And I didn't have all the time in the world, either.

I raced up the stairs. The bedroom was in good order now, I saw. Sheets of plywood had been secured over the broken skylight, and the pastoral landscape once again hung on the wall, hiding the safe. I took it from its hook, fluffy sheep and rose-cheeked shepherdess and all, and placed it on the bed.

I wasn't sure if I'd remember the safe's combination or not. I'd thought about it in the cab on the way over, trying to put all the numbers together in the proper sequence, but once I was up there with my fingers on the dial I took the problem away from my mind and entrusted it to my hands, and they remembered. I opened the safe as if its combination were written out for me.

Five minutes later-well, no more than ten, anyway-I was hanging Little Bo Peep back where she belonged. I did a couple of other things, and in the second-floor library I sat at a leather-topped kneehole desk and used a modern reproduction of an old brass telephone to call Narrowback Gallery. I gave a progress report and established that Colcannon had not called since Carolyn sent him to Madison and Seventy-ninth.

I asked how long Astrid was likely to remain unconscious. "I don't know," Carolyn admitted. "I bought the dart gun because it's supposed to be a good thing to have around, but I never used the thing. I didn't think you would need it, to tell you the truth. She's always a perfect lady when I give her a bath. She never even growls."

"Well, she was ready to kill a few minutes ago."

"It's a territorial thing, I guess. If she hadn't been on her own turf she'd have been gentle."

"If she hadn't been on her own turf," I said, "we wouldn't have met. I just wish I knew how much time I've got."

"Maybe you'd better not take any longer than you have to. That stuff works longer on a small dog than a large one, and Astrid's no Yorkie."

"No kidding. She's the Hound of the goddamn Baskervilles, is what she is."

"Well, get done as quickly as you can, Bern. If you have to use a second dart it might kill her. Or it might not work at all, or I don't know what."

I hung up and made another phone call, this one to the pay phone at Squires coffee shop at Madison and Seventy-ninth. I asked the woman who answered if she would summon Mr. Madison to the phone, and explained she'd be likely to find him at one of the rear booths. A moment later he said, "Well? Where are you?"

"I'm at a pay phone in a coffee shop, same as you. Let's not use names, shall we? I don't like to talk over an open line."

"Then why didn't you come here in person?"

"Because I'm afraid of you," I said. "I don't know who you are and you seem to know a lot about me. For all I know you're a violent person. I don't want to take the chance."

"Do you have the coin?"

"I picked it up this morning. I don't have it with me now because I'm not willing to run the risk. It's in a safe place and I can pick it up on short notice. I'm calling you now because I think we should set a price."

"Name your price."

"What's it worth to you?"

"No, that's not how we'll work it, sir." He seemed quite confident now, as if bargaining was something with which he had some reassuring familiarity. "Set your price, and make it your best price, and I shall say yes or no to it."

"Fifty thousand dollars."

"No."

"No?"

"According to the newspapers, a woman was killed when the coin was taken."

"Ah, but nobody knows that the coin was connected with her death. Except you and me, that is. And her husband, of course."

"Quite. I can pay you ten thousand dollars. I never argue price, sir."

"Neither do I. I'll take twenty."

"Impossible."

Twelve thousand was the price we settled on. He probably would have gone higher, but my skill in negotiation was diminished by my knowledge that I didn't have a coin to sell, so why knock myself out? We agreed on the price, and he agreed to bring the money in old out-of-sequence bills, nothing larger than a hundred. I don't know where he was going to find the money, since the banks were closed and there was no cash in the safe, but maybe he had a friend he could go to or had cash stashed around the house. I hadn't searched the place in the fine-comb style I'd employed at Abel's apartment, nor did I intend to, not with the formidable Astrid stretched out downstairs in uncertain sleep.

"We can make the exchange tomorrow," I said. "A friend of mine died this past week and there's going to be a memorial service for him over in Brooklyn. Nobody knows me there and I don't suppose anybody'll know you either, though I can't say that for sure because I don't know you myself. Do you have a big following in Cobble Hill?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then we're in good shape. The service is at the Church of the Redeemer at two-thirty tomorrow afternoon. That's on Henry Street between Congress and Amity, and now you know as much about getting there as I do. I'll have the coin in an envelope, and if you could have the money the same way, we could make the exchange. I suppose there must be a bathroom, churches generally have bathrooms, and we can go there together and make sure it's the right coin and the money's all present and accounted for."

"I don't see why we have to meet in Brooklyn."

"Because I have to be there anyway, and because I won't pick up the coin until I'm on my way to the service, and because I want to make the swap in a public place, but not so public that there are likely to be police looking on. If you don't want to do it, I'm inclined to say the hell with it and put the coin in a gum machine, because this million-dollar coin has dropped in value to twelve grand and that's not all the money in the world to me, to be frank about it. So we'll do it my way or we won't do it at all, and maybe that's a better idea anyway, come to think of it."

I let him cajole me out of my snit. I didn't require too much in the way of cajolery. It wasn't that deep a snit. Then I said, "Wait a minute, how will we recognize each other? We've never met."

"I'll know you. I've seen your picture."

He'd done better than that. He'd seen me face to face, through a pane of presumably one-way glass. And I'd seen him the same way, although he didn't know it. I went along with the charade, saying I didn't look all that much like my picture and I wanted to be able to recognize him, too, so why didn't we both wear red carnations? He agreed, and I advised him to pick up his flower that evening, because it might be difficult finding a florist open on Sunday.

And through all this chatter I kept listening for Astrid's footfall on the stairs. At any moment she might come awake, anxious to demonstrate how attack dogs got their name.

"Tomorrow, then," he said. "At two-thirty. I'll be glad when this is over, Mr.-I almost said your name."

"Don't worry about it."

"As I said, I'll be glad when this is over."

He wasn't the only one.

I made sure the gun was armed with a little plastic dart, hurried downstairs with it and had a quick look at Astrid. She lay as I'd left her, sprawled on her side, and now I could see her chest heave with heavy breathing. While I stood there she made a small mewling sound and her forepaws twitched. The dart that had done the job lay alongside her. I retrieved it, dropped it into my attaché case.

I went upstairs and used the phone again. I had a lot of people I wanted to call, but I limited myself to dialing three numbers, all of them long distance. None of the calls lasted very long. After the third one I went back downstairs to find the big black dog almost awake but not quite able to get up on her feet. She turned woebegone ill-focused eyes on me, and it was difficult to regard her as a threat. She looked incapable of a hostile thought, let alone of tearing one's throat out. But I forced myself to remember her bark, and the way she'd coiled herself to spring.