Pete's arms went slack. He nodded slowly. The doctor felt the dead man's wrist.

He pulled an unresisting eyelid. The doctor's sigh said everything.

Pete groaned in answer, blinking in a daze toward where the guests who crowded in the room appeared to waver, blend together. "You heard him," he blurted to the crowd. "You heard him tell me. Charon. Something white. Verlaine. Do they mean anything to you?"

But ill at ease, they simply stared at him. They seemed to back away.

Chapter 25.

They told him later how he'd fallen on the rug, and Houston, feeling gently at the friction burn across his forehead, didn't doubt them. All the punishment his body had received had finally caught up to him. He slept for eighteen hours. He was groggy and uncoordinated when he woke, again in Monsard's bedroom and again with Simone beside him, this time with Monsard there as well. The basic human needs came first. He stumbled toward the bathroom. His dark stubble made his face seem pale. He shut his mind off, taking simple pleasure in the sharp, clean feeling of the razor on his skin. He loved the hot shower and the luxury of fresh socks and new underwear, of soft jeans and a sweater.

He came out. The bed was made. The room was empty. Wobbly, Houston peered out through the open bedroom door to where the fireplace crackled warmly in the sitting room. The mantel clock said quarter after eight.

At night. He still could not believe that he had slept so long, that he had lost a day. Simone stood smiling. She had pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She wore a trim blue belted dress that made her eyes seem darker. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Rested. Groggy. What about you? When I last saw you . . ." "I'm all right now.

I apologize," she said. "For what? For screaming? I almost screamed myself."

"The doctor gave me pills. I'm angry now, not shocked. There are some things you need to know." "I've got some news for you as well." Monsard sat in a deep chair by the fireplace. He leaned forward and listened, evidently guessing from their tone what they were discussing.

Houston watched Simone subdue her feelings and order her thoughts. "That man last night," she said. "His blood was on the windowsill and in the flower bed outside. The trail came through the grounds in back. It started in a stand of pine near town. There was a car. And tire tracks from someone else's car."

Pete sat down, gripping the sides of his chair. "That's what I've got to tell you. The man had strength to speak before he died. He told me he'd killed the priest."

Her face paled. "I was right."

"He wasn't clear. He mentioned Charon and then something white."

"That makes no sense," she said.

"I know it. He kept babbling. From as much as I can figure, once he'd killed the priest, he met the man who'd hired him."

"And he was stabbed."

"Exactly. He didn't say what happened next. There must have been a struggle. He escaped. He knew the layout of this place. He crawled inside your room to hide."

"If he was dying, wouldn't he have tried to find a doctor?"

"A doctor would have called the cops. Besides, he must have hoped he'd live. He didn't want to go to jail. But this way, we might help him."

"And get even for him."

Houston nodded. "But it didn't end the way he planned. Look, I don't know. He might have been delirious. He might have crawled inside your room and not been conscious of it. But he talked. He said that Charon used him one last time, then killed him to prevent my finding him and talking to him."

"What I said last night somebody's cleaning house, removing all the details."

"And succeeding. Right now, you and I are..." Houston didn't want to finish.

"His last details."

Houston bit his lip.

Monsard asked a question. She explained to him. The old man glanced disturbed from her to Houston.

"Andrews is probably in danger too," Houston said.

"He called," she said.

He straightened. "When?"

"This afternoon. He did more checking. That platoon's lieutenant wasn't with the men who disappeared."

"Then the lieutenant's still alive?"

"The sergeant phoned him. The lieutenant still remembers those nine missing men.

He always wondered what had happened to them. You know there were two battles.

One was here, the other fifty miles north of here."

He nodded.

"The second battle. That was when they disappeared," she said.

"Then why pretend that they were killed and buried here in St. Laurent?"

"To draw attention from the truth, from where it happened."

"What the h.e.l.l is 'it,' though?"

She just peered at him. Monsard began to ask more questions. Houston didn't pay attention. "Charon," he said. "Something white. Verlaine."

She stopped abruptly in her explanation to her father. "What?"

"It's something I forgot. Last night before he died, the man said, 'Find Verlaine.' It's useless. Who's Verlaine? And how in G.o.d's name do we find him?"

"Not a him. An it." The startled look on her face frightened him.

"You know him?"

"You don't remember? Back in Roncevaux. Bellay. When we were in his office.

Those policemen in the background they were making phone calls."

Houston struggled to remember. "He was speaking with them."

"And they said that block of office buildings "

" had a rental agent."

"And the rental agent "

" said that Verlaine Enterprises owns that building." Houston shuddered.

"Not a him. An it. That man last night meant Verlaine Enterprises."

Houston stood abruptly. "Get your coat. We're leaving."

"Where?"

"To Roncevaux."

Monsard said firmly, 'Won."

The room was hushed as Houston spun, surprised.

Gesturing for emphasis, the old man spoke insistently.

"What's wrong?" Houston asked.

"My father senses your intention. He insists you stay. You need to eat, to rest, he says."

"There's no time."

"He says one night won't make any difference. I think he's right. We'd get there after midnight. What could we accomplish? Bellay won't be in his office."

"We could wake him."

"With a.s.sumptions. A sleepy man would not be sympathetic."

Houston gripped the chair. His urgency compelled him, but his common sense dissuaded him.

"My father's afraid for us. He thinks we ought to hide."

"And live in fear they'll find us? This way, even though we're still afraid, at least we're doing something."

"You can go back to the States."

"Is that what you want?"

"I'm explaining what my father said. He thinks if you went home they might feel safe and not come after us."

"But you'd be here. You'd be in danger."

"No, my father thinks I'm safe without you."

Houston stared at her in anguish. He felt torn, confused. His grief conflicted with the guilt he'd feel if Simone were injured. "I can't go home. I've got a debt to pay. My wife."

As if he understood, the old man sighed. Again he spoke. Simone translated.

"Then he asks for you to compromise."

"How?"

"He offers hospitality for one last night. And then he asks you to respect his wishes as a father. To be on your way, to let me be, to seek your own death but not mine."

"Simone, you know I don't want you killed."

"It's what he said."

"But what do you say? Tell me what you want. I'll do it. I'll go now if it's a help to you."

"That man last night. My father says "

A fist knocked on the door. The sound shook through the room. She stopped, alarmed.

"No, tell me," Houston said.

Her father interrupted him. "Entrez!"

The door came open. A young waiter, spotless, wheeled in a cart. Sweet steam escaped beneath the silver lids on the trays. The fresh French bread was in a basket covered by a napkin. Red wine glinted in a bottle.

"I'm not hungry," Houston said. He began to cry.

Chapter 26.

He stared out from this top-floor room. Monsard had chosen it, he was convinced, to keep Simone as far away from him as possible. Monsard had eaten dinner with them, making clear his role as wary father. There had been no chance for private conversation. Fifteen seconds after bringing Houston to this room, the old man and Simone had left, and Houston hadn't seen her after that.

Three hours had elapsed since then. It now was one o'clock, and Houston stood beside his window frowning toward the park below him, toward the mist that drifted through the trees. The hotel's spotlights were shut off. He kept the room dark lest he make himself a target at the window. But he wasn't frowning from the danger he was in. He frowned because he didn't understand Simone's change of mind, the way she had abandoned him. He hadn't realized how much he'd grown dependent on her.

Now that dependency was denied him; he was alone again. He faced the uncertain future by himself. The possibility of death. He leaned against the window frame and told himself that she was right. It made no sense for her to risk her life.

Am I so selfish that I want Simone to share my risk so I won't feel alone? he thought. Let her try to save her life. She's earned her safety.

He felt hollow. Maybe what the old man said was true. I ought to leave, he told himself. I ought to go back home and mind my business and thank G.o.d I wasn't killed.