Dinner was served, and everyone at table one relaxed, seemingly unaware of Tirov’s presence in the room. Then, as dessert was served, Stone’s eye was caught by movement at the Cine International table. Boris Tirov had got to his feet, and he left the table and began to cross the ballroom, stopping along the way to greet acquaintances. As he neared table number one, Stone got to his feet, then Tirov veered away and headed toward a hallway where the restrooms were. Stone followed him, ignoring Gala’s tugging at his sleeve. It was the first time he and Tirov had been in the same place since the incident at his pool at the Bel-Air Arrington.

He saw Tirov enter the men’s room and two plainclothes security men take up station outside. Stone walked through the door and found Tirov alone there, zipping his fly and heading for a sink to wash his hands.

“Fancy meeting you here, Barrington,” he said, glancing at him in the mirror.

Stone checked his tie in the mirror. “I thought I’d give you an opportunity to take another swing at me while you’re still sober,” he said.

“And have your security goons all over me?”

“I’ll see that they don’t interfere.”

“How did Gala enjoy her visit from the Three Bears?” Tirov asked.

“How did you enjoy being banned from Centurion Studios, the Bel-Air Country Club, and the Arrington, all on the same day?”

“I suppose you had a hand in all that?”

“Actually, I had nothing to do with Centurion and the country club, but I did have the pleasure of seeing you banned from the Bel-Air Arrington, just as you will be banned from this hotel and any other the company should ever open. If you enjoy that sort of thing, I’ll see what other indignities I might be able to inflict on you.”

Tirov swung around to face him, and suddenly, there was a switchblade in his hand. “I think it’s time to see how you operate without a liver,” he said.

As Stone squared away to face him he heard the men’s room door open, and a voice called out, “Everything all right in here, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone thought about that for a moment before answering and decided that he had no wish to bloody a brand-new men’s room, especially with his own blood. “Not quite,” he replied. “There’s a man in here with a knife.”

Two men with guns entered the room, and Tirov tossed the knife into the hole in the sinktop that led to a trash bin.

“Gentlemen,” Stone said, “please place this man in handcuffs, then recover the knife and turn both over to the Rome police, as quietly as possible. I think a night or two in a Roman jail would do him a lot of good.”

The two guards began carrying out Stone’s instructions.