I laid my passport on the table before him. He reached up under his sweater, and withdrew his own from his shirt pocket and put it in my hand.

I examined it. It was American and a fake. Even the issue date of two years ago was fake. Raglan James. Age twenty-six. Correct picture. Good picture. This Georgetown address.

He was studying the American passport—also a fake—which I had given him.

“Ah, your tanned skin! You had this prepared specially … Must have been last night.”

I didn’t bother to answer.

“How very clever of you,” he said, “and what a good picture.” He studied it. “Clarence Oddbody. Wherever did you come up with a name like that?”

“A little private joke. What does it matter? You’ll have it only tonight and tomorrow night.” I shrugged.

“True. Very true.”

“I’ll expect you back here early Friday morning, between the hours of three and four.”

“Excellent.” He started to put the passport into his pocket and then caught himself with a sharp laugh. Then his eyes fixed on me and a look of pure delight passed over him. “Are you ready?”

“Not quite.” I took a wallet of money out of my pocket, opened it, and slipped out about half of the bills inside and gave them to him.

“Ah, yes, the petty cash, how considerate of you to remember,” he said. “I’m forgetting all the important details in my excitement. Inexcusable and you are such a gentleman.”

He gathered up the bills and once again caught himself before he could stuff them in his pockets. He put them back on the table and smiled.

I laid my hand on the wallet. “The rest is for me, once we make the switch. I trust you’re comfortable with the amount I’ve given you? The little thief in you won’t be tempted to scoop up what’s left?”

“I’ll do my best to behave myself,” he said good-naturedly. “Now, do you want me to change clothes? I stole these garments especially for you.”

“They’re fine.”

“Should I empty my bladder, perhaps? Or would you like the privilege?”

“I would.”

He nodded. “I’m hungry. I thought you’d like it that way. There’s an excellent restaurant down the street. Paolo’s. Good spaghetti carbonara. Even in the snow you can walk it.”

“Marvelous. I’m not hungry. I thought that would be easier for you. You spoke of a car. Where is the car?”

“Oh, yes, the car. Outside, to the left of the front steps. Red Porsche roadster, thought you’d like that. Here are the keys. But be careful … ”

“Of what?”

“Well, the snow obviously, you might not be able to move it at all.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Don’t want you to be hurt. It could cost me twenty million if you’re not here Friday as planned. Nevertheless the driver’s license with the correct picture is in the desk in the living room. What’s the matter?”

“Clothes for you,” I said. “I forgot to provide them, other than what I have on.”