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The kiss went on while I observed that they had at least made
some pretense, perhaps even a sincere effort, to get down to their
peculiar work before becoming, shall we say, distracted. Both
Frances and Patrick were fully dressed, Frances in a demure frock
that looked about as designed for seduction as Little Miss Muffet's
tuffet had been for comfortable seating. Her hair was down; but
then, I had learned myself that her hair was often down in the
mornings. Patrick was buttoned up to his earlobes in a stiff white
collar, along with the usual shirt and dark suit. They were each
sitting in a straight-backed chair, facing one another, with a
small round tea table between them. On the tea table were a small
round crystal ball that looked suspiciously like a paperweight to
me, and a deck of cards, face down. Cheap cards, the kind with
bicycles on the backs, which suggested that Patrick had brought the
cards and the paperweight. Er, crystal ball.

So they must have started out to work, and then . . . Yes.

If they had leaned any harder toward one another over that
little table, some architectural or engineering law having to do
with pressure points or irresistible forces would have been broken,
I was sure of it.

I turned my head away, burning in the place one might think one
would burn if one happened to be watching a kiss such as theirs. It
was shameful . . . and yet, not.

"Tell me when you're done," I said in a clear voice.

I couldn't help smiling as my remark brought a little stifled
yelp from Frances, followed immediately by much rustling and
settling into place, and finally Patrick clearing his throat
preparatory to saying, "Good morning, Fremont!" in his most
stentorian tone of voice.

"Good morning," I said pleasantly, turning around.

"Were you expected?" Patrick inquired, as if this were his home,
and blissful Frances just sat there with a wide, foolish smile on
her slightly swollen lips.

"In a way, yes, and in a way, no," I replied cryptically.

"I don't see how it can be both," said Patrick, each word
uttered distinctly, as if he must be extremely careful of whatever
he might say to me. I supposed he might feel that way, that he must
be careful, particularly if he had something to hide.

And here not more than two or three days ago I had mentally
removed this man from my list of murder suspects because he'd said
so convincingly that he'd been in love with Abigail Locke.

"I wonder . . ."I mused aloud, then caught myself. What I was
wondering was whether Patrick could have been sincere when he'd
said that-he'd certainly looked sincere-and then so soon fallen for
Frances, with what appeared to be equal intensity. Could such a
thing happen, if the man were not a bounder or a cad? I really
didn't know. I should have to ask Michael. Maybe.

I shook my head a little, then started over. They were both
gazing at me in a kind of stupor. "Never mind. What I really must
say is, although what you do when you're together is none of my
business, I do have a considerable interest in both of you as my
clients. As long as you're my clients, I feel honor bound to try my
utmost to keep you out of harm's way."

They nodded in unison. Really it was rather sweet.

"And if ever there was a place where doing what you were just
doing could put you-as my mother, who came from Virginia, used to
say-
right smack dab
in harm's way, this would be it!"

"Oh
^!
" said Frances, the light of understanding
finally gathering in her eyes. So she wasn't hypnotized, or
mesmerized, whatever they were calling it. I chose to believe that
was good. Frances went on, "We didn't mean to. We meant to work.
Patrick brought some new materials for me to work with, to
psychically read for him. We just-"

"It was my fault entirely," Patrick said. Suddenly realizing
that he was sitting while there was a lady (myself) in the room
standing, he popped up out of his chair, then with a sweep of his
hand offered the chair to me.

I took it, though there were other places I could have sat. I
did it to establish authority. I was the one who would set the
rules here, and make these two comply, or we should all be in a
great deal of trouble.

"You couldn't help yourselves?" I inquired brightly.

Frances nodded, taking me with perfect seriousness. "That's
right. We couldn't."

Oh my
¹
.
It was all I could do not to roll my
eyes.

Frances rushed on: "It's safe, really. Jeremy has gone to work.
Cora is my friend, she won't interrupt; and besides, I've bribed
her, so even if she isn't really my friend-I mean sometimes, not
often, I make mistakes about who my friends are. Anyhow, I know at
least that she'll keep quiet as long as I pay her."

"Frances," I said, "I have reason to believe Cora spies on you
for Jeremy. She is probably working both sides of the street."

"Fremont
¹
." Frances appeared scandalized. "Have you
no shame? How can you use such a figure of speech
¹
. And
about Cora, too."

Ignoring this, I turned to Patrick. ' 'What was so important as
to bring you over here this morning? I mean, considering that we've
just had a talk about how you could get Frances in some serious
trouble if her husband finds out that you're even working with her.
Much less . . . doing what you were doing with her." For a moment I
wished I'd simply said "kissing" because the other sounded somehow
dirty, which was hardly fair-what I'd witnessed could only have
been termed dirty by someone who knew little about the real meaning
of love. I felt like a mother with two unruly children whose
behavior was going to get us all in trouble.

"Frances called me," he replied, with a finality in his voice
that said more clearly than words: That explains everything, she
calls, I come, nature of this beast. End of story.

"And you called," I said to Frances, "because . . . ?"

Frances flushed delicately along her cheekbones. Nowhere else,
just the cheekbones. It was exceedingly becoming. "I wanted to get
started on this new technique Patrick is going to teach me. It's
called, um, Patrick?"

"Extrasensory perception. ESP for short. The experiment is for
the mesmerizer to be the sender and the somnambulist the receiver.
I will choose a card at random, hold it up before my owneyes, and
concentrate. Frances will see the card through my eyes and tell me
what she sees. This test yields scientifically quantifiable
results. It was devised in England many years ago, and recently
brought to this country by the American Society for Psychical
Research."

"It is a way of establishing credentials," Frances said
eagerly.

"Yes!" said Patrick, unconsciously (or so it seemed) reaching
his hand out across the table and opening his palm, into which
Frances placed her own hand with equally unconscious and natural
grace.

Egad! I thought. The star-crossed lovers.

I sighed. "All right, you two, repeat after me: We will find
another place to work."

"We will," they began, then broke off, looked at each other,
then back at me; whereupon Frances said reasonably, "What could be
more open and aboveboard? If we meet at my house, is it not a
guarantee that we are . . . that our intentions are ..."

"Yes, well, you already see the flaw in that argument, no
doubt." I nodded in an exaggerated manner. Frances nodded with me,
and Patrick turned his head away. He was beginning to reason again,
to see the light, to get the point. I proceeded to drive it further
home: "If Cora had witnessed what I just witnessed, I should be
very much afraid she would report it to Jeremy. And then, Frances,
you know the least that could happen. As for the worst . . ."

"I get in more trouble when I go out," Frances argued. "No one
knows Patrick is here, any more than I daresay they know you are
here. He came in by the back, and he will leave by the back, and in
between, if necessary, he can hide in the wardrobe."

I moved my head back and forth, slowly. "Noooo. When the two of
you get involved in anything, whether your mesmerist/ somnambulist
routine or that other kind of thing, you lose all sense of what's
going on around you. I've seen you, I know what I'm talking about.
And if we're to solve these cases it's got to stop.

Otherwise, you're going to get caught, and Jeremy McFadden will
do something drastic. You know he will. Let's have no more argument
on that point. Agreed?"

"Agreed," they said sullenly-but only after quite a long
pause.

"All right," I said. "Point number two: Frances, I have a report
for you concerning that other matter you wanted me to take care of.
And Patrick, if you can bear it, why don't you go downstairs and
wait outside for me. I have some questions to ask you, and I can do
it while walking with you in the direction of your home, because I
have an errand to run over that way when I'm done with Frances
here."

They looked at each other. Frances sighed; Patrick said to her,
"She's probably right. Don't worry, Frances, we'll work something
out. Meanwhile, keep the crystal ball and practice with it. Write
down what you see, and we can discuss it the next time we're
together."

"When will that be?" Frances asked in a breathless voice. I
wondered if he had already made love to her, in the fullest sense
that is. My guess was that he had, and that she could not wait to
do it again, which I could understand myself, all too well.

"Soon," Patrick promised. He was already standing, and could not
resist bending down to kiss her cheek. He scooped the deck of cards
off the table and dropped them in his jacket pocket. And then he
left the room.

Immediately I felt as if a load of bricks had been removed from
my shoulders. Before Frances could do or say anything to put the
load back on, I said quickly, "I have a report for you on our
Emperor Norton search. It's encouraging."

Then I went on to explain how Wish Stephenson had helped me find
a way to thread through the streets near Union Square so that we
ended up in a northwesterly direction, as instructed. I said I had
no doubt that if I patiently followed his other instructions as
they were given we should find the Emperor's most valued
possession. I ended: "But that means you must keep in touch with
him and continue to do the automatic writing, Frances. The City is
not now what it was when Norton was alive, and I think he must be
made to see that his instructions have to make a kind of
present-day sense. Do you think you can convey that to him?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "I think so. He doesn't come through so
clearly now, though. I mean, it's as if ... as if there's too much
noise in my brain. Too many other things going on."

"Do you suppose you could concentrate on just doing the
automatic writing with the Emperor for, oh, say-the next four days?
Stay away from Patrick. Don't give Jeremy any reason to be
jealous. And above all, don't trust Cora. Now"-I reached down
into my leather bag and brought out a pad and pencil-"what is
Cora's full name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm going to investigate her. If I can give you reason to
dismiss her, I think you'll be safer, at least for a while. Now
don't argue, Frances, just give me her whole name."

"Freeman. If she has a middle name I don't know it. Just Cora
Freeman. I don't want to dismiss her, she knows the jobs here, I'll
be lost without her."

This was too much. My patience was gone. So I put my elbows on
that little round table and stared hard at Frances, being
purposefully intimidating. "You'd best get one thing straight,
Frances McFadden. You cannot have it both ways. You cannot continue
to have the luxuries Jeremy McFadden can buy you while at the same
time preparing yourself to go off seeking fame and glory, not to
mention true love, if that's what you think it is" (there, the
blush along the cheekbones again) "with Patrick Rule. So which is
it to be?"

"Patrick," she said without hesitation, "and my new work. I'm
good at it, Fremont. It's the first time in my life I've really had
something all my own, something nobody can take away from me. A
talent, I mean, part of me, the way who you are is part of you. Do
you understand?"

"Oh yes, certainly I do. Now please listen to me, Frances. This
is important, and I don't want to keep Patrick waiting down there
too long. Do you think you can find out from the servants whether
or not your husband was here at home the entire evening and early
morning of that day when we found Abigail Locke's body? I can't
question them myself. As I've told you, I believe Cora at least
would report anything and everything back to him."

France's eyes widened. "Fremont! You don't think-"

"Yes, I do think it's possible. A man who would do to his wife
what Jeremy has done to you has no love of women, either his wife
or any other."

"I resent that. Jeremy does love me, he has often said so. Of
course, his love is of the very possessive type, that is why he, he
. . ."

As she faltered, I stepped in: "Why he punishes you? Because he
can't bear the thought that you might leave him?"

"Yes, that is more or less what he says."

"He regards you as his personal possession, Frances, and that is
not love. Would he kill to keep you close to him? What do you
think?"

"Y-you mean would he kill Abigail just so, so . . ."

"To teach you a lesson. Which apparently you haven't learned, if
that indeed was what he did. And if he figures that out through
finding you with Patrick, he may kill again. We mustn't let that
happen. You must stay away from Patrick for a while, concentrate on
your doings with the Emperor, see if you can get that information
for me. The next three or four days must show some progress for us,
because after that my father will be in San Francisco and I'll be
too occupied with him to work on our case."