"My God! I can't remember that. Where the hell did I go? Hey fellas!" Lennox called. "Any of you parked here last Saturday night?" The hack drivers poked their heads out. "Off and on, Mac," said one. "Hi, doll," said another. "Oh, hello," Gabby smiled. "Is he hedonistic or hasty?" Lennox demanded. "Behave yourself, Jordan. I told you I get around. Did any of you gentlemen pick up my friend last Saturday night? He was drunk and disorderly." "No Ma'am." "Could it have been another hack?" Lennox asked. "Could of been a dozen others, Mac." "Happen to know a hack-driver named Knott who uses this stand?" "Nope." "Then this looks like the dead-end," Lennox grunted. "Missa Lennox," the Shroff said. "I heah you te'l taxi man wheah to go." "You did! Can you remember?" The Shroff beamed in faraway recollection. "Oh please remember, Mr. Fu," Gabby said. "It's terribly important." The Shroff patted her arm, still immersed in memory. Finally he said: "Wassa ve'y funny place. Like a fiah." "A fire?" "Yes. Like ... Hudson fiah." "Hudson fire?" Gabby repeated, gazing at the Shroff perplexedly. "Hold it!" Lennox said. "Could it have been the Hudson School of Firearms?" "Yes. Yes." "What's that?" Gabby asked. "A shooting range over near the river. Oliver Stacy told me about it last week. I must have gone there Saturday night. Let's go." Lennox opened the door of the lead cab. Gabby ripped a page out of her sketch book and handed it to the Shroff. It was his portrait. "Thank you very much, Mr. Fu," she said. "You've been so helpful." The Shroff gazed at his portrait with admiration and then at Gabby with more. "I go with you," he offered suddenly. "Be ve'y happy to help you and Missa Lennox find Missa Knott. Yes?" "I do like you, Mr. Fu," Gabby said. "You're not inscrutable at all. Please come. We can use all the help we can get." The Shroff entered the cab with them and they drove across town to the waterfront where a sign on a doorway between a chandler's store and a window filled with broken microscopes read: Hudson School of Firearms, Dn. 2 Flights. As the three of them trotted down the steps into the sub-cellar, they could hear the bark of guns. They came into a broad low-ceilinged vault. There was a glass cigar counter and a cash register on the right. The cigar counter was filled with revolvers and boxes of ammunition. Behind it was a high display case with heavy glass doors. Inside were more guns and six silver trophies.