Della stood up, and tightened the silk tie around her waist. ‘I guess Shearson’s trying to keep us all out of public circulation until his money’s been safely salted away.’

Ed said, ‘The truth is that Peter Kaiser said I could call Season if I wanted to.’

Della looked up. ‘He did? And you didn’t? Don’t tell me you didn’t want to.’

Ed stooped down and picked up his sneakers. When he stood straight again, he simply gave Della an unhappy smile.

‘It’s not because of me, is it?’ asked Della. ‘You mustn’t ever think of abandoning your wife because of me.’

‘No,’ said Ed, quietly. ‘Peter Kaiser says there’s a private detective following Season and Sally around. Well – I don’t have any way of telling whether he’s bluffing or not. But the twist is that unless I suffer severe loss of memory whenever anybody asks me about Shearson Jones and the Blight Crisis Appeal, that private detective is going to get orders to kill both of them, right away. I’d like to call them, but I think it’s safer if I don’t. Not just yet, anyway.’

Della came slowly over to Ed and laid her hands on his shoulders. Her hair gleamed coppery-gold in the faint light from the open windows. ‘So that’s why you wanted to know if the FBI had any proof that Shearson was really a killer.’

‘Yes,’ said Ed, quietly. He hesitated, and then he said, ‘I know that things haven’t been too good between me and Season lately… We’ve bickered over the farm, and we’ve argued over living in Kansas, and we’ve had enough rows about my mother to send up the Goodyear blimp. But I don’t want anything like this to happen… not in a thousand years.’

Della kissed him, gently and lingeringly, on the lips. It was a kiss of affection and understanding, rather than a kiss of passion. ‘Do you want to back out of this break-in?’ she asked him. ‘I’ll understand if you do. Your wife and child are far more important to you than Shearson Jones.’

Ed shook his head. ‘If we can find something to lock Shearson Jones up in the pen, then I’m ready to help.’

‘You’re sure?’ she said.

‘Just tell me what to do,’ he replied, ‘and make sure that the FBI send me a case of bourbon at Christmas for the next twenty years.’

Della checked her watch. ‘Let’s go, then. The Muldoons are usually awake at the crack, and it’s going to take us at least a half-hour to get what we need.’