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briskly. "Do you have an application with you?"
    I smiled. "Sure do."
    While Wintringham filled it out, I wandered into the hall, studying the oil paintings that hung there. A door at the rear of the building opened, and Charmaine came out. She had repaired her smeared eye makeup and put on an overwhelming amount of heavy perfume.
    "Do you have the time?" she asked in a harried voice.
    "It's eleven-thirty."
    "Ah, good. I'll make it."
    "What is it you're going to, some kind of show?"
    "There's a Victorian home exhibition at Fort Mason, Pier Three." She named a former army supply base that was now used for a variety of cultural activities. "Everyone who's anyone in the restoration field will have a booth there. I myself am showing off my interior designs."
    "Charmaine," I said, remembering the old-fashioned tubular piece of metal I had pocketed at the murder scene last night, and van Dyne's comment about the decorator dabbling in stained glass, "do you know anything about light fixtures?"
    "I purchase them, in consultation with various lighting designers."
    "Who?"
    She moved restlessly toward the door. "There are a number of them. Why?"
    "I need someone to help light my apartment." Inwardly I grinned. My Mission District studio had sparkly things mixed in with the acoustical material on the ceiling, so I kept my lights as dim as possible.
    "Oh." Charmaine paused, hand on the doorknob. "Try Victoriana. They're the biggest." In a cloud of exotic scent, she was gone.
    "Thanks," I said, patting my bag where the piece of metal now rested. "Thanks. I will."

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CHAPTER 6
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    San Francisco Victoriana's showroom was in the industrial Bayshore District, several miles across town. I drove over there in a pensive mood, wondering if I were wasting my time pursuing this clue. It was, however, the only lead I had. The only lead except for Jake's comment about the person he was meeting being a drunk. If I interviewed all the drunks in a town like San Francisco, looking for a suspicious sign, I'd be at it for the rest of my life. No, better to try to track down the origin of the little piece of metal.
    The showroom's walls were covered with plaster rosettes and fish-scale shingles like the ones Wintringham had pointed out on his family Queen Anne. From the ceiling hung dozens of light fixtures, their outstretched arms ending in etched-glass shades. I looked them over carefully as I waited at the sales desk, wondering how a piece of metal like the one in my purse would fit.
    A gray cat lay curled on the desk. It raised its head and favored me with a great yawn. I scratched its ears, and it began to purr.
    In a minute, a woman with short blond hair emerged from a room behind the desk. "Oh, I see you've met Victoria," she said cheerfully.
    "Appropriately named."
    "A little cutesy, but she's a cute cat. We've had her since she was a kitten. What can I do for you?"
    "I need some information on light fixtures." I took out the metal piece. "I have a fragment of one here, and I'm trying to trace the manufacturer."
    Her smooth brow creased. "Gosh, I don't know if I can help you. The guys who would know are at the home show." At my disappointed look, she added, "I'll give it a try, though. If it's somebody local, I might recognize it."
    I handed her the fragment. She studied it, turning it over in her hands. Finally she said, "I could be wrong, but this looks like Prince Albert's work."
    "Prince Albert!"
    She grinned. "He's really Al Prince, but, like Victoria here, the names goes with the trade."
    "Where might I find this royal personage?"
    "His shop in on Natoma Street, that alley between Mission and Howard, south of Market. He's somewhere around Sixth. Look for a sign saying, 'Prince Albert's Lighthouse.'"
    I thanked her and directed my battered red MG downtown. Once there, I parked on Sixth Street, nicknamed "Rue de Wino" because of the characters with brown paper bags who hung out there. Natoma was one car wide, its