Until Strange spoke, the silence had been accented by the monotonous hiss of entering steam. "I am displeased with you, Dr. Hemlock. You shouldn't have arranged to put the Horse on public display without my permission."

"Well, there's not much we can do about that now."

"True. Any change in your widely publicized plan would attract attention. I have no choice. And thatis why I am displeased."

"Don't worry. The security system in the National is among the best in the world."

"That is not the point."

"What the hell isthe point?"

Strange turned to the thin-chested man with two mouths. "Darling, go fetch that little leather box, there's a good man."

The weaselly serf rose and left the chamber, swirling eddies of vapor in his wake.

"Darling?" Jonathan couldn't help asking.

"His name. Kenneth Darling. I know, I know. Fate delights in her little ironies. But at this moment I am less interested in the deviousness of Fate than I am in yours."

"Any particular deviousness?" Might as well play it out.

Strange leaned his head back against the sweating tile wall and closed his eyes. "Where have you been for the past two days?"

"Arranging for the auction. Contacting critics and reviewers. Setting up the National Gallery display. Earning my money, really."

"Conscientious man."

"Greedy man. What's troubling you, Max?"

"I had you followed from the time you left here."

"Nu?"

"And again, as before, my man lost you in the maze of streets in Covent Garden."

Jonathan shrugged. "I'm sorry your people are incompetent. If I'd known the idiot was following me, I'd have left a trail of bread crumbs."

"For two days, you did not return to either your Baker Street flat or the one in Mayfair. Where were you?"

Jonathan sighed deeply, then spoke slowly and clearly, as though talking to a backward child or a travel agent. "After making the arrangements for the Horse, I went to ground down in Brighton. Why, you will now ask, did I go to ground? I'll tell you why I went to ground. It seemed wise to maintain as low a profile as possible until the thing was done. What did I do in Brighton? Well, I read a bit. And I took long walks through The Lanes. And one evening, I-"

"Very well!"

"Are you satisfied?"

"Don't talk like one of my employees."

"By the way, where are your employees? When I came in, the place seemed deserted."

"So it is, save for a small staff. The Cloisters is no longer in business."

"That will leave a great gap in the social lives of our betters."

Strange waved off this oblique line of conversation with the back of his hand. "When you returned to London this morning, you went to your Baker Street apartment. From there you took a taxi to Miss Vanessa Dyke's house in Putney."

"Right. Right. The fare was one pound six-one fifty with tip. The driver thought the government ought to ban private cars from the city. Particularly when there is fog-which, by the way, he ascribed to massive ice floes broken off the polar cap in result of recent Apollo moon shots-"

"Please!"

"I don't want you to think I'm holding any details back."

"While in Putney, you undoubtedly discovered the accident that had befallen Miss Dyke."

Jonathan glanced at Leonard. "Accident. Yes."

"It must seem to you," Strange said, stretching his legs over the pine bench until the muscles stood out, "that our treatment of Miss Dyke was overreactive. After all, she was guilty only of setting you on our path at a time when we were actively seeking you out ourselves. But the years have taught me that violence and terror, if they are to be effective deterrents, must be exercised systematically and inexorably. We propose certain rules of conduct, and we have to enforce them without reference to individual motives. In this we operate as governments do. It is our good fortune to have Leonard here to carry out the punishments. I loose him like an ineluctable Fury, and punishment becomes both automatic and profound. The effect of Miss Dyke's action is of no weight in this. She was punished for her intention."

Cold air entered the steam room, and the vapor undulated as Darling returned carrying a small black leather case.

"Ah!" said Strange. "Here we are. Leonard, will you give Darling a hand?"

Leonard rose and threw his thick arms around Jonathan's chest, locking his hands in front and pinning Jonathan's arms to his sides. After the first automatic reaction, resistance to that python grip was pointless. With fumbling haste, Darling opened the case, took out a syringe, and injected its contents into Jonathan's shoulder.

"You may let him go, Leonard. But if he makes the slightest gesture of aggression toward me, I want you to beat him, hurting him rather a lot." Strange looked obliquely at Jonathan. "It's not that I'm a physical coward, Dr. Hemlock. But it would be a great pity if you were to damage my face. Surely, as a lover of beauty, you understand."

Jonathan breathed as shallowly as possible, fighting to bring his pulse rate down and to clear his mind. "What's going on, Strange?"

Strange laughed. "Oh, do come on! The midnight bell has rung. Time to stop the dance and remove our masks. Don't worry about the hypodermic. It won't kill you. In fact, there will be no effect at all for five or ten minutes. And even then, you'll find it quite pleasant. The little girl you toyed with the other evening was under a similar drug. It relaxes you, calms your aggressive impulses, makes you docile and obedient."

Jonathan felt nothing as yet "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, I think you've served your purpose now, don't you? And you should be pleased to know that your plans will go ahead just as you wanted. In an hour the armored van will arrive to carry the Horse to the National Gallery, where it will be the object of attention by the ogling masses. And tomorrow it will be on the floor of Sotheby's. We've known about you all along, of course. About your friends in Loo. About the pompous old vicar."

Did he know about Maggie? That was Jonathan's primary worry.

"Tell me, Jonathan-I feel I may use your first name now-is your mind still clear enough to reason out why I have let you go so long?"

"It's fairly obvious. You had a real problem in arranging the open auction of the films without alerting the British authorities."

"Precisely. And the good Lord sent you along to do it for us-andwith the benediction of the Loo organization, too! Obviously, you intended to intercept the Marini Horse while it was in the National Gallery. But now you won't have to trouble yourself about that. Tomorrow, a little after noon, the gavel falls. The British government, with all its trade concessions, defense secrets, wealth, and problems, becomes the property of the highest bidder. And Amazing Grace and I disappear."

"But if I don't show up with the films..." Jonathan stopped and frowned. That's odd, he thought. He had forgotten what he was going to say.

Strange laughed. "Naturally, I have considered that. Your vicar knows the films are in the Horse, and if you don't bring them, he will be constrained to make other arrangements-loath though he is to bring the police in on this. I have taken that possibility into account, and I have neutralized it. And of course I'm neutralizing you. You won't be going anywhere near the National Gallery."

Jonathan somehow didn't care. The steam felt very good. Caressing. It penetrated his muscles and tingled them pleasantly. There was nothing to be afraid of. Maximilian Strange was a handsome man, a cultured man... what did that have to do with anything? "Do I, ah..." What was he going to say? "Oh, yes! Do I die?"

"Oh, I imagine so," Strange said with warm concern. "But not just now."

"I see," Jonathan said, recognizing the profound meaning in these words. "And if I don't die now," he reasoned, "then I die later. I mean, everyone dies sooner or later, you know." He felt he had them here. No one could deny that.