She tended to lean against one while working on one’s mouth. There was nothing objectionable in this. Quite the contrary, truth to tell.

So the cleaning seemed to pass in no time at all. And when it was all done and my teeth had that wonderfully shiny feel to them that they only have the first few hours after they’ve been cleaned, and after we’d exchanged a few pleasantries and she’d shown me for what seemed like the thousandth time the proper way to brush my teeth (and every damned dental hygienist shows you a different way, and each swears it’s the only way) she batted an eyelash or two at me and said, “It’s always good to see you, Mr. Rhodenbarr.”

“Always a pleasure for me, Jillian.”

“And I’m so glad to hear you’re going to help Craig out and burglarize Crystal ’s jewels.”

“Urg,” I said.

I suppose I should have bailed out there and then. It was the right time for it-the plane was still in the air and I had a parachute.

But I didn’t.

I wasn’t happy about things. My tight-lipped dentist had managed to break security within five minutes. Presumably Jillian was his trusted confidante, and quite likely she received a good number of his confidences while both parties were in a horizontal position, an hypothesis I’d entertained earlier in light of her obvious attractions and Craig’s historic predilection for diddling the help.

This didn’t butter no parsnips, as my grandmother would never have dreamed of saying. (Granny was a strict grammarian who wouldn’t have said ain’t if she had a mouthful.) As far as I was concerned, if one person knew a burglar’s plan, that was awful. If two people knew, that was ten times as awful. It didn’t matter if the two people were sleeping together. Hell, maybe it was worse if they were sleeping together. They could have a falling-out and one of them could go about blabbing resentfully.

I did take time to speak to Craig, assuring him that it would be in everybody’s interest for him to give his errant tongue a Novocaine hit. He apologized and promised to be properly silent in the future, and I decided to let it go at that. I wouldn’t bail out. I’d see if I couldn’t fly the damn plane to safety.

Pride and greed. They’ll do you in every time.

That was on a Thursday. I got out to the Hamptons for the weekend, spent half a day out on a bluefish boat, worked on my tan, sampled the bar scene, stayed at a fine old place called the Huntting Inn (spelling it with two T’s was their idea), agreed with everyone that the place was a damn sight better now that the season was over, and in the course of things struck out with an impressive number of otherwise charming young ladies. By the time I was back in Manhattan where I belong, I’d eaten up a little more of my case money and was almost glad I’d decided to hit the Sheldrake residence. Not wild about it but, oh, let’s say sanguine.

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday casing the joint. Wednesday night I called Craig at his East Sixty-third Street bachelor digs to get another report on Crystal ’s routine. I told him, not without purpose, that Saturday night sounded like the best time for me to make my move.

I didn’t intend to wait until Saturday. The very next night, Thursday, I had my conversation with Miss Henrietta Tyler and cracked Crystal ’s crib.

And languished in her closet. And probed for a pulse in her lifeless wrist.

Around ten the next morning I was spreading rhubarb preserves on a piece of whole-wheat toast. I’d bought the preserves, imported from Scotland at great expense, because I figured anything in an octagonal jar with a classy label had to be good. Now I felt an obligation to use them up even though my figuring seemed to be wrong. I had the piece of toast nicely covered and was about to cut it into triangles when the phone rang.

When I answered it Jillian Parr said, “Mr. Rhodenbarr? This is Jillian. From Dr. Craig’s office?”

“Oh, hi!” I said. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it? How are things in dental hygiene?”

There was a funereal pause. Then, “You haven’t heard the news?”

“News?”

“I don’t even know if it was in the papers. I haven’t even seen the papers. I overslept, I just grabbed coffee and Danish on my way to the office. Craig had a nine-thirty appointment booked and he’s always at the office on time and he didn’t show up. I called his apartment and there was no answer, and I figured he must be on his way in, and then I had the radio on and there was a newscast.”

“Jesus,” I said. “What happened, Jillian?”

There was a pause and then the words came in a rush. “He was arrested, Bernie. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. Last night someone killed Crystal. Stabbed her to death or something, and in the middle of the night the police came and arrested Craig for her murder. You didn’t know about this?”

“I can’t even believe it,” I said. I wedged the phone between ear and shoulder so that I could quarter the toast. I didn’t want it to get cold. If I have to eat rhubarb preserves I can damn well eat them on warm toast. “It wasn’t in the Times,” I added. I could have added that it wasn’t in the News either, but that it was all over the radio and television newscasts. But for some curious reason I didn’t mention this.

“I don’t know what to do, Bernie. I just don’t know what I should do.”

I took a bite of toast, chewed it thoughtfully. “I suppose the first step is to close the office and cancel his appointments for the day.”

“Oh, I already did that. You know Marian, don’t you? The receptionist? She’s making telephone calls now. When she’s done I’ll send her home, and after that-”

“After that you can go home yourself.”

“I suppose so. But there has to be something I can do.”

I ate more toast, sipped some coffee. I seemed to be developing a definite taste for the rhubarb jam. I wasn’t positive I’d go running out for another jar when this one was finally finished, but I was beginning to like it. Coffee, though, was not quite the right accompaniment. A pot of strong English breakfast tea, that would be more like it. I’d have to remember next time.

“I can’t believe Craig would kill her,” she was saying. “She was a bitch and he hated her but I can’t believe he would kill anyone. Even a rotten tramp like Crystal.”

I tried to remember that Latin phrase for speaking well of the dead, then gave it up. De mortuis ta-tum ta-tum bonum, something along those lines.

“If only I could talk to him, Bernie.”

“You haven’t heard from him?”

“Nothing.”

“What time did they pick him up?”

“They didn’t say on the radio. Only that he’d been arrested for questioning. If it was just a matter of questioning they wouldn’t have had to arrest him, would they?”

“Probably not.” I paused, chewed rhubarb-laden toast, considered. “When was Crystal killed? Did they happen to say?”

“I think they said the body was discovered shortly after midnight.”

“Well, it’s hard to say when they would have gotten around to picking Craig up. They might have questioned him without charging him for a while. He could have insisted they charge him, but he might not have thought of that. And he might not have bothered insisting on having a lawyer present. In any event, somewhere along the way he must have called an attorney. He wouldn’t have a criminal lawyer but his own lawyer would have referred the case to somebody and he’s almost certainly got counsel at hand by now.” I thought back to my own experiences. I used a couple of mouthpieces over the years before I finally settled on Herbie Tannenbaum. He’s always straight with me, I can call him at any hour, and he knows he can trust me to come up with his fee even if I don’t have anything in advance. He also knows how to reach the reachable judges and how to work trade-offs with the D.A.’s people. But I somehow doubted he’d be the kind of lawyer Craig Sheldrake would wind up with.