"Of course not."

"We're still buddies?"

"You bet."

"We're still partners in crime? I'm still your henchperson?"

"Count on it."

"Then everything's okay."

"Yeah, everything's okay. 'But what am I gonna do tonight?'"

"Good question." She stood up. "Well, I know what I'm gonna do tonight."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do. Give my love to Denise."

After she left I thought about having another Irish coffee, or a martini, or any of a number of other things, but I didn't really want anything to drink. Some of Abel's ancient Armagnac might have tempted me but I didn't figure they'd have it in stock. I settled our tab, added a tip, and went for a walk.

I didn't consciously aim my feet at Washington Square but that's where they took me all the same. I bought a Good Humor, the special flavor of the month, something with a lot of goo on the outside and a fudgy chocolate core inside the ice cream. I decided it might give me one of Carolyn's sugar hangovers and I decided I didn't give a d.a.m.n.

For one reason or another I kept bench-hopping, sitting in one place for a few minutes and then turning restless and scouting out another perch. I watched the dealers and the drunks and the junkies and the young mothers and the courting couples and the drug dealers and the three-card-monte con artists and the purveyors of one thing or another, and I watched the joggers relentlessly threading their way through the walkers as they made their endless counterclockwise circuits of the park, and I watched the children and wondered, not for the first time, where the h.e.l.l they got their energy.

I was still restless. For a change I had more energy than the children and no place to direct it. I got up after a while and walked past the chess players to the corner of Fourth and MacDougal. I was wearing a suit and carrying an attache case and my shoes were too wide and I had Morton's Foot, but what the h.e.l.l.

I tucked the case under my arm and started jogging. And that would be as good a place as any to leave it, except that Jessica Garland turned up at my store a few days later with the two books I'd read from at the service. She said she wasn't a student of moral philosophy herself, and would I like to have Spinoza and Hobbes in remembrance of Abel?

"I just hope I'll get something of his myself sooner or later," she said. "He doesn't seem to have left a will, and there's some question as to my ability to prove I'm his granddaughter. I have letters from him, or Mum has them back in England, but I don't know if they'll const.i.tute proof, and meanwhile I expect the estate will be tied up for a long time. Until then there's no way for me to get into his apartment."

"Even if you inherit," I said, "it'll have been searched by professionals first. I don't suppose Abel had clear t.i.tle to most of the things he owned. Your best hope is that they won't find everything. Between the cops and the IRS people they'll find a lot, but there are things they'll miss. I'd be surprised if they get the money in the telephone." She looked puzzled and I explained, and told her something about the other treasures tucked away here and there.

"They'll likely disappear before I see them," she said. "Stolen or not, I suspect they'll walk out of there, wouldn't you say?"

"Probably. Even if Abel bought them legitimately." Not everyone, after all, shared my reluctance to rob the dead. "Maybe the doorman would let you in. You could at least get the money out of the telephone."

"I tried to get in. It's a very strictly run building from a security standpoint." She frowned, and then her face turned thoughtful. "I wonder."

"You wonder what?"

"Do you suppose you you could get in? I mean it is rather your line of country, isn't it? And I'd be more than willing to give you half of whatever you managed to salvage from the apartment. I've a feeling I'll never see any of it otherwise, between the police and the inland revenue and whatever bite the death duties take, or do you call them inheritance taxes over here? Half of something is considerably more than a hundred percent of nothing. Could you do it, do you suppose? It's not really stealing, is it?" could get in? I mean it is rather your line of country, isn't it? And I'd be more than willing to give you half of whatever you managed to salvage from the apartment. I've a feeling I'll never see any of it otherwise, between the police and the inland revenue and whatever bite the death duties take, or do you call them inheritance taxes over here? Half of something is considerably more than a hundred percent of nothing. Could you do it, do you suppose? It's not really stealing, is it?"

"It's an impossible building to get into," I said.

"I know."

"And I've already found two different ways in and used them both up. And that was before half the tenants knew me by face and name, not to mention occupation."

"I know," she said, looking downcast. "I don't suppose you'd want to have a go at it, then."

"I didn't say that."

"But if there's no way for you to get in-"

"There's always a way in," I said. "Always. There's always a way to pick a lock, and to get past a doorman, and to open a safe. If you're resourceful and determined, there's always a way."

Her eyes were huge. "You sound in the grip of pa.s.sion," she said.

"Well, I, uh-"

"You're going to do it, aren't you?"

I tried to look as though I was thinking it over, but who was I kidding? "Yes," I said, "I guess I am."

About the Author.

A Mystery Writers of America Grand Master, LAWRENCE BLOCK is a four-time winner of the Edgar and Shamus awards, as well as a recipient of prizes in France, Germany, and j.a.pan. He also received the British Crime Writers' a.s.sociation's prestigious Cartier Diamond Dagger for lifetime achievement in crime writing. The author of more than fifty books and numerous short stories, he is a devout New Yorker and enthusiastic world traveler. Readers can visit his website at www.lawrenceblock.com www.lawrenceblock.com.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

Praise for for New York Times bestselling Grand Master bestselling Grand Master LAWRENCE BLOCK's BERNIE RHODENBARR.

and THE BURGLAR WHO.

STUDIED SPINOZA.

"Bernie Rhodenbarr is one of the most charming and wittiest characters in the burglar business."

Denver Rocky Mountain News

"A comic caper. Mr. Block must be weary by now of reviewers who compare him with Donald Westlake. Donald Westlake, however, is excellent company...The Burglar Who Studied Spinoza is hip-witted, more fun to read than Spinoza and somewhat less improving." is hip-witted, more fun to read than Spinoza and somewhat less improving."

New York Times

"Good fun."

San Antonio Express-News

Bernie Rhodenbarr is such an outrageous and witty character, you wish he were real."

San Francisco Examiner

"Bernie Rhodenbarr is the perfect companion."

Tampa Tribune

"Lawrence Block takes readers on another hilarious caper with Bernie, the hip-talking antiquarian book dealer who gets itchy fingers whenever he sees a locked safe...

Mystery writers with the comic touch are rare, and Block is one of the best."

Washington Post Book World

"This is no ordinary burglar...It's Bernie's personality that puts the fizz in Spinoza Spinoza. Since a burglar isn't exactly an admirable protagonist, Block makes up for Bernie's moral deficit by giving him some great wisecracks."

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

"Fans will welcome it. New readers will delight in it."

Denver Post

"Block is a master of witty dialogue, plotting and pace, and the series' wacky, offbeat characters make great companions."

Cleveland Plain Dealer

"In his Matthew Scudder books, Block is one of the most serious of crime novelists.

When he chronicles Bernie...Block is one of the funniest...[Bernie] is enough to give burglary a good name.""

Los Angeles Times

"Have you read Block's [Rhodenbarr] mysteries? You should. They are a real kick."

Denver Rocky Mountain News

"A witty series...Bernie is incorrigibly adorable...Between his inquiring mind and his sticky fingers, Bernie is the ideal sleuth."

New York Times Book Review

"Wonderfully detailed and inspiring writing...Bernie Rhodenbarr doesn't have to try for hipness, because hip is in the very air he breathes...He is cute without being cuddly, he is witty without looking like he's striving for it, and he is rakish without possessing a single mean streak in his lithe and sinuous body. His plots are cunning and inventive...And his language-I suppose we should say Lawrence Block's language-is dry and droll and elegant, like how Dashiell Hammett would write if he was still doing the Thin Man books today."

The Guardian (London) (London)