hopped out as agilely as a plump brown bird, took a step or two toward them, called shrilly, “Madame Serpentina!” and whipped out a little camera with a gesture so much like the drawing of a gun that Captain Davidson’s hand started for his own. There was a brief flash, brilliant and yet lost in the vastness of street and sky, forlorn amid the sunshine and sparkling snow.
“It is you,” the witch said.
“And me.” Stubb walked around the rear bumper of the cab as it pulled away.
Davidson growled, “I know you. P.I. What the hell’s your name?”
“Jim Stubb.” Stubb thrust out his hand.
It was ignored. “I’m Davidson. Captain, Thirteenth Precinct. You wouldn’t be trying to recover the loot from some kind of a scam, would you?”
“You mean this lady here?” Stubb glanced toward the witch. “I work for her.”
“I see. I didn’t think you were licensed, Stubb.”
“I’m not—not yet. But the law doesn’t say a man has to have a license to get a job, only to advertise services. I’m just a working stiff, and right now I’m working for this lady.”
Davidson turned to Sandy Duck. “You too? You just took our picture.”
“I took hers,” Sandy said. She handed him a card.
“And what are you two doing here?”
“I don’t believe we have to answer that.”
“You do unless you want me to run you in. I could bust Stubb for operating without a license, and forget about that smart bullshit he loves spreading. I could take both of you on suspicion of fraud.”
Sandy’s mouth opened, and her eyes grew wide. “Oooh! Would you? Mr. Illingworth would be so happy! I get to make one call, don’t I? I could call the office. He’d get me a lawyer and everything, it would be wonderful!”
“You think so, do you?”
She had turned away and was chattering to Stubb. “You see, I belong to this little club—we call it Input for Smaller Magazines. And there’s one person in ISM who was arrested in a protest, fingerprinted and everything, and she’s bragged about it until the rest of us are absolutely sick.”
The witch said, “I have listened to enough of this trifling. Captain, I advise you to arrest this foolish woman—it will make you both very happy. Mr. Stubb, if you still consider yourself in my employ, come inside with me and help me if you can.”
She went up the icy stone steps without waiting to see whether Stubb or anyone else would follow her. All of them did, Sandy hurrying after the detective, and Davidson bringing up the rear.
Inside, the captain showed his badge to the nurse with the disordered hair.
“Oh, we’re so glad you’ve come, officer. It’s been such a long time. They’re upstairs in two seventeen.”
“You called the police?”
“These horrible people broke in here—three of them, officer, a woman and two men. They asked for someone, and when I told them he wasn’t here, they demanded to search the whole hospital. I tried to stop them, but they
“I see,” Davidson said. “What do they look like?”
“Why, you can go upstairs and see for yourself, officer.”
“Right now, I’d like to have you tell me.”
The nurse considered. “They’re foreigners of some kind, I’m sure. One of the men has a big mustache—of course some American men used to have them too—and rings in his ears. Latent masochism, or maybe overt. The woman has a long skirt, and her hair’s tied up in a red scarf. They’re very dark. Do you think they could be from India?”
Davidson nodded. “About five hundred years ago. And you’re holding them until the precinct sends somebody over. Around what time did you call?”
“Goodness, it seems so long—so much has happened.” The nurse looked from Davidson to Sandy and Stubb, then back again. “Actually, it’s been less than an hour, I suppose.”
“You called Precinct?”
“I don’t know what that means. Dr. Roberts told me to call the police, and I did.”
“What was the number?”
“The telephone number? I don’t remember. The one in the front of the directory.”
“That’s headquarters, downtown. The wagon’s not here yet, but the Gypsies know some of their people are in trouble. They’ve even had time to send somebody. You ought to be hearing from their lawyer soon—they’ll sue.” Davidson glanced at Stubb, then looked around for the witch. “Where’d she go?”
Stubb grinned. “I’ll be damned if I know. One minute she’s here and the next she isn’t. Probably up to two seventeen. Isn’t that where the lady said they were?”
The nurse banged a glass paperweight on her desk. “You mean she’s gone up without permission? We can’t have this!” She snatched up a telephone fitted with a voice suppressor.
“You going up to see them too?” Stubb asked Davidson. “I’m here to see about my sergeant,” Davidson said. “Unless they’re guilty of something—which you can bet your ass they are—and unless we can prove it—which you can bet your ass we can’t—I don’t give a damn about them.”
