“I suppose so. I suppose he has a first name to go with it. Unless he’s very artsy and he just uses the one name. Frankie was pretty vague on the subject of Grabow.”

“It sounds to me as though she was pretty vague about everything.”

“Well, she was, but I don’t think she ever met Grabow. At least that’s the impression I got. She saw a lot of the Legal Beagle because Crystal used to drink with him in the bars. I gather Frankie found him amusing, but I don’t know whether she laughed with him or at him. But I have the feeling all she knew about Grabow was what Crystal told her, and that may not have amounted to very much.”

“What about the third man?”

“He’s easy. Maybe because he’s not married, or at least I don’t think he’s married, which would mean he’d have nothing to hide. Anyway, Frankie knows him. His name is Knobby and he tends bar at Spyder’s Parlor. That’s one of the places I hit last night.”

“So you met him?”

“No. We went there looking for him but he’d switched shifts with Lloyd.”

“Who’s Lloyd?”

“The guy who was tending bar at Spyder’s Parlor last night. I’ll tell you one thing, he pours a hell of a drink. I don’t know Knobby’s last name. I don’t know Frankie’s last name, come to think of it, or anybody’s last name. None of the people I met last night had last names. But I don’t suppose it’ll be hard to find Knobby, not if he hangs onto his job.”

“I wonder why he didn’t work last night.”

“Beats me. I gather the bartenders switch shifts with each other all the time. Maybe there was something on television Knobby didn’t want to miss. Or maybe he had to sit up washing Crystal ’s blood out of his official Spyder’s Parlor T-shirt. Not really, because there wasn’t any blood to speak of.”

“How do you know that, Bernie?”

Brilliant. “She was stabbed in the heart,” I said. “So there wouldn’t have been much bleeding.”

“Oh.”

“So here’s what we’ve got,” I said, changing the subject back where it belonged. “The Legal Beagle, Grabow the Artist, and Knobby the Bartender. I think we’ll have to concentrate on the three of them for the time being.”

“How?”

“Well, we can find out who they are. That would be a start.”

“And then what?”

And then I could see who had the jewels, but I couldn’t tell Jillian that. She didn’t know anything about my Ultrasuede attaché case filled with twice-stolen pretties, nor did she know B. G. Rhodenbarr had been on the premises when Crystal got hers.

“And then,” I said, “we can see if one of them had a reason for killing Crystal, and if there was any link between any of them and Craig, because the killer didn’t just happen to turn up with a dental scalpel because the local hardware store was fresh out of javelins. If it turns out that Grabow’s got a partial plate that Craig made for him, or-God, I’m stupid today. You’re really seeing me at my worst, Jillian. Drunk last night and hungover this morning. I’ve got a brain underneath it all, honest I do. A small one, but it’s stood me in good stead over the years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your files. Well, Craig’s files, actually. Knobby and Grabow and the Beagle. Craig has a record of everyone he’s seen professionally, doesn’t he? Grabow’ll be a cinch if he was ever a patient, unless Frankie got his name wrong. Knobby’ll be harder until I learn what his legal name is, but that shouldn’t take long and then you can see if there’s any connection between him and Craig. As far as Johnny the Lawyer is concerned, well, there we’ve got a problem. I don’t suppose you have your patients listed by occupation.”

She shook her head. “There’s blanks for business address and employer on the chart, but when they’re self-employed they don’t usually specify what they’re self-employed at. I know what I could do.”

“What?”

“I could go through and pull all the Johns who aren’t obviously something other than lawyers, and then I can check the ones who are left against the listings of attorneys in the Yellow Pages. Not all lawyers are listed, of course. I guess most of them aren’t. But does it sound as though it might be worthwhile?”

“It sounds like a long shot. And a lot of hard work.”

“I know.”

“But every once in a while somebody sifts through a haystack and actually comes up with a needle. If you don’t mind taking the time-”

“I don’t have anything else to do. And it’ll at least give me the feeling that I’m doing something to help.”

“You’re harboring a fugitive,” I said. “That’s something.”

“Do you really think you’re a fugitive? Just because you recognized a policeman in your lobby doesn’t mean he was there waiting for you. He might have been checking on some other tenant.”

“Mrs. Hesch, say. Maybe he came to arrest her for smoking in the elevator.”

“But he wasn’t even one of the cops we saw before, Bernie. Why would he be the one to go looking for you? I could understand if it was…I forget their names.”

“Todras and Nyswander. Todras was the block of granite with the menacing smile. Nyswander was Wilbur the Weasel.”

“Well, if they were waiting for you, then you’d have something to worry about. But I don’t think-who’s that?”

The doorbell sounded again, right on cue.

I said, “I came here last night around one. I left about an hour ago. You don’t know anything about my being a burglar. I never really talk much about my work and we haven’t been going together that long. You’ve been seeing other men besides me, see, although you haven’t let me know that.”

“Bernie, I-”

“Pay attention. You can answer the bell in a minute. They’re downstairs and they’re not about to kick the door in. You’re Craig’s girlfriend, it might even be a good idea to volunteer that, but you like to play the field a bit and neither Craig nor I knows you’re seeing the other one. You’d better use the intercom now. I’ll have time to get out before any New York cop can drag his ass up three flights of stairs.”

She walked to the wall, depressed the switch to activate the intercom. “Yes?” she said. “Who is it?”

“Police officers.”

She looked at me. I nodded and she poked the buzzer to let them in. I went to the door, opened it, put one foot out into the hallway. “It’s official,” I said, “you’ve been harboring a fugitive, but you didn’t know it so it’s not your fault. For that matter, nobody told me I was a fugitive. I lied to the cops about my line of work, but why not, since I didn’t want you to know about it? I think we’ll both be all right. I’ll get in touch with you later, either here or at the office. Don’t forget to go through the files.”

“Bernie-”

“No time,” I said, and blew her a kiss and scampered.

I had ample time to climb one flight of stairs while Todras and Nyswander were climbing three. I loitered on the top step and listened while their feet led them to Jillian’s door. They knocked. The door opened. They entered. The door closed. I gave them a minute to get comfortable, then descended a flight and stood beside the door, listening. I heard voices but couldn’t make them out. I could tell there were two of them, though, and I’d heard both pairs of feet on the stairs, and I didn’t want to hang around until one of them got psychic and yanked the door open. I went down three more flights of stairs and took my tie out of my pocket and put it right back when I saw how wrinkled it was.

The sun seemed brighter than it had to be. I blinked at it, momentarily uncertain, and a voice said, “If it ain’t my old pal Bernie.”

Ray Kirschmann, the best cop money can buy, stood with his abundant backside resting upon the fender of a blue-and-white police cruiser. He had a lazy smile on his broad face. A smile of insupportable smugness.

I said, “Oh, hell, Ray. Long time no see.”

“Been ages, hasn’t it?” He drew the passenger door open, nodded at the seat. “Hop in,” he said. “We’ll have us a ride on a beautiful morning like this. It’s no kind of a day to be inside, like in a cell or anything like that. Hop in, Bern.”