"No, I mean how he got it down the stairs.  It would never make the turn.  There has to be—ah, garage door.  That's better."  Raven climbed over some junk, opened it, and stuck his head through.  "Ooh, nice float bike."

Miles checked underneath the cryochamber.  It was a less expensive model, without a built-in float pallet, but it was propped up on stacks of miscellaneous bricks, concrete blocks, and a wedge of squashed flimsies—the top one seemed to be a scientific paper—revealing where a float pallet had been slid out from underneath.  No sign of the pallet in the other piles.

He raised his wristcom.  "Johannes?"

"I just picked up Roic, sir," Johannes returned at once.  "Should we swing around to get you now?"

"One question, first.  Do you still have the float pallet on board that we used the other day?"

"Yes, sorry, I haven't had time to return it to the rental place yet."

"Excellent.  Come around to the back of the row.  There will be a sunken garage entry.  We'll meet you there.  I have some heavy lifting for you."

"On our way."

Raven raised his eyebrows.  "Isn't that theft?  Breaking and entering?"

"No, the homeowner let us in.  Breaking and exiting, maybe.  If it's theft, I'm guessing it's the second time around for this item.  And while it's not true that you can't cheat an honest man, crooked men are less likely to complain to the authorities, afterward.  I don't think Leiber will tell anyone."  He went on, still peering underneath, "Did you spot any IDs on this thing?"

"Maker's mark.  It's a common brand.  Ah, here's a serial number.  That may help."

"Later, yeah."  First things first.  If I don't know how to recognize and seize a tactical moment by now . . .  He could be spectacularly wrong.  Or spectacularly right.  In any case, it'll be spectacular.

By the time Johannes and Roic arrived with the van, they had the garage door open.  Leaving muscle to do what muscle did best, Miles repaired upstairs to the kitchen and searched for something to write with, and on.  A half-composed grocery list and a stylus came to hand.  He thought, turned the list over, bent, and scribbled.

Roic came up to find him.  "A bit awkward, but we horsed it in.  Had to lean on the rear hatch to close it.  What are you doing?"

"Leaving Leiber a note."  Miles affixed it to the refrigerator door.

"What t' devil . . . ?"  Roic bent to read it.  "What kind of burglar leaves a note?"

Miles was actually rather proud of the vague wording.  Call on me at my consulate at your earliest convenience.  Not even an initial in signature.