When the detectives from the Homicide Bureau arrived, Qwilleran recognized a pair he had met before. He liked the heavy-set one called Hames, a smart detective with an off-duty personality, but he didn't care for Wojcik, whose nasal voice was well suited to sarcasm.

Wojcik gave one look at Qwilleran and said, "How'd the press get here so fast?" The patrolman said: "The photographer was here when we arrived. He let us into the apartment. He's the one who found the body and reported it." Wojcik turned to Bunsen. "How did you happen to be here?" "I came in through the window." "I see. This is the fifteenth floor. And you came in through the window." "Sure, there are balconies out there." Hames was ogling the sumptuous living room. "Look at this wallpaper," he said. "If my wife ever saw this — " Wojcik went into the bedroom and after that onto the balcony. He looked at the ground fifteen stories below, and he gauged the distance between balconies. Then he cornered Bunsen. "Okay, how did you get in?" "I told you — " "I suppose you know you smell like a distillery." Qwilleran said: "Bunsen's telling the truth. He jumped from balcony to balcony, all the way from my place on the other side." "This may be a silly question," said the detective, "but do you mind if I inquire why?" "Well, it's like this," said the photographer. "We were across the court — " "He came to get my cat," Qwilleran interrupted. "My cat was over here." Hames said: "That must be the famous Siamese that's bucking for my job on the force. I'd like to meet him." "He's in the dining room under the table." "My wife's crazy about Siamese. Some day I've got to break down and buy her one." Qwilleran followed the amiable detective into the dining room and said quietly: "There's some- thing I ought to tell you, Hames. We were here this afternoon to photograph the apartment for Gracious Abodes, and David Lyke removed some valuable art objects before we took the pictures. I don't know what he did with them, but they were valuable, and I don't see them anywhere." There was no reaction from the detective, who was now down on his knees under the table.

"As I recall," Qwilleran went on, "there was a Japanese screen in five panels, all done in gold. And a long vertical scroll with pictures of ducks and geese. And a wood sculpture of a deer, almost life-size, and very old, judging from its condition. And a big china bowl. And a gold Buddha about three feet high." From under the table Hames said, "This guy's fur feels like mink. Are these cats very expensive?" It was Wojcik who roused the neighbors. The apartment across the hall was occupied by an elderly woman who was hard of hearing; she said she had retired early, had heard nothing, had seen no one. The adjoining apartment to the east was vacant; the one on the other side produced a fragment of information.

"We're not acquainted with Mr. Lyke," said a man's voice, "but we see him on the elevator occasionally — him and his friends." "And we hear his wild parties," a woman's shrill voice added.

"We didn't hear anything tonight," said the man, "except his television. That struck us as being unusual. Ordinarily he plays stereo…. Music, you know." "He doesn't play it. He blasts it," the woman said. "Last week we complained to the manager." "When we heard his TV," the man went on, "we decided there must be a good show, so we turned our set on.

After that I didn't hear anything more from his apartment." "No voices? No altercation of any kind?" the detective asked.

"To tell the truth, I fell asleep," said the man. "It wasn't a very good show after all." Wojcik nodded to the woman. "And you?" "With the TV going and my husband snoring, who could hear a bomb go off?" When Wojcik returned, he said to Qwilleran, "How well did you know the decedent?" "I met him for the first time a couple of weeks ago-on assignment for the Fluxion. Don't know much about him except that he gave big parties, and he seemed to be well liked-by both men and women." The detective said, "He was a decorator, hrnmm?" "Yes," said Qwilleran crisply, "and a damn good one." "When was the last time you saw him?" "This afternoon, when we photographed the apartment. Bunsen and I invited him to dinner at the Press Club, but he said he had a date." "Any idea who it was?" "No, he just said he had a date." "Did he live alone?" "Yes. That is, I presume he lived alone." "What do you mean by that?" "There's only one name on his mailbox." "Any help working here?" "At parties he had two people working in the kitchen and serving. The building management supplies cleaning service." "Know any of his relatives or close friends?" "Just his partner at the decorating studio, Better try Starkweather." By that time the coroner's man and the police photographer had arrived, and Wojcik said to the newsmen, "Why don't you two pack up and clear out?" "I'd like to get the doctor's statement," said Qwilleran, "so I can file a complete story." Wojcik gave him a close look. "Aren't you the Fluxion man who was involved in the Tait burglary?" "I wasn't involved in it," said Qwilleran. "I just happened to write a story about Mr. and Mrs. Tait's house — a few days before their houseboy made off with their jades, if one can believe the statement made by the Police Department." From the dining room Hames called out: "Have you noticed? This cat's eyes turn red in the dark." After a while Wojcik said to the newsmen: "Death caused by a bullet wound in the chest. Fired at close range.

About ten o'clock. Weapon missing. Robbery apparently no motive…. That's all. Now, do us a favor and go home. You probably know more than we do. I think your paper goes around setting these things up." To retrieve Koko, Qwilleran had to crawl under the dining table and forcibly remove the cat, who seemed to have taken root.

Hames walked the newsmen to the door. "Your Sunday supplement looks good," he said. "All those elegant homes! My wife says I should scare up a little graft so we can live like that." "I think the magazine's a good idea," Qwilleran said, "but it's been rough going. First the Tait set-back, and then —»

"Come on, clear out!" snapped Wojcik. "We've got work to do." "Say!" said Hames. "My wife sure liked those four-poster beds you photographed on Merchant Street. Do you know where I could buy something like that?" Qwilleran looked distressed. "That was another unfortunate coincidence! I wish I knew why the Vice Squad picked that particular weekend to raid the place." "Well," said Hames, "I don't know how it happened, but I know the Police Widows' Fund just received a sizable donation from the Penniman Foundation…. Now, what did you say was missing? Five-panel gold-leaf screen? Three- foot gold Buddha? Kakemono with ducks and geese? Antique wood carving of deer? Porcelain bowl? Are you sure it was a five-panel screen? Japanese screens usually have an even number of panels." Slowly and thoughtfully the newsmen returned to 15-F, Bunsen carrying his camera, Qwilleran carrying the cat on his shoulder.

"The Penniman Foundation!" he repeated.

"You know who the Pennimans are, don't you?" said Bunsen.

"Yes, I know who they are. They live in Muggy Swamp. And they own the Morning Rampage."


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