The two men he had seen in the lobby were standing there.

"Matthew Payne?" the taller one said.

Matt nodded.

"I'm Special Agent Jernigan of the FBI, and this is Special Agent Leibowitz." He showed Matt his identification, then went on: "We'd like to talk to you. May we come in?"

"Talk to me about what?"

"May we come in?"

"Talk to me about what?" Matt repeated.

"If you don't mind, Mr. Payne, we'll ask the questions, " Special Agent Jernigan said.

"What is this, some sort of a joke?" Matt asked, aware that his temper was simmering just below the surface.

"I assure you, this is not a joke."

"Ask your questions," Matt said.

"Is Miss Susan Reynolds in your apartment?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business, but no, she's not."

"We'll decide what's our business, if you don't mind."

"And I will decide whether or not I'll answer your questions, if you don't mind."

"You understand, of course, Mr. Payne, that interfering with a federal investigation is a crime?"

"I heard that somewhere. But I also heard that declining to answer questions is not considered interfering with an investigation. I think they call that the Fifth Amendment."

"We understand, Mr. Payne," Agent Leibowitz said, "that you were with Miss Reynolds last night?"

Matt understood when Leibowitz spoke that Leibowitz was the senior agent of the two, and that Leibowitz had opened his mouth only because he understood that Agent Jernigan and the interviewee had developed a personality conflict that would interfere with the interview.

"Yes, I was," Matt said.

"Would you mind telling us where you went with her when you left the Nesbitt residence together?"

"I did not leave the Nesbitt residence with anyone," Matt said.

Christ, have these guys been talking to Daffy? What the hell is this all about?

"We believe you did," Agent Leibowitz said.

"Frankly, I don't care if you believe in the Easter Bunny," Matt said. "I'm telling you I left the Nesbitt residence alone, and that's absolutely the last thing I'm going to tell you until you tell me what this is all about."

"I don't understand your hostility, frankly, Mr. Payne," Leibowitz said. "You have something against the FBI?"

"Some of my best friends are FBI agents, but I don't think I would want my sister to marry one," Matt said.

Matt saw that Agent Jernigan's face had grown red. And that pleased him.

"Where are you employed, Mr. Payne?" Jernigan asked, somewhat menacingly.

"I don't think you're supposed to be asking any more questions, are you? Didn't Agent Leibowitz take over the interview?"

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Payne," Agent Leibowitz said, and walked toward the elevator.

"'Bye, now," Matt said. "Have a nice night!"

He started back up the stairs to his apartment.

I wonder what the hell that was all about?

Jesus! Kidnapping?

Did somebody kidnap Susan Reynolds? That would involve the FBI.

And they must have talked to Daffy.

And she told them Susan had left with me, because that's what she told Susan's parents.

Goddamn her!

Wait a minute. Don't leap to conclusions.

Daffy told Susan's mother that Susan was off somewhere with me.

Susan's mother, or father, told Dad's pal, Lawyer Emmons, that Susan had gone off with me.

One of them, probably Lawyer Emmons, went to the FBI, and told the FBI the same thing.

The FBI is investigating the kidnapping, or at least the disappearance and possible kidnapping of Susan Reynolds.

So soon? She only turned up missing at two A.M. this morning.

The victim is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Reynolds. Reynolds, a multimillionaire, is president of Tomar, Inc.

And important enough to get the FBI working on a weekend.

Goddamn Daffy!

I am, if not a suspect, then the last person known to have seen the victim.

Those FBI clowns were just doing their job. I probably shouldn't have given them such a hard time. But they are such an arrogant bunch of bastards! "I am Special Agent Jernigan of the FBI, Mr. Payne. We'd like to talk to you. May we come in?" and then that "Where are you employed, Mr. Payne?" bullshit. Translation: "We're going to get you in trouble with your boss, wise guy."

Fuck them! All they had to do was tell me they were looking for Susan Reynolds, that they thought she might have been kidnapped. Even if I was the kidnapper, that wouldn't have hurt their investigation. And I would have told them everything I know… except, of course, that I don't think she spent the night in her room, because I went into her room and the bed hadn't been slept in.

Goddamn it, going into her room was really stupid!

He reached the top of the stairs, crossed to his couch, slumped into it, and put the telephone in his lap.

"Hello?"

"Daffy, curiosity overwhelms me. Where did your pal Susan finally turn up?"

"Matt," Daphne Browne Nesbitt said solemnly, "I am so sorry."

"So sorry about what?"

"Can you keep your mouth shut?"

"Of course."

"She was there all the time," Daffy said.

"She was where all the time?"

"In her room. She didn't want to answer the telephone. "

"How do you know that?"

"Because she told me."

"When was this?"

"About an hour ago. She called just before she checked out of the hotel."

"You're sure it was her?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Did she tell you why she didn't want to answer the telephone?"

"No, but I can guess, can't you?"

"You're suggesting she was in the sack with some guy all the time?"

"I suggested nothing of the kind. Susan isn't that kind of girl."

"Where is she now?"

"Probably, about now, about halfway to Harrisburg. Matt, I feel like such a shit for getting you involved."

"Involved in what?"

"I know about her father's lawyer calling your father."

"No major problem, Daffy."

"You want to come to supper? There's all kinds of leftovers."

"I'll take a rain check."

"You want Susan's telephone number? If at first you don't succeed, et cetera, et cetera…"

He stopped himself just in time from saying "no." He wrote the number down, then said good-bye to Daphne.

Do I want to take another shot at that dame? No, I do not. Then why did I take down her phone number?

He crumpled the sheet of notepaper up and threw it at an overflowing wastebasket. He missed.

He spent the next thirty minutes in an only partially successful attempt to clean up the apartment, then started carrying bags of garbage down the stairs to the elevator. On his third trip, emptying the wastebasket in brown kraft paper bags from Acme Supermarkets, he saw the crumpled ball of paper with Susan Reynolds's telephone number on it. He picked it up and after a moment's hesitation stuffed it into his pocket.

Then he went down in the elevator with the half-dozen bags of garbage, set them where they would be collected in the morning, and walked back to the Porsche. He debated a moment about taking the unmarked car, then decided not to. He was going on duty, sure, extra duty, and therefore the taxpayers of Philadelphia should be happy to pay for his transportation.

But on the other hand, driving the Porsche was fun. And there was probably going to be little chance to drive it during the next week or ten days. With His Honor the mayor paying personal attention to the investigation of dirty cops in Narcotics, there was almost certainly going to be a lot of overtime.

He drove out of the garage, closed it after him, and then started for Special Operations, via Broad Street. As he passed Hahnemann Hospital, he glanced in the rearview mirror to change lanes and saw Special Agent Leibowitz of the FBI at the wheel of a green Chevrolet, with Special Agent Jernigan sitting beside him.