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the man. He wanted to believe that this was indeed Valentin, but it was too incredible to believe that the frail form in front of him could have survived the monstrosity he'd seen on 83rd Street. No;
    this was another illusion. Like the tiger: paper and malice.
    The man   broke Harry's train of thought. 'Your steak . . .'he said.
    'My steak?'
    'You like it almost burned,' Valentin said. 'I pro-
    tested, remember?'
    Harry remembered. 'Go on,' he said.
    'And you said you hated the sight of blood. Even, if it wasn't your own.'
    'Yes,' said Harry. His doubts were lifting. 'That's right.'
    'You asked me to prove I'm Valentin. That's the best I can do.' Harry was almost persuaded. 'In God's name,'
    Valentin said, 'do we have to debate this standing on the street?'
    'You'd better come in.'
    The apartment was small, but tonight it felt more stifling than ever. Valentin sat himself down with a good view  of the door. He refused spirits or first-aid.
    Harry helped himself to bourbon. He was on his third shot when Valentin finally said:
    'We have to go back to the house, Harry.'
    'What?'
    'We have to claim Swann's body before Butterfield.'
    'I did my best already. It's not my business any more.'
                       33'So you leave Swann to the Pit?' Valentin said.
    'She doesn't care, why should I?'
    'You mean Dorothea? She doesn't know what Swann was involved with. That's why she's so trusting. She has suspicions maybe,  but, insofar as it is possible to be guiltless in all of this, she is.' He paused to adjust the position of his injured arm. 'She was a prostitute, you know. I don't suppose she told you that. Swann once said to me he married her because only prostitutes know the value of love.'
    Harry let this apparent paradox go.
    'Why  did she stay with him?' he asked. 'He wasn't exactly faithful, was he?'
    'She loved him,' Valentin replied. 'It's not unheard of.'
    'And you?'
    'Oh  I loved him too, in spite of his stupidities. That's why we have to help him. If Butterfield and his associates get their hands on Swann's mortal remains, there'll be all Hell to pay.'
    'I know. I got a glimpse at the Bernstein place.'
    'What did you see?'
    'Something  and nothing,' said Harry. 'A tiger, I thought; only it wasn't.'
    'The old paraphernalia,' Valentin commented.
    'And there was something else with Butterfield. Some-
    thing that shed light: I didn't see what.'
    'The Castrate,' Valentin muttered to himself, clearly discomfited. 'We'll have to be careful.'
    He stood up, the movement causing him to wince. 'I think we should be on our way, Harry.'
    'Are you paying me for this?' Harry inquired, 'or am I doing it all for love?'
    'You're doing it because of what happened at Wyckoff Street,' came the softly-spoken reply. 'Because you lostpoor Mimi Lomax to the Gulfs, and you don't want to lose Swann. That is, if you've not already done so.'
    They caught a cab on Madison Avenue and headed back uptown to 61st Street, keeping their silence as they rode.
    Harry had half a hundred questions to ask of Valentin.
    Who  was Butterfield, for one, and what was Swann's crime was that he be pursued to death and beyond? So many  puzzles. But Valentin looked sick and unfit for plying with questions. Besides, Harry sensed that the more he knew  the less enthusiastic he would be about the journey they were now taking.
    'We have perhaps one advantage -' Valentin said as they approached 61st Street. 'They can't be expecting this frontal attack. Butterfield presumes I'm dead, and probably thinks you're hiding  your head  in mortal terror.'
    'I'm working on it.'
    'You're not in danger,' Valentin replied, 'at least not the way Swann is. If they were to take you apart limb by limb it would be nothing beside the torments they have waiting for the magician.'
    'Illusionist,' Harry corrected him, but Valentin shook his head.
    'Magician he was; magician he will always be.'
    The  driver interrupted before Harry could quote Dorothea on the