I stepped back and around so I could see him. It was the chief. He was wearing light silk pajamas and slippers, with no robe.

I said, “Hello, chief.”

He stiffened for a minute into ominous, tense immobility. Then his fat, blubbery lips twisted into a smile. He said, “Well, well, well, it’s Lam! I hadn’t expected to see you so soon, Lam. I hadn’t expected you’d find your way back so quickly. And who’s your friend?”

“Bertha Cool,” I said, “head of the Cool Detective Agency.”

“Well, well, well,” the chief beamed. “This is indeed a pleasure, and I want to congratulate you—er—er—is it Miss or Mrs.?”

“Mrs.,” she said. “Mrs. Bertha Cool.”

“It’s indeed a pleasure.” He bowed. “And you’re to be congratulated on having a man so quick-witted and courageous as Lam working for you. He’s a bit of all right, that boy! A most observing disposition; and I can personally vouch for his courage. Do come in.”

He stood to one side. I hesitated, but Mrs. Cool sailed past me through the door and into the reception hall. I followed her. The chief slammed the door shut, and shot a bolt into place. “So you found your way back, Lam?”

I nodded.

“I’ll have to speak to Fred about that. I will indeed. That was rather a faux pas on his part, letting you get the address. Would you mind telling me just how you did it, Mr. Lam?”

Bertha Cool answered the question. “Yes, he would,” she said.

“Well, well, well, no hard feelings,” the chief said. “Won’t you come in and sit down—sorry I can’t offer you a drink.”

He switched on lights in the living room and we went in and sat down.

A woman’s voice from the head of the stairs called down, “Who is it, dear?”

“Come down, m’love. Slip on something and come down. We have a couple of visitors. You know one, and I’m quite anxious to have you meet the other.”

He beamed across at Mrs. Cool, and said, “Always like to have the little woman in our conferences. You know how it is. I believe marriage is a partnership, and two heads are always better than one. Whenever the situation becomes just a little delicate, I always call in the little woman.”

I heard a door slam up above, and then the stairs began to creak. We followed the creak on down until the tall woman came silently into the room, walking on the felt soles of bedroom slippers.

She didn’t pay any attention to me. Her eyes were fixed on Bertha Cool’s.

I got up when she came in. The chief didn’t. I said, “Mrs. Cunweather—is that the name?”