Schmidt’s petulant scowl relaxed. “It was very nice when you were kissing me,” he said.

I couldn’t help smiling. “I am rather fond of you, you old goat.”

“Yes, but that is another thing. Always you say rude things to me, even when you thought I was dying. You blamed me for the accident, but it was not my fault, was it, if some madman shot out the tire of my car? I was driving magnificently until that moment—”

“You were driving like a maniac, as you always do. Hadn’t it occurred to you that we had been sent on a wild-goose chase, possibly into a trap? If I had been alone, I’d have turned back long before it happened.”

Since this was a valid complaint, Schmidt chose to ignore it. “How did he get there ahead of us?”

Since this was a valid question, I chose to answer it. “I wondered about that myself. He might live up that way, in the hills; a telephone call from the hotel could have sent him out to ambush us. Or there may be a trail from the valley, a short cut.”

“True.” Schmidt ruminated. “I will have the gateau with rum and strawberries. For you—”

“Just coffee.” After he had dealt with the pressing matter of dessert, he continued, “It was the concierge, you think? The fat boy who gave us the directions?”

“That’s not fat, that’s muscle,” I said fairly. “Muscle enough to climb a mountain and get to the spot before us. But we haven’t any proof. He may have passed on a message in all innocence.”

Schmidt’s curling lip showed what he thought of Freddy’s innocence. He’d have preferred to make Freddy the villain rather than Friedl, lady’s man that he was. I went on, “The police just laughed when I told them someone shot at us. They said it was probably a hunter.”

“A bad hunter who could mistake a Mercedes for a deer,” Schmidt grunted.

Schmidt slept most of the way back. He had eaten enough to render a gorilla comatose, but I was worried about him. He was too old and too fat for such goings-on. His accusations had stung, though. I did have a tendency to denigrate him and underestimate him and treat him like a child. He enjoyed having me fuss at him—at least I thought he enjoyed it—but I was beginning to realize that the derogatory adjectives and the patronizing attitude might hurt an aging person who was already painfully aware of his increasing liabilities. I had to keep him out of danger without wounding his feelings and that wasn’t going to be easy.

I took him home and tucked him into bed—not the first time I had performed that little job. I was reluctant to leave him alone, but he insisted he was okay, just tired; so, in keeping with my new policy, I said good night. Besides, I had a feeling….

For once, my premonitions were right on the mark. It was long past midnight before I had tended to Caesar’s needs and my own; when the summons came, I was ready. Caesar, sprawled on the bedroom floor, had keener ears than mine. He let out one short, sharp bark, and got up; then he loped to the window, his nails clicking on the bare boards, and began whining.