When Stone walked into Elaine’s, Dino was already half a drink ahead of him.

“You look worried,” Dino said, as Stone sat down.

“I didn’t know it showed,” Stone replied, as a waiter set a Knob Creek on the rocks before him.

“Always,” Dino said.

“Dolce’s on the loose,” Stone said, taking a swig from the drink.

Dino’s face fell. “Bring us both another one,” he said to the waiter, then turned back toward Stone. “How the hell did she escape?”

“I had lunch with Eduardo a few weeks ago, and to my shock she made an appearance at the table.”

“She was running around loose?”

“She appeared to be her old, premurderous self. Eduardo allowed her to go to the city on shopping trips, accompanied by an ape named Mario, and she started hanging around across the street from my house. It gave Joan the willies.”

“I’m armed,” Dino said, “and it gives me the willies.”

“Then yesterday Dolce slipped a knife into Mario and vanished.”

After looking carefully around the restaurant, Dino summoned a waiter. “Go look in the other dining room and see if there’s anybody in there.” Elaine used the other room for parties.

“There’s nobody,” the waiter said. “The lights aren’t even on.”

“Go look anyway,” Dino said, “and look good.”

The waiter went, looked and returned. “Nobody in there,” he said.

“Thanks,” Dino said.

“Don’t get all squirrely on me, Dino,” Stone said, but he was happy when the second drink arrived.

“I suppose Eduardo’s got the troops out looking for her,” Dino said. He had once been married to Eduardo’s other daughter, Anna Maria, who, in rebellion, called herself Mary Ann. He knew the family well.

“Does he still have troops?” Stone asked.

“Eduardo knows people who know people who have troops. The last thing he wants is for Dolce to do something that gets noticed by the media.”

“Like Mario?”

“Mario was smart enough to call somebody. He’d have died on the street before he’d have gone to an ER. You, on the other hand, would be calling 911 before you hit the pavement.”

“You bet your ass I would,” Stone said, sipping his new drink. “The really weird thing is, Eduardo told me that his butler-what’s that guy’s name?”

“Pietro,” Dino said. “That guy really gave me the willies.”

“Pietro taught Dolce to use a knife when she was a teenager. Eduardo implied that she was good enough to disable Mario without killing him.”

“Now that is very good indeed,” Dino said. “Somehow I don’t think she’ll have as much consideration for you, unless it’s to let you die more slowly. She would want to watch.”

“We’d better order dinner before I order another drink,” Stone said.

“I think you’d better keep your wits about you,” Dino said. “Where’s Felicity?”

“She called and said she was hung up in a meeting; she’ll join us here.” A waiter brought menus.

Felicity came in and sat down before they could order. She gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “Order for me, will you, Stone?”

“Of course.”

“But something light. I think I gained five pounds last night.”

“How about the Dover sole?”

“Perfect.”

He ordered the same for both of them, and Dino ordered pasta. He also ordered Felicity a Rob Roy.

“So,” Felicity said, “have you begun our little project?”

“I’m not listening,” Dino said.

“You may listen,” Felicity replied. “In fact, you may even be of help. Go on, Stone.”

“My guy has gotten access to the security tapes at the Seagram Building on or around the dates you gave us,” Stone said. “We’ll review them tomorrow.”

“Good thought,” she said. “What else?”

“One of my guys also mentioned an Englishman’s love of his tailor, and it seems likely that he’s still having his clothes made.”

“A very good possibility,” Felicity said. “My father practically went into mourning when his tailor died.”

“We’re looking at New York tailors who make English-style suits.”

“Very good.”

“Since Dino can listen now, may I show him the photo?”

“Better yet, I’ll give him a copy,” Felicity said, opening her briefcase and handing the picture to Dino.

“Who’s the guy?” Dino asked.

Stone explained. “Do you have access to the FBI’s facial comparison program?”

“I can manage that,” Dino said.

“I’m sure Felicity would appreciate it if you’d run that photograph. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a match.”

“It’s twelve years old,” Felicity reminded him.

“Ask them if they can age him twelve years,” Stone said.

“Okay.”

“And ask them to give him a nose job, too.”

“Yeah, that’s quite a honker,” Dino said, looking at the man’s profile.

Felicity laughed. “Yes, it is quite a honker.”

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Stone said to Felicity, “which is unrelated to your work.”

“And what might that be?” She took a sip of her Rob Roy.

“A woman has been hanging around across the street from my house for… a while.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said.

“The thing is, she’s dangerous.”

“And what makes her dangerous?”

“Mental illness and a considerable facility with a knife.”

“An unattractive combination,” Felicity said. “What does she look like?”

“Like a Sicilian princess,” Stone said.

“That’s a good description,” Dino agreed. “It’s also what she is, right to the bone.”

“Should I go about armed?” Felicity asked.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Stone said. “I’ll loan you something, if you like.”

“Oh, I can manage,” Felicity said.

Stone sat in Bob Cantor’s van, parked right outside the Turtle Bay house, and looked at the surveillance tapes from the Seagram Building.

“I’ve copied them and done some editing and enhancing,” Cantor said, “so what you’re seeing is the most likely candidates.”

Stone watched a videotape of men entering the building and the elevators. An hour later he said, “Stop.”

“Which one?” Cantor said.

“The one with the hat, the beefy one.”

“Why him?”

“It’s his walk, it’s not completely natural. Do you see what I mean?”

Cantor rewound and watched the man. “Yeah, I see what you mean about the walk. It’s like one leg is stiffer than the other. Maybe he has an artificial leg?”

“I don’t think so, but I was told he walks funny.”

“Who wears a hat these days?” Cantor asked. “Nobody.”

“Maybe an English gentleman,” Stone said.

“Are his clothes custom-made?”

“Freeze the shot,” Stone said, then looked carefully at the man’s back. “I think so.”

“How can you tell?”

“For a start, his suit jacket has double pleats; ready-made suits more commonly have a center pleat. Then look at his shoulders: there’s no wrinkle near the collar, and there’s no puckering on the center seam. The sleeve has four buttons, too, and it looks like they have buttonholes. A man could get that from an expensive shop, but it all adds up to bespoke.”

“Bespoke?”

“What the Brits call custom-made. He’s showing more shirt collar than usual, too. His shirts are probably custom as well, so make a note to check out shirtmakers, starting with Turnbull and Asser. And the hat is a Trilby, taupe in color. That’s very British. See if you can find a shot of him in the elevator.”

“Why?”

“Because a gentleman removes his hat in an elevator.”

Cantor ran through some more shots at high speed. “Here we go,” he said.

“Maybe we can see what floor button he pushes,” Stone said, but the man didn’t push a button. He removed his hat, though, revealing a head full of dark hair, gray at the temples. The camera was set high, in a corner, and they could see only the back of his head.

“He’s not balding,” Cantor said.

“Maybe. He didn’t push any buttons; he was apparently going to a floor somebody else had already pushed.” Sure enough, the man followed another passenger off the elevator.