recalls a lesson I learned in law school, working on a claims adjustment case."

"A what?" she asked.

"A woman came to me and said she'd been sitting in her parked car when a truck had b.u.mped into her hard from behind. She was claiming damages to her car, plus personal damages for whiplash.

She gave me her whole story. Then I talked to the driver of the truck.

He said he'd been double-parked and so had the woman.

Only she had released her brake and rolled back into him. Then I found two witnesses, a shop owner and a pedestrian. They told two other stories with even different details. Four different stories, none of them the same, all of them slightly suspect one way or another.

Know how I got down to the truth?"

"How?"

"I sat them all down together and wrote down the few points in the story upon which none would argue. With a little pressing and a few concessions here and there, I came out with a composite story.

That became the new 'truth' in the case. And that's what I finally went into court with." He sipped the coffee again. 'The Sandler case is the same thing all over again, on a greater scale. You hear stories, the stories conflict. You check and double-check, you distill a composite truth from them. And that becomes the factual basis that you must work with ' "What did Zenger say?" Andrea asked,