"Put on a nightgown or pull up the sheet," I told her. "You're demoralizing the neighbors." Robin grinned shamelessly. I closed the blinds and turned on the bedside radio. "Find me Delius," I said. "I've got to write down a name and address." I wrote it down, only I spelled it Amy. Robin dialed through the stations one by one. No Delius. She looked at me. "Dig this," I said. "I happen to know Cooper hates Delius. Won't have a record in the house. But Jake just phoned and there was Appalachia blasting in the background. Big romantic stuff, and not from a radio either." I told her about Jake's call. "All right, Robin, you guess first." "Do you think he's good in bed?" "For God's sake! Women! Haven't you got any romance in you?" "That was romance." "It was not. You give us complexes. Is bed everything?" "Yes." "What about all the rest?" "Bed first." "I guess you're right," I said and I was an hour late getting to Aimee Driscoll's apartment next morning. I was lucky at that. She'd just gotten up and was in a vicious mood. She handed me the freeze reserved for Squares and I handed it right back. That gave us an understanding and put us on a basis of armed neutrality as fellow members of the entertainment profession. The blonde and I passed a few remarks about the Quaker. She called my attention to the new television set and laughed it up because she'd gotten it out of the Quaker for nothing; but I noticed that she laughed angrily. I didn't know why. The photograph should have tipped it. It stood on the set in a silver frame, faded and vignetted, a costume piece, circa 1913. It was a portrait of a man with heavy brows and a stern face and could have been a photograph of Lennox in costume and makeup. The fact that she'd placed it on the set Lennox gave her was significant, but I only realized that after the death in the Venice theater. "Who's the grim reaper?" I asked. "My old man," Aimee answered. She darted a look of loathing at the photograph. It was so poisonous that I wanted to ask more questions, but before I could get started, she gave me the brush-final. I left with Jake's gimmick book and burberry and didn't get to the library until eleven.... Lennox marched into the Grabinett office at ten sharp. It was in a small building off Madison Avenue in the fifties. Grabinett had started there as a two-bit agent in a rat-hole, and when he hit the big money it turned out that rentals were too tight for him to move into larger quarters. He spread into stockrooms, broke through closets and halls, had it all decorated and air-conditioned, and it still looked like a blond wood rat-hole. They held daily rat-races there.