“I guess that clears most of it up,” Tony said.

“Not quite all.” I folded my arms. “I didn’t have a chance to give you my Christmas present, Tony, and now I can’t find the card—Clara must have chewed it up. So I will eschew subtleties and say straight out, What the hell is the idea of lying to me about imaginary Annie?”

Tony blushed. “Oh,” he muttered. “I was afraid you had figured that all out.”

“You were right. Well?”

Tony sprang from his chair and wrapped his arms around me. “You know why, Vicky. Damn it, you’ve been putting me off for years. I thought if you thought—”

“A little reverse psychology?”

“Right. Vicky, I’m crazy about you. You know that. I always will be. Won’t you—”

“No. I’m sorry, Tony.”

I didn’t try to free myself. After a moment, his arms relaxed their hold. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“He,” I said, without thinking.

“Dammit, don’t criticize my grammar when I’m baring my soul to you,” Tony shouted. “And don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Tony.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Oh, sure. Not that that has anything to do with it.”

Tony flapped his arms. “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t try. It doesn’t even make sense to me. Let’s get going. We’ll have a nice, friendly, belated Christmas Eve tonight, before you leave for Turin in the morning. I hope and trust that by this time the police have removed Freddy; his presence might cast a certain pall over the celebration. We’ll stop by Carl’s and pick up Caesar and introduce him to…What’s taking Schmidt so long?”

“‘Peace! Break thee off,’” said Tony; “‘look where it comes again!’”

He had recovered sufficiently to smile and to quote Shakespeare, so I decided my refusal hadn’t broken his heart after all. “‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us!” I agreed. “What happened to you, Schmidt?’”

As Schmidt pointed out, at some length, the answer was self-evident. He had Clara clamped under one arm, and his other hand held her jaws closed. Both hands were crisscrossed by bleeding scratches. Clara’s blazing eyes and muffled growls indicated that though temporarily overpowered, she was not subdued. She didn’t scratch me or Tony. She bit Tony, and she squirmed and howled when I tried to free her from the red ribbon tied around her neck. The bow was under her chin, and so lacerated I had to cut the ribbon off. It took all three of us to cram her in the carrier I had bought that morning.

“Cats hate bows,” I explained to Schmidt, who was sucking his wounds. “It was a pretty thought, Schmidt, but—”

“Do you think I would be so stupid?” Schmidt demanded. “I did not put the ribbon on her. I thought you had. She was in the wardrobe; that is why it took me so long to find her, and when I did, she—”

“I see what she did.” I turned the ribbon over in my hands. A small package had been tied firmly to the bow. Clara’s teeth had penetrated, but not destroyed it. I ripped it open under the curious eyes of Tony and Schmidt.