"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He was seething with anger but had no choice but to respond. He shook his head violently from left to right.

"Boy," he said in calmer tones, 'you don't know the half of what you're asking. Yes, d.a.m.n you, they worked together!

For a short while, very closely."

"What did they do?"

Zenger's face took on a dyspeptic look.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think they did? They made money. Take that literally."

Thomas eased back in his chair slightly and ma.s.saged the side of his skull with his hand and Leslie's handkerchief.

"What about the war?" Thomas asked.

"World War Two."

"The Allies beat the Axis ' "I'm talking about De Septio' "He was in the army."

"That's not a good enough answer. De Septio doesn't have an army record."

"He certainly does-," said Zenger quickly, in a response that Thomas believed.

"But maybe he was a little embarra.s.sed to tell anyone about it." A faint smile returned to Zenger. He laid his cane aside.

"Know what his job was for five years?"

"That was my next question."

"Trash collection, "said Zengtr casually. Thomas voiced no response, so Zenger, almost merrily, repeated.

"That's right. Trash collection" "I don't understand' "Of course not"

said Zenger.

"There's nothing to understand. De Septio collected trash for five years in the army. Imagine. Pearl Harbor. Iwojima. The Bulge.

Berlin. Stalingrad. And Vincent De Septio was busy picking up trash."

The old man laughed like an elf.

"something's missing' "You don't believe me?" Zenger's eyebrows shot upward, as if recoiling from an affront.

"No," said Thomas crisply.

"Then you can ask Mr. De Septio yourself."

Leslie leaned forward, as if suddenly absorbed in what Zenger was saying. Thomas noted her movement.

"What do you mean?" asked Thomas.

"That was your next question, wasn't it? You've done your homework, I can see that. You were going to ask me where De Septio went after 1954, weren't you? You wanted to know why his case got tossed out and where he went. Didn't you?"

Humbled slightly, Thomas replied,

"Yes" Zenger had jumped ahead of him again. They both knew it.

"Do you know anything about patriotism, Thomas?"

"Patriotism?"

"No " scoffed Zenger.

"Of course not. The younger, folks don't even know the word anymore' "

Zenger's eyes burned at Daniels.

"Vinnie De Septio, whatever else his faults, was a patriot. That's why, despite his transgressions, the government chose twice not to prosecute him. Patriotism, Thomas," Zenger continued in lofty tones and after a slight pause. The old man glanced at Leslie.

"That's what this is all about He raised a finger and stabbed at her.

"That's what she's all about. Remember that, you young moron. You heard it here first."

Thomas let the insult pa.s.s.

"Where's De Septio?" he asked.

"In a town in Pennsylvania. A town outside of Scranton. It's called Barnstable. De Septio retired from crime in 1954. Out of grat.i.tude, the government gave him a new ident.i.ty, a new name, and a new start in life." Zenger was philosophical.

"I've always liked that phrase, 'a new start in life' "What's his new name?"; "New? We're talking about twenty-one years'" taunted the old man.

"But the name is jonathan Grover. He's easy enough to find.

He's the only one in town by that name," Zenger smiled.

"Runs a stationery store. Get it? He prints stationery now, not money. And he will have been undisturbed for many years until you darken his doorstep " Zenger paused.

"Anything else?"

Thomas shook his head. The left temple still throbbed. He felt Leslie's hand on his shoulder and glanced at her to see if she had any questions for Zenger. She shook her head. She didn't.

"That's all," Thomas said.

"You better hope so. You're never getting into this house again. If I ever see you or expect you again, I'll have our local gendarmes waiting. The police like me here" he added with cynicism.

Thomas motioned toward the' door to Leslie. Without speaking they rose from their chairs and returned toward the front door.

Thomas could feel the old man's icy gaze on his back the entire time and he somehow felt, though he'd gotten the answers he'd come for, that the old master had ended with the upper hand again.

That feeling was reinforced as Thomas opened the front door to leave.

"Hey Tom, boy!" called the old man from the next room. Thomas looked to his left as he felt the rainy night before him through the open door. Down to his left through the alcove he could see into the sitting room. He looked squarely at the old man, seated merrily again in his chair despite the broken table and lamp beside him.