"Sure they did. It was too in the papers, the American people were giving it to Turkey, that's how come it came in from Chicago."

Dortmunder gave Kelp his steadiest look. "Andy," he said, "that's something else you know now, it's part of the robbery story. Tell me the truth: before the heist, did you know all about this American people gift business?"

Looking a bit uncomfortable, Kelp said, "Well, in a general sort of way."

"It could of happened to you," Dortmunder told him. "Don't kid yourself. You could of been the one noticed the vacation sign, broke in, opened the safe, saw that big red rock and figured, what the hell, take it along, maybe it's worth something. It could of happened to you."

"It didn't, John," Kelp said. "That's all I can say, and I'm happy I can say it. It didn't happen to me."

"It happened to me," Dortmunder said, and was grimly aware that all three people in the room—including, God help him, himself—were thinking about the Dortmunder jinx.

Kelp shook his head. "Wow," he said. "Whadaya gonna do now, John?"

"I don't know. I didn't realize I even had the goddam thing till last night, I haven't had much time to think about it."

"I hate to say this to any man," Kelp said, "but I think you oughta give it back."

Dortmunder nodded. "I been thinking the same way. But it raises a question."

"Yeah?"

"How? How do I give it back? Do I mail it?"

"Don't be silly, you know you can't trust the mails."

"Also," Dortmunder said, "I don't feature just leaving it someplace, like one of your abandoned babies in church, because then some kid comes along or some wise guy, and he grabs it, and the heat stays on, and I'm still in trouble."

"You know what, John?" Kelp sat up straighter on the sofa. "A sudden thought just hit me."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You better not go to the O.J., after all. I don't think you could safely chit-chat with Tiny Bulcher. I mean, face it, you don't have an alibi."

Dortmunder said nothing. He just looked at Kelp. It was May, seated in her own chair to one side, who said quietly, "John knows that, Andy."

"Oh, yeah? Yeah, I see what you mean." Kelp grinned and shook his head at himself, saying, "This is still new news to me, you know? I'm still catching up."

"The thing right now," Dortmunder said, "is how do I give that goddam ruby back."

"I think you gotta call them," Kelp said.

"Who, Turkey? Or the American people."

"The law. Call that cop on the television, Maloney." (Having only heard the name and never having seen it, that's the way Kelp thought it was spelled.)

"Call the cops," mused Dortmunder. "And then I say, 'Hello, I got it. You want it back? »

"That's right," Kelp said. He was getting excited. "Then you maybe even dicker a little. John, you could maybe even turn a profit on this thing!"

"I don't want to turn a profit," Dortmunder told him. "I just want out from under that stone."

"Well, keep an open mind," Kelp suggested. "See how the conversation goes."

"I'll tell you how the conversation goes," Dortmunder said. "We dicker back and forth, we keep an open mind, and meantime they're tracing the call, and all of a sudden I'm surrounded by blue uniforms."

"Not necessarily," Kelp said, looking very thoughtful.

May said, "Andy? Do you have an idea?"

"Could be," Kelp said. "Coouuuuld very well be."

When the little man sidled into the office, ushered by Tony Cappelletti, Mologna gazed sternly across his desk and said, "Benjamin Arthur Klopzik?"

"Gee!" the little man said, with a sudden huge beaming smile. "Is that me?"

Mologna frowned and tried again: "You are Benjamin Arthur Klopzik?"

"I am?"

"Siddown," Tony Cappelletti told the little man, giving him a shove toward the chair in front of Mologna's desk. "This is Klopzik, all right. You trying to pull something, Benjy?"

"Oh, no, sir, Captain," Benjamin Arthur Klopzik said, and turned an appealing little smile in the direction of Mologna. "Good morning, Chief Inspector."

"Go to hell," Mologna told him.

"Yes, sir." Klopzik placed his dirty-nailed hands between his bony knees and sat very alertly, like a dog who can do tricks.

"So," Mologna said, "a lot of you social misfits, penny-ante heisters, cheapjack four-flushers, and miserable hopeless losers figure you'll help the Police Department of the City of New York find the Byzantine Fire, is that it?"

"Yes, sir, Chief Inspector."

"Not to mention the FBI."

Klopzik looked confused. "Chief Inspector?"

"Not that I want to mention the FBI," Mologna went on, and looked past Klopzik to toss a wintry smile at the still-standing Tony Cappelletti, who gave nothing back at all; it was like telling a joke to a horse. Mologna wished Leon wouldn't spend so much time in the outer office, doing his crochet. Was there an excuse to buzz for Leon? Frowning severely at Klopzik, Mologna said, "So you'll make a statement, is that right? And sign it?"

But Klopzik looked terrified: "Statement? Sign?" Twisting around in his chair, he stared mutely at Cappelletti, as though at his trainer.

Who shook his heavy hairy head. "We don't want to blow Benjy in the underworld, Francis."

No statement, then, and therefore no Leon. "All right," Mologna said. "Klopzik, there's no deal involved in this, you understand that. If you bums and parasites and miserable scum decide to help the authorities in their investigations into this heinous crime, it's strictly public spiritedness on your side, you got that?"

"Oh, sure, Chief Inspector," Klopzik said, happy again. "And in the meantime, the blitz is off, isn't that right?"

This time, the full frigid force of Mologna's wintry smile was directed at Klopzik, who blinked under it as though he'd developed immediate frostbite of the nose. "You call that a blitz, Klopzik?" Mologna demanded. "You think that little exercise we've had up till now deserves the word blitz?"

Mologna stopped there, waiting for an answer, but he might as well have saved saving his breath. The mind of Benjamin Arthur Klopzik was nowhere near intricate enough to figure out whether the right answer was yes or no. Mologna waited, and Klopzik sat blinking at him, alert for an order to roll over or fetch a stick, and at last Mologna answered the question himself: "It does not," he said. "Tomorrow, if we're still lookin for that blessed ruby, you and all your riffraff ne'er-do-well friends will have a golden opportunity to see what a real blitz looks like. Do you want that, Klopzik?"

Klopzik knew that answer: "No, Chief Inspector!"

"You go back and tell that gang of ruffians what I said."

"Yes, Chief Inspector."

"And you can also tell those hooligans and boyos, as far as I'm concerned they aren't doin me or the Police Department or the City of New York any favors."

"Oh, no, Chief Inspector."

"Their civic duty is all they're performin, and the sweet Virgin knows it's overdue."

"Yes, Chief Inspector."

"They'll get no thanks if they succeed, and they'll feel the wrath of my fist if they fail."

"Yes, Chief Inspector. Thank you, Chief Inspector."

"And when I say—"

The door opened and Leon drifted in, like Venus toward shore. "You'll never believe this one," he announced, while Tony Cappelletti surveyed him with the gloomy frustration of a muzzled St. Bernard studying a cat.

"Hold it, Leon," Mologna said, and went on with his sentence: "When I say tomorrow, Klopzik, do you know what I mean?"

Wrinkles of bewilderment further marred the little man's features. "Yes, Chief Inspector?"

"I'll tell you what I mean," Mologna warned him. "I do not mean whenever it is you drag your miserable carcass out of your vermin-infested bed."