He parked the car inside and reversed the process. Then wearily he climbed the stairway, entered the living room and turned on the lights.

A man was sitting in Pitts favorite reading chair, his hands folded on a briefcase that rested on his lap. There was a patient look about him, almost deadly, with only the tiniest hint of an indifferent smile. He wore an old-fashioned fedora hat and his customtailored coat, specially cut to conceal a lethal bulge, was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the butt of a.45 automatic.

For a moment they stared at each other, neither speaking, like fighters sizing up their opponents.

At last Pitt broke the silence. "I guess the appropriate thing to say is, Who the hell are you?"

The thin smile broadened into a set grin. "I'm a private investigator, Mr. Pitt. My name is Casio, Sal Casio."

"Your security system is good-not great, but good enough to discourage most burglars and juvenile vandals."

"That mean I flunked the test?"

"Not entirely. I'd grade you a C-plus."

Pitt moved very slowly to an antique oak icebox he'd rebuilt into a liquor cabinet and eased open the door. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Casio?"

"A shot of jack Daniel's on ice, thanks."

"A lucky guess. I happen to have a bottle."

"I peeked," said Casio. "Oh, and by the way, I took the liberty of removing the clip from the gun."

"Gun?" Pitt asked innocently.

"The .32-caliber Mauser automatic, serial number 922374, cleverly taped behind the half-gallon bottle of gin."

Pitt gave Casio a long look indeed. "How long did it take?"

"To make a search?"

Pitt nodded silently as he opened the refrigerator door for the ice.

"About forty-five minutes."

"And you found the other two guns I squirreled away."

"Three actually."

"You're very thorough."

"Nothing that is hidden in a house can't be found. And some of us are more talented at probing than others. It's simply a matter of technique." There was nothing boastful in Casio's tone. He spoke as though merely stating an accepted truth.

Pitt poured the drink and brought it into the living room on a tray. Casio took the glass with his right hand. Then suddenly Pitt dropped the tray, exposing a small vest-pocket .25-caliber automatic aimed at Casio's forehead.

Casio's only reaction was a thin smile. "Very good," he said approvingly. "So there were a total of five."

"Inside an empty milk carton," Pitt explained.

"Nicely done, Mr. Pitt. A clever touch, waiting until my gun hand was holding a glass. That shows you were thinking. I'll have to mark you up to a B-minus."

Pitt clicked on the safety and lowered the gun. "If you came here to kill me, Mr. Casio, you could have blown me away when I stepped through the door. What's on your mind?"

Casio nodded down at his briefcase. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

He set the drink down, opened the case and pulled out a bulging cardboard folder that was held together with rubber bands. "A case I've worked on since 1966."