I finally let myself be persuaded. He’d been very cooperative about looking into Grafalk’s records. If he wanted to hear the gory details of the rest of the case, why not?

We went to the Filigree, a restaurant in the Hanover House Hotel that resembles my idea of a men’s club: discreet tables with maroon drapes shielding diners from one another, a fireplace with a high marble mantel, and elderly waiters who seem to ooze a vague distrust of women diners: do they really appreciate the fine old vintages they’re drinking?

You go to the Filigree for steaks. Over a thick-cut T-bone and a bottle of Château St. Georges (1962) I felt myself reviving.

“Earlier this evening you said you weren’t really concerned about the locks or the freighters—that you were involved in this from a personal standpoint. What is that?”

I explained to Ferrant about my cousin and the problems down at Eudora Grain. “I was just visiting the woman he was dating the three months before he died. Her name is Paige Carrington. She’s a talented dancer, maybe not New York quality, but quite good. She is exquisite, the kind of woman you gawk at but who appears too perfect to touch. Anyway, it seems she’s been Grafalk’s mistress for a number of years. He arranged a party at which she could meet my cousin—said he wanted to buy some shares in the Hawks and asked Guy Odinflute to hold a party for him and the team. Boom Boom was always included in that kind of function and Grafalk saw to it that Paige had an invitation, too.

“Well, my cousin was easily as susceptible as the next man. When Paige made a dead-set at him, he responded—probably with enthusiasm. She’s that type of person. And she spent the next three or four months tracking what he was doing at Eudora Grain.

“When it became obvious that Boom Boom had discovered the extent of the problem there and was planning on blowing the whistle to Argus—Eudora’s chairman—Paige’s tender heart was touched: she got Grafalk and Phillips to try to buy off my cousin. Instead, they knocked him off.”

I drank some more wine and slumped back in my seat. I’d only been able to eat half the excellent steak.

I gestured with the wineglass. “This whole business with the freighters and the locks looks like something separate altogether. I wouldn’t even be interested if it didn’t seem to tie in with what happened to my cousin.” I finished my wine and poured myself another glass. At this rate I was going to be mildly sozzled; after the day I’d had, it felt good. Ferrant ordered a second bottle.