"None of _your_ business," the man said coldly. "You eat up, young man. If you want me to get Sheriff Coogan lookin' for your car." The rest of the meal went silently, except for Sally's insistence upon singing her school song between mouthfuls. When Dawes was through, he pushed back his plate and ordered Sol to get ready. Sol grabbed his topcoat and followed the man out the door. "Have to stop someplace first," Dawes said. "But we'll be pickin' up the Sheriff on the way. Okay with you?" "Fine," Sol said uneasily. The rain had stopped, but the heavy clouds seemed reluctant to leave the skies over the small town. There was a skittish breeze blowing, and Sol Becker tightened the collar of his coat around his neck as he tried to keep up with the fast-stepping Dawes. * * * * * They crossed the street diagonally, and entered a two-story wooden building. Dawes took the stairs at a brisk pace, and pushed open the door on the second floor. A fat man looked up from behind a desk. "Hi, Charlie. Thought I'd see if you wanted to help move Brundage." The man batted his eyes. "Oh, Brundage!" he said. "You know, I clean forgot about him?" He laughed. "Imagine me forgetting that?" "Yeah." Dawes wasn't amused. "And you Prince Regent." "Aw, Willie--" "Well, come on. Stir that fat carcass. Gotta pick up Sheriff Coogan, too. This here gentleman has to see him about somethin' else." The man regarded Sol suspiciously. "Never seen you before. Night _or_ day. Stranger?" "Come _on_!" Dawes said. The fat man grunted and hoisted himself out of the swivel chair. He followed lamely behind the two men as they went out into the street again. A woman, with an empty market basket, nodded casually to them. "Mornin', folks. Enjoyed it last night. Thought you made a right nice speech, Mr. Dawes." "Thanks," Dawes answered gruffly, but obviously flattered. "We were just goin' over to Brundage's to pick up the body. Ma's gonna pay a call on Mrs. Brundage around ten o'clock. You care to visit?" "Why, I think that's very nice," the woman said. "I'll be sure and do that." She smiled at the fat man. "Mornin', Prince." Sol's head was spinning. As they left the woman and continued their determined march down the quiet street, he tried to find answers. "Look, Mr. Dawes." He was panting; the pace was fast. "Does _she_ dream about this--Armagon, too? That woman back there?" "Yep." Charlie chuckled. "He's a stranger, all right." "And you, Mr.--" Sol turned to the fat man. "You also know about this palace and everything?" "I told you," Dawes said testily. "Charlie here's Prince Regent. But don't let the fancy title fool you. He got no more power than any Knight of the Realm. He's just too dern fat to do much more'n sit on a throne and eat grapes. That right, Charlie?" The fat man giggled. "Here's the Sheriff," Dawes said.