“You may be right. There is really nowhere left for artists like myself. I went back to Germany hoping I’d be in the company of the composers and musicians I knew and admired, but so many were dead, or imprisoned, or their work declared decadent. Those that were not able to emigrate . . . Thank God I got out in time. It was not easy, and I am not even a Jew.” He took a puff from his pipe and set it down; it was designed so it could sit on its barrel. “You know your government is doing everything it can to delay visas for those trying to leave Germany for here. The argument is that among the refugees will be spies, saboteurs, and die Lagerschwellen, what you call ‘sleepers.’ ”

It was hard for me to imagine. It seemed to be happening on that other earth, the one Life magazine reported about on a weekly basis. And yet I thought about the pro-German picnic that had tried its very best to turn pro-Nazi.

After lunch, we walked back to the copying office in leisurely fashion, because I knew that Haffner could not manage otherwise.

At the offices of RC Copying, Gilbert greeted me with a cordial “So I’m going to need seventy bucks cash from you now, based on Haffner’s estimate.”

“Yes, lunch was delicious, thanks,” I replied and gave him four twenties. He stepped into a small side office to get change as Haffner thanked me again for the meal and went to his desk.

As I waited, I had nothing better to do than look at a stack of individual music parts sitting on the counter. Atop the stack, one of Gilbert Rice’s billing forms bore a scrawl that read Adeline Head. Will call Friday afternoon.

The name was unusual enough that I knew I’d heard it before. It took me a moment to recall that she was the carillon player who’d alternated with Gail and eloped with a fellow from Nob Hill whose parents didn’t approve of the marriage. The honeymoon was apparently a short one if she was going to be in this office in a couple of days. Or perhaps this was something she’d composed for the wedding. I remembered that Ada Head had entered the Pan-Pacific competition and been jealous of Gail’s victory, wanting to hear what was deemed better than her own work. Was this the rival piece?

I slid the billing form aside and saw that the music bore the title Apaches of the Night. Didn’t sound like an appropriate title for a wedding march, nor an inspiring anthem for world unity. It might have been written for something like the Cavalcade of the Golden West show near Treasure Island’s Gayway. I wondered why Ada would have used a copyist in Oakland when she lived in San Francisco, but then I remembered that she had abandoned her abode there.