I dropped the curtain. “I was kind of expecting a burst of machine-gun fire. Don’t tell me my life is going to settle into monotony.”

Humboldt gave his rich little chuckle. “Nothing affects you, does it, Ms. Warshawski? You really are a most remarkable young woman.”

I sat in the armchair facing Humboldt; Peppy stood in front of me, looking from him to me with concern, her tail down. I patted her head and she went down on her haunches without relaxing.

“Your mystery guest hasn’t arrived yet?”

“My guest will keep.” He chuckled gently to himself. “I thought you and I could have a little chat first. It might not be necessary to produce my visitor. Whiskey?”

I shook my head. “Your rarefied cellars are giving me ideas above my income, I can’t afford to get used to them.”

“But you could, Ms. Warshawski. You could, you know, if you would stop going around with that outsize chip on your shoulder.”

I leaned back in the chair and crossed my legs. “Now that is really unworthy of you. I expected a much grander, or at least more subtle, approach.”

“Now, now, Ms. Warshawski. You’re too hasty to react much of the time. You could do worse than listen to me.”

“Yeah, I guess I could follow the Cubs on a road trip. But you might as well spit it out now so I’ll know if I have to dodge your minions’ bullets for the rest of my life.”

He refused to let himself get ruffled. “You’ve paid a great deal of attention to my affairs recently, Ms. Warshawski. So I’ve returned the compliment and paid much attention to yours.”

“I bet my researches were a lot more exciting than yours.” I kept my hand on Peppy’s head.

“Perhaps we have different ideas of what might prove exciting. For instance, I was most intrigued to learn that you owe a balance of fifty thousand dollars on your apartment and that your mortgage payments are not easy for you to meet.”

“Oh, God, Gustav. You aren’t going to pull the old I’ll-get-the-bank-to-cut-off-your-mortgage routine, are you? That’s getting pretty boring.”

He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “Your parents are both dead, I understand. But you have a good friend who stands toward you as sort of a mother, I believe—this Dr. Charlotte Herschel. Yes?”

I tightened my fingers so strongly in Peppy’s hair that she gave a little yelp. “If anything happens to Dr. Herschel—anything—from a flat tire to a bloody nose—you will be dead within twenty-four hours. That’s a cast-iron prophecy.”

He gave his hearty chuckle. “You’re so active, Ms. Warshawski, that you imagine everyone must be as energetic as yourself. No, I was more concerned about Dr. Herschel’s medical practice. Whether she would be able to keep her license.”

He waited for me to react again, but I’d managed to regain enough self-control to keep quiet. I picked up The New York Times from the little table that lay between us and flipped to the sports section. The Islanders were on a roll—how disappointing.