"You don't have to talk," she said. "I don't need it." He was grateful for that. The silence in which they drove home (she did not lean against him, but she sat close by) was somehow like--memory groped--like Bruce's music which Margery had played for him a few centuries ago. He wondered if she had heard it yet. "I hope you'll be able to sleep," he said at her door. "Oh, yes, I think so." She considered him and asked gravely: "Why are you doing this for us?" "I can't stop now," he said. "I'm in up to the eyebrows." "But why did you begin? Not for Bruce's sake, surely. He wouldn't have cared about being avenged." "Which is what the police are for, anyway. I don't like this evading them that we've been forced into." "Well?" she continued. "Why do you want to know?" he dodged. Her head drooped. "I suppose it isn't any of my business. I'm sorry." It hammered within him to tell her: that he had been escaping a demon, that she had worn its shape for a single moment, and that now he wanted to give peace to her. But there had been too many locks in him, for too many years. He took her hand. "Later," he said, wondering if he meant it. "This is no time for a long, involved story." "I'll stay home tomorrow," she said. "Will you call me as soon as--anything happens? The first minute you're able to?" "Of course." She smiled then, reached up and ran her palm along his cheek. "Arrivederci," she said. The door closed behind her. It was so much more than he had awaited, that he never remembered going down the stairs. He was driving over the bridge before the complete bleakness of his purpose returned. The hour was not yet midnight, but Berkeley was quiet. Kintyre parked behind Yamamura's Volks and walked around the empty house to his cottage. The detective let him in. "Where are our friends?" asked Kintyre. "Guido is in your bed, snoring," said Yamamura. "As clear a case of nervous exhaustion as I ever saw. By the way, Jimmy's name is O'Hearn; I went through his billfold. I borrowed some of that rope you've been making grommets with and stashed him in the john." He had stripped off his jacket, to show a noisy aloha shirt; his pipe strove to be Vesuvius. "Are you very tired?" he asked. "No. Keyed up, in fact." "Have a drink. Apropos vices, the evidence against Guido is in the Bay. I assumed we're not going to hand him over to the law." "Not for one bit of foolishness," said Kintyre. "I doubt if he'll ever touch dope running again. He's gotten a hefty scare." "Jimmy will tattle, though." "Our word against his. We're somewhat more respectable."