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I had no sooner waved goodbye to Edna than Frances returned, and
nothing would do but we must sit down and she must tell me every
detail of the afternoon's wild goose chase on behalf of Emperor
Norton. He had led the two of them on a lengthy trek indeed with
his cryptic clues, taking them from downtown into the Western
Addition, and finally out into the avenues. But at that point
Frances and Patrick had decided to call it quits for the day. The
avenues would have to wait for another time.

After that, it was too late to think of shopping and preparing
dinner, so Frances and I went out to a little family-run Italian
restaurant in North Beach where I'd been several times before, with
Michael. I was able to persuade the owner to seat us at an
inconspicuous table-not so much because I cared what anyone would
think of two young women dining alone, but because I was concerned
about either or both of us being recognized. I wasn't entirely
convinced that the intruder with the knife had given up on us. I
wasn't unduly worried, just cautious, carrying my walking stick
with its concealed blade just in case.

All the way back home after dinner I kept feeling as if I'd
forgotten something, yet I didn't know what it was. Frances
chattered on about her plans with Patrick, and I replied by rote,
only half listening; my role with her at the moment appeared to be
to advise her to wait, wait, wait. Otherwise she would run off with
Patrick tomorrow, begin living with him without benefit of
matrimony, and so on. I did think she should have her own lawyer
for the divorce proceedings, but I kept this opinion to myself,
because I knew Frances did not have money of her own to pay a
lawyer. And I was not prepared to pay one for her, because I really
had begun to mistrust her a bit.

On arriving back at Divisadero Street, Frances went straight to
what she was now calling "my room" though it was, of course,
Michael's, and after cautioning her to lock all the doors and
windows and keep them that way, I went straight to mine. I still
had that waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop feeling, without any
idea what it might mean.

I was tired, so tired that I washed my face and brushed out my
hair and got into my nightgown without even thinking of the long
hot bath that was my usual way of unwinding at the end of the day.
Before I knew it, I had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was as I imagine coming back from the dead would be: Fighting
one's way back to consciousness; swimming up as it were from the
lower depths through water thick and cold as marble; splitting the
surface finally, only to find not light and air but perpetual
night.

Had I died? Was this the Abyss of Hell?

"Ssshhh!" a voice whispered. And in that moment a hand came over
my mouth to stop the scream that had begun to climb into my
throat.

He was behind me. In the bed, on my new mattress, the man had
tucked himself up right behind me, and I couldn't see a thing. I
could only hear his breathing. And the terrified pounding of my own
heart.

I felt an obscene softness, the moistness of lips grazing the
nape of my neck, and I tried again to scream; tried to twist my own
lips against his restraining palm so that I could bite the hand
that stopped my voice. It was then I heard the chuckle. . . .

And recognized it. Or thought I did. Michael chuckled like that,
with a hint of irony that could sometimes sound a bit wicked, or
evil. Surely this
was
Michael, and not the intruder
returned? I stopped struggling, went quite still, but not yet limp,
listening with all my might. Inside my bedroom it was pitch-black;
I myself had closed the blinds although the room was on the second
floor and there was no way for anyone to see in-at least not well.
I had done this because the intruder had seriously spooked me, but
now I wished I had the light.

At last the man behind me in my bed did something, touched me in
a special way, by which I knew that, without a doubt, he was
Michael. He let go of me then, too, and I turned over and opened my
arms to him.

Instantly I was caught up in a rush of joy and desire, and I put
all of that into saying his name: "Michael!"

He kissed me, very thoroughly, before saying anything at all.
Then he said, "Dearest, I know you missed me, but you didn't have
to provide me with such a magnificent gift on my return."

"What are you talking about?" I asked contentedly, not really
expecting an answer or caring if I got one. I was far too happy. I
was almost purring.

"There's a woman in my bed," Michael said, "a gorgeous woman-who
isn't you. I'm sure of it. I checked. This is you, Fremont, right .
. . here!"

I giggled, but not for long, because passion overcame me; and it
was a long, long time later that I thought to ask what Michael had
meant by saying he'd checked on Frances. He assured me then that
she was a sound sleeper, and that he'd done nothing more than look.
I believed him, of course.

"Fremont," Michael said as we had our breakfast not in the usual
place when we were together, his dining room, but in the office
kitchen, "why does the house require watching? And further, if it
must be watched, don't you think it would make more sense to hire
someone than to saddle one of our own investigators with such a
duty?"

"Hmm?" I was busy licking strawberry jam off my fingers. "I'm
not sure what you're talking about. We did have a break-in a few
nights ago. Didn't you notice the mattress on my bed is new? It's
very comfortable, don't you think?"

A huge grin claimed Michael's face and made him look,
momentarily, like a mischievous boy-in spite of his handsome beard.
"Any bed with you in it is supremely comfortable, my dear," he
said, "but that has nothing to do with the mattress." The grin
disappeared. "Tell me about this break-in."

I gave him the official police version, that it had likely been
a burglar who vented his frustration at the lack of things to
burgle on my pillows and mattress stuffing. "I was never in any
danger," I assured him; and then I went on to tell about how I'd
screamed like a Fury and booted the intruder out the door, which
soon had Michael laughing again.

"All right," he said when finally the laughter subsided, "but
what about poor Wish? He can't work all day and watch the house all
night."

"I didn't know he was watching the house. I assure you, Michael,
I never asked him to do such a thing. That's ridiculous! Do you
suppose he's out there now? Let's bring him in and talk to him.
Where can he have gotten such an idea? It's crazy
¹
."

Michael went outside to get Wish . . . and returned without him.
"I suppose," he said, rubbing the silver streaks at the side of his
beard, as he does when he's deep in thought, "with the dawn his
vigil was over."

"Well," I said, looking up from the section of
The
Chronicle
I was reading, "when he comes in today I'll have a
talk with him about his self-appointed vigil. It's unnecessary, and
I don't particularly appreciate it even though I'm sure he meant
well, and I'll tell him so."

In the quiet time we had left, I told Michael about my father's
visit. I told him everything, except Father's expressed wish to see
me married. Perhaps I would also tell him that in time. For the
present I submitted with good grace to being teased about my new
status as an heiress.

"You'll be out on your own," Michael said. "You won't need this
old man anymore for anything."

"I will always need this old man for certain things," I replied,
putting my hand into Michael's lap beneath the table, "because
there are certain things a woman just can't do for herself."

However, they can be done while sitting in a chair, particularly
if one's skirts are wide enough . . . which was something I had
never thought of before. It is always inspirational to learn new
things.

Wish Stephenson came in with his mother at the usual time. Edna
was as bouncy as ever, but her son looked awful. In fact, to me he
looked even more awful than the loss of a night's sleep could
possibly account for.

"Michael is back," I announced to them both as we assembled
around the very same kitchen table that had seen some interesting
doings not too long before. "He had some business at the bank and
wanted to get to it first thing, but he'll be here soon. You'll
finally get to meet him, Edna. Wish, I guess you've seen him
already?"

Wish nodded slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, and he moved his
head as if it had become a burden to his neck. I soon realized he
didn't intend to comment, the nod was all we were going to get.

That earnest face looked ten years older than the last time I'd
seen him. I shot a quick glance at Edna, who was already looking
straight at me, and as our eyes met she raised her eyebrows as if
to say,
Who knows?
and shrugged. Of course she had noticed
the difference in him, how could a mother not notice something like
that?

I decided to talk to him about it right then and there, in front
of her. Perhaps if he would not open up to me, he would for his own
mother; at any rate, I needed to know what was going on. So I
asked, I probed, he evaded and denied . . . until finally I thought
to say: "It must be something to do with that special project of
yours, though how that can have gotten tied up in your mind with
the necessity to watch this house is beyond me."

Wish looked at me with a suddenly keener comprehension, as if a
bit of fog had lifted from inside his tired brain. "It's all part
of the same picture, don't you see, Fremont? Life and death. That's
what we deal in after all, that's our stock in trade."

"Aloysius, I declare, sometimes you give me the willies! Lemme
out of here. I'm going back to my desk with the nize telephone and
talk to somebody sane for a change."

"Willies!" I exclaimed, jumping up: "Willie! That's what I
forgot! You must excuse me, please, I'll be right back. . . ."

When I jumped up, Wish stood immediately. "Where are you going?
I'll go with you."

"Don't be silly. I'm going upstairs to my apartment, and you're
not invited. Stay here with your mother, help her make some
appointments for you. We had a dozen calls yesterday-think of it,
Wish, a dozen all in one day! It never rains but it pours." Even as
I said this I was on my way toward the back stairs, as from the
kitchen they were so much closer.

With one long arm, still seated, Wish barred my way. "I think I
should stay with you. It might not be safe. The . . . the intruder
might have come back."

"In daylight? Inside my house where I haven't even been alone
since Michael's return? I don't think so." Gently I removed Wish's
arm, pushing it away, but he resisted with surprising strength.

"I should stay with you," he repeated.

I gazed down at him, exasperated, yet touched in spite of myself
by this doglike devotion. "I will only be upstairs," I said softly,
and because I was feeling kind and we were alone, I bent and
lightly kissed the top of his head, adding: "I won't go anywhere.
I'll be back down presently, and I think you should stay in the
office with your mother. What if Michael returns before I'm back
down? I haven't yet told him about your mother-she'll need you to
do the honors, make the introduction."

Wish frowned, and for a moment seemed confused in a rather
childlike way, but then he touched the top of his head where I'd
kissed it and smiled, like his usual self. "You're right, I should
do that. My mother's so in awe of Michael Kossoff, she would
probably faint dead away if one of us weren't there to back her up
when he comes through the door for the first time."

I laughed, greatly relieved, said, "Get on with you then," and
ran lightly up the back stairs. I had not felt so lighthearted in
weeks. Not only was Michael back, and Wish's aberration seemed to
have been cured with one tiny kiss on the head (maybe he'd been
bewitched, like the prince who was a frog, or vice versa?), but
also I had a clear and welcome premonition: I was going to solve
the case of the murdered mediums, and I was going to do it this
very day! I could feel the excitement flowing right along with the
blood through my veins and arteries, like a mighty river. I
wouldn't tell Michael, I'd take Wish with me-that would please Wish
since he wanted to stay close anyway-and my resolution of this case
before the day was ended would be the best welcome-home present I
could possibly give my partner, the other half of the J&K
Agency. The other half of my heart.

I knew, oh yes, I knew with a certainty, even before I'd read
the rest of those letters, even before I could piece together all
the wheres and hows and whys, who Willie was. Willie, the signer of
those letters hidden in Abigail Locke's lingerie case, which had
lain folded at the bottom of my leather bag, forgotten . . . until
now.

"You gotta admit," Edna sighed, with her hands clasped over her
round middle, "those two will get around you, will get around most
anything, after a while."

She referred to Patrick and Frances, who had just left together,
determined to pick up Emperor Norton's trail where they had left it
off the day before, out in the Richmond District. ' We want his
blessing," Frances had explained, her face aglow, "and if together
we find what the Emperor has lost, he will give it, I know he will.
I can feel it."

"Yes,'' Patrick had nodded, "it would be unlucky for us to
proceed with our arrangements otherwise. We have you to thank for
recognizing that, Fremont, and insisting on our doing this."

"It was nothing." I'd shrugged modestly. Indeed, on my part it
had only been an urge to get rid of them both so I could search
Mrs. Locke's house that had motivated me. If, however, the
mesmerist and the somnambulist wanted to assign to my actions a
higher place in the cosmic order of things, who was I to
disagree?