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the
tarnished silver plaque fixed to the red plush interior.
    Presented to
    PAUL MORPHY
    of the United States of America
    in appreciation of his magnificent achievements
    and to commemorate his notable triumphs
    in competition against the most eminent chess masters
    of Europe and the world
    at the
    GRAND MASTERS TOURNAMENT
    Geneva Switzerland
    August 23, 1858
    by the patrons.
    Ann lifted out a
chessboard. The base was of carved rosewood, two inches thick; the playing
surface was an inlay of black opal and mother-of-pearl. At the bottom of the
case, fitted into appropriate niches, were the chess-men. Half the pieces were
of carved ebony, on gold bases; the other half were of white jade, on silver
bases. The black king carried a ruby in his scepter, the white king a diamond.
    “That looks like
a mighty valuable toy,” muttered Tarr. “How long has he had it?”
    “I’ve never seen
it before. Perhaps it was Pearl’s, too.” Ann suddenly shut the case. “I think I’ll
take it home.”
    “Better let me
take charge of it,” said Tarr. “Technically the estate is still unsettled.”
Tarr’s informality evidently ended where regulations began.
    “For all I know,”
he went on, “you’ve been blackmailing your father.”
    “Which is why he
left me all his property,” Ann said tartly.
    “You could have
worked it anonymously.”
    “Go ahead and
prove it,” said Ann; and she marched out to the police car.
    They drove back
to San Rafael in silence. Ann considered how best to carry out her father’s
instructions about the disposal of his body; Tarr presumably was sifting the
discoveries of the day for hidden conclusions.
    Tarr parked in
front of the courthouse, in the section reserved for official cars. He switched
off the ignition, but made no move to get out. Instead he swung around to face
Ann. “There’s something I want to say to you.”
    “What?”
    “I’d like to
take you to dinner. No ulterior motives. Just a social evening.”
    Ann was not
altogether surprised. Tarr wore no wedding ring; apparently he was not married.
Should she?
    But just then a
blond woman in a red coat alighted from a long tomato-pink hardtop parked two
or three spaces away. Tarr saw her and sank low in his seat. The blond woman
marched up. She wore heavy eye make-up and her hair was twisted high in the
most extreme of styles; Ann thought she looked inexpressibly vulgar. The blonde
stooped to look in at Tarr.
    “Well, Luther?”
    Tarr looked
thoughtfully through the windshield, rubbing his nose. He turned to Ann. “Excuse
me a minute—” he began in an embarrassed way.
    “Excuse me,” said the blond woman, acidly sarcastic. “I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted something. I thought
you might like to know I’ve been waiting over an hour.”
    “A case came up.
I just couldn’t get away . . .”
    The woman gave
Ann a sugary smile. “Of course. I understand perfectly. I waited to tell you
how terrible it is how they overwork you. And also—”
    “Look.”
    “—and also, go
to hell.” The woman straightened up. “There. That’s that.” She sauntered to her
pink car, backed out into the street, and sped away.
    “Unfortunate,”
mumbled Tarr. “I forgot about her. She’s just an acquaintance. Met her in a
dark bar.”
    “Why ‘Luther’?”
inquired Ann in a silky voice.
    “My middle name.
I’m Thomas L. Tarr. Born in Tacoma of respectable parents, destined for the
ministry, where I still may end up. A hundred seventy-five pounds of sheer
decency. I wear white socks, don’t smoke or curse, and I put out crumbs for the
birds. Now, about us . . .”
    Ann let herself
out of the car. “I think not, Inspector Tarr. Thank you, anyway.”
    Tarr heaved a
morose sigh. “Oh, well. You’re going home?”
    “Yes.”
    “If you hear
from your mother, Miss Nelson, please let me know.”
    “I’ll do that.”

CHAPTER 4
    Ann’s apartment,
so often her haven of peace, seemed drab when she got home. The sun, hanging
low, shone