He took out a notepad of attractive green paper and wrote a number on it.

“Call at any time. James or I will answer. And be careful to check for bugs first.”

I memorized the number and ate the paper. It tasted of peppermint and it helped. Then the unavoidable subject could not be avoided anymore.

“And you keep looking. The most important thing that you have to do is to find out where your mother is being held.”

His face fell. “I know. We only have negative information so far. His bank and brokerage office are both clean. No hidden rooms-other than the one under the vault in the bank that you just mentioned. Could she possibly be there?”

“A long chance. I’ll drop by with some testing equipment.”

“Do that.”

“We also discovered that Chaise has a bachelor pad here in the city. I broke in, did the burglar act. Pinched his television. And had a good chance to search the place before the alarm tripped. We have been watching his movements closely and have no other premises or places that are suspicious. What about Sunkist-by-the-Sea?”

“A possibility. He has an office and garage there, but no sealed rooms that I saw.”

“Let me have the address. I can make a more detailed search.” ’

“Right.”

I scribbled directions on his green pad, handed it back. Depressed. There was nothing else to say. I took all the eavesdropping bugs out of the shielded bag and put them in my pocket. And waved a silent good-by.

I picked up some nondescript clothes at the mechomartalong with some clean sheets and blankets. Since I was doomed to spend more time in Igor’s dank den, I would like to spend it in relative comfort. My stomach was feeling a little better, but I was bone-tired still. I picked up some more chicken soup for my face, some cans of beer for myself. By the time I reached the warehouse my feet were dragging. Since I had not been trusted with a key I hammered on the door until Igor reluctantly answered it.

“Igor sleep,” he grumbled.

“How can you tell? Igor brain-dead.”

It was the fatigue and the worry speaking. Normally I would have known better and not gone out of my way by looking for trouble. Or I would not have made fun of somebody because of a physical handicap. I just wasn’t thinking. He snarled something incomprehensible.

And when I passed by him he hit me in the side of the head with his fist.

It wasn’t the kind of blow designed to kill or maim. Probably just the reflex physical response of someone who was frustratingly limited by verbal skills. Still-it knocked me to the floor, sent my purchases flying.

But it also triggered all the pent-up rage generated by the impossible situation that I was in. Trained reflexes took over. He was above me-a kick to the knee brought him down to my level. As he went by my elbow hit his solar plexus knocking the wind out of him. He was out of the fight and I should have left it there: the strength of my anger almost ended the matter in tragedy.

Without conscious volition my left arm was around his neck while I clutched the wrist with my right hand. The killer headlock. Steady pressure crushes the windpipe and stops the flow of blood in the carotid artery. First unconsciousness, then death. Or if you wanted to finish the affair quickly, sudden levered pressure could break the spine and death would then be instantaneous.

The red haze that obscured my vision faded. Just inches away was his face, eyes bulging, tongue protruding. Seconds away from the end.

It took a great effort of will for me to break the grip. I dropped him and stood up, breathing hoarsely, His eyes were still closed, but at least he was gasping in air. I waited until his eyes opened, then tapped my toe against his ribs to get his attention. With my thumb and forefinger I framed the tiniest space, held them before him.

“That is how close you were to death. If you ever touch me again it will be all the way.”

I stumbled as I picked up my scattered purchases and walked away. Tired as I had been before, this burst of adrenaline-fired activity had pushed me closer to exhaustion: the upper pills were still taking their toll. I dropped everything onto the bed and fought not to drop myself as well. I did not fancy being asleep when Igor recovered-and the thought of revenge began to trickle through his sluggish synapses. I fed my face, then looked around.

For the first time I explored the depths of the warehouse. There was clutter and filth-and far to the rear there was a door half-shielded by empty metal drums. I rolled them aside to reveal an armored motorcycle as well. Used in the other bank heist, no doubt. I pushed this away too and pulled the door open to reveal a small office, ill-lit by a barred and cobwebbed window. It all looked most attractive. Fighting the depths of fatigue I pushed the scarred desk against the wall, then went to get my cot. Igor was not in sight and I did not miss him. Dragging the cot across the floor diminished my small reserves of energy. Pushing it into the office seemed to take hours. The door opened inwards. There was no lock. Nothing I could wedge under the handle. I leaned against it and looked around. The desk. It was heavy enough to slow someone down if he tried to get in. Give me enough time to wake up. Pushing it across the room depleted my reserves completely. It slammed into place and I slammed down onto the cot, my bundles under me. I crashed.

The light was fading from the window when I woke up. My mouth was bone dry and my lips smacked with thirst. The beer was packed in chillo cans: I cracked the lid on one of them. It bubbled with released refrigerants and water began to condense on the outside. I slugged it down and felt infinitely better. I opened a second can and drank only a little bit of it when fatigue got the better of me again. Sleep called.

The hammering didn’t wake me up. I worked it into an elaborate dream and I slept on. Only when I heard the grating sound of the desk being pushed along the floor did I snap awake.

“Stop that!” I shouted and instantly regretted it as the steel band clamped hard around my head. Eased as the grating stopped.

“Boss want you.”

“Tell him I’m coming…” In a hoarse whisper.

I felt a slight measure better after I put my head under the running water. Toweled myself dry, put on my face back on and went out to meet my master.

He looked at my rumpled state and said nothing. Merely curled his lip as he went to the table that was still cluttered with the greasy remains of Igor’s last meal. He swept everything to the floor.

“Igor-clean this mess up.”

He sat in a chair and waited until the muttering Igor had kicked the scraps to one side. A slight improvement. Then Igor went and lay on his bunk and turned on his gogglebox. Chaise waved me over. I moved the chair so I would not have my back facing the room, sat down.

“What do you know about bearer bonds?” he asked.

“Something to do with whips, leather straps?”

“Either you are being facetious-or you are as much of an imbecile as Igor. Not bondage but bonds. A financial entity.”

“Ohh. I didn’t know.” Although I did. But I could see he was ready for a lecture so I let him have his flan.

“Bonds, of which you seem to be ignorant, are certificates of ownership of a specified portion of a debt due by government, or some business organization, perhaps an airline, or other corporation, to individual holders, and usually bearing a fixed rate of interest. These are duly registered in the purchaser’s name and records are kept. If they are later sold there is a record of the sale and purchase. But bearer bonds are quite different. There are no names involved. They can be bought and sold easily and are as good as cash to the owner. Do you have any idea what I am talking about?”