“That’s just it,” he said. “You couldn’t take advantage of Engelbertina if your middle name was Svengali and she wanted to sing at the Regina Palace Hotel. No, if anyone takes advantage it will be her. Believe me. It’s you who needs to be careful. She’ll play you like a Steinway if you let her onto your piano stool. Sometimes it’s fun to be played. But only if you know it and you don’t mind it. I’m just telling you so that you don’t fall all the way for her. Specifically this: She isn’t the marrying kind.” He removed the pipe from his mouth and studied the bowl judiciously. I tossed him the matches again. “The plain fact of the matter is, she’s married already.”

“I get it,” I said. “The husband disappeared in a camp.”

“No. Not at all. He’s an American soldier who was stationed over at Oberammergau. She married him and then he disappeared. Most likely deserted. Her and the army. It would be a shame if you let her sucker you into taking her on as client, to look for the guy. He’s no good, and it would be best if he stayed disappeared.”

“That’s kind of up to her, isn’t it? She’s a big girl.”

“Yes, I saw you noticing that,” he said. “Have it your own way, shamus. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I flicked my cigarette away and then kicked off the brake on his chair. “Keep your seat,” I told him. “I’m all through with blondes and missing husbands. It was looking for a missing husband that cost me my damned finger. I’m real easy to educate that way. Like Pavlov’s dog. Some housewife so much as hints that her old man is late back from a card game and could I maybe go look for him, and I’m going to be looking for a pair of concrete gardening gloves. That or a suit of armor.” I shook my head. “I’m getting old, Eric. I don’t bounce as high as I used to when I take a beating.”

I wheeled Gruen back to the house. He was feeling tired, so he went to lie down, and I went to my room. After a moment or two there was a knock at the door. It was Engelbertina. She had a gun in her hand. A Mauser. It was made for shooting bigger things than mice. Fortunately it wasn’t pointed at me.

“I wonder if I might ask you to look after this for me,” she said.

“Don’t tell me you’ve killed someone.”

“No, but I’m afraid Eric might kill himself with it. You see, it’s his gun. And, well, sometimes he gets depressed. Depressed enough to use this on himself. I thought that it might be best if it was somewhere safe.”