“Thank you,” Tim interrupted, going pale.

“Were there no other witnesses?” I asked.

“Just one.” Mrs. Lovely leaned forward. “There was a balloon seller on the other side of the road. He must have seen everything. I’ve already been asked about him once, so before you ask me again, let me tell you that I don’t know his name or where he had come from. He was an old man. He had a beard and about fifty helium balloons. Floating above his head.”

“Why was his beard floating over his head?” Tim asked.

“The balloons, Tim!” I growled. I turned to Mrs. Lovely. “Is there anything else you can tell us?” I asked. “Anything about Lenny Smile?”

“No. Not really.” Suddenly there were tears in the old woman’s eyes. She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. “I will miss him. It’s true I hardly ever saw him, but he was a gentleman. Look at this note he sent me. It was my ninety-first birthday last week and he slipped it under the door.”

She produced a crumpled sheet of paper, torn out of a notebook. There were a couple of lines written in green ink:

Dear Mrs. Lovely,

I hope you have a lovely birthday.

L.S.

That was all. The note couldn’t have been less interesting or informative. And yet, even so, I thought there was something strange about it, something that didn’t quite add up. I handed it back.

“Nobody else remembered my birthday.” Mrs. Lovely sighed. “I didn’t get any cards. But then, most of my friends were blown up in the war . . .” She wiped her eyes. “I couldn’t have asked for a more quiet neighbor,” she said. “And now that he’s gone, I’ll really miss him.”

How could she miss him when she had hardly ever met him? And why had Lenny Smile taken so much care not to be seen? I was beginning to realize that it wasn’t just Carter’s photograph that had been blurred. The same thing could be said for everything in Lenny Smile’s life.

*  *  *

We found Barry Krishner, the steamroller driver, easily enough. There was only one institute for the hopelessly insane in Harrow. Well, two if you count the famous private school that was just a little farther down the road. The hospital pital was a big, Victorian building, set in its own grounds with a path leading up to the front door.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” I said. “They’ve even got crazy paving.”