3 August 1934 2105

     Jeez, ya'd think on a small buncha islands it wouldn't be no problem t'find a punk like Dan Lupino.  There, ya'd be wrong.  He ain't home, and he ain't in no casino or waterin' hole or such.

     Me, I develops a hunch 'round 'bout dark.  Iffen Dan Lupino ain't in his usual places, he's prolly doin' somethin' he enjoys.  Or, more like, doin' someone he enjoys.

     I knows where th' Visons hang their hat.  Real swish place on Casino, old colonial job.  An' one wit' big French windas, too.  I shinnies up a lamp-post, an' has a quick peek over.  Yup, light on in th' ground-floor library.  Yup, Dan an' Tom Vison's daughter in there.  Yup, they're usin' th' old man's couch.  An' not fer no analysis, neither.  They're kinda busy, so it ain't no problem fer me t' slip over th' wall, zip 'cross the lawn, an' then pop open the French windas.  'course, I gots my .38 out.  More fer show, than anythin' else.

     Dan's sweetie lets out a scream, an' covers herself.  Dan hisself cusses me out, an' reaches fer his clothes, but I shows him my lil' toy, an' tells him t' put his paws on the desk, an' not t'play funny.  I puts th' cuffs on him, an' makes him kneel down.  The sweetie's cowerin' in a corner, she don't come t'his rescue, none.  I makes one call to th' local station, an' get a few uniforms t'help me bring Lover Boy in fer a lil' chat.  I makes another call.  This one t'th' fancy joint over at Shepherd's.  I figger if Vison ain't home, he's out havin' a good meal.  Kinda hated t'spoil it fer him.  No, wait.  That's a lie.  I did enjoy tellin' th' old man over th' phone I busted his daughter doin' in on his study couch wit' Dan Lupino.  Gonna pay fer it someday, but hell, a fur's gotta get his own back when he can, see?

     Vison's comin' in, just as we wuz goin' out.  Lucky fer Dan, th' sarge on duty sent a few big boys over t'keep Lover Boy covered (not wit' his clothes, neither; we had 'em, okeh, but in my paws).  Vison grinds his lil' minkie teeth, an' goes stormin' inta his house.

3 August 1934 2200

     I had th' boys frogmarch th' punk, buck naked, t'th' nearest SIC house, 'bout mebbe six blocks 'way.  Few older Euros seen this.  Most look 'way.  Few of th' older ladies don't make no show of lookin' 'way, though.

     I had a uniform call Meetin', an' tell Stagg where we wuz gonna be.  I figgered Stagg wuz gonna get there a few minutes after we settles in.  A lil' chance fer a bit o' softenin', my way.

     Now, see, I makes sure I gotta uniform or two watchin' me.  I don't want no one-versus-one crap, I wanna fur or two who's gonna back me up.  So I slips th' pawcuffs offen Lover Boy, an' shoves him 'cross th' room, towards a chair.  Mind you, I ain't given Lover Boy back his clothes, yet.  He lets me know what he thinks of this, usin' words I bet they didn't teach him at dat fancy school o' his.  I shrugs.

     "Yeah?  Whatcha gonna 'bout it?"

     Th' punk crests on me, an' makes a lunge.  Dumb-ass.  I lets him know what I thinks of his manners, by plantin' a good hard one, square in his nose.  Knocks him right on his tailfur.  Also knocks th' wolf right outta him.  He looks up at me, an' he's got blood squirtin' from his nose, an' tears from his eyes.  There's another smell, too: punk wet himself.  Bet it's th' first time anyone gave him onea life's lil' lessons.

     "Lemme learn ya somethin'...punk.  Yer old man is dead, an' ya know, th' more I learn about your ma, th' more I figger she don't give a damn 'bout you.  Yeah, it's one hell of a family ya gots.  But hey, I'm a sport.  Tellya what I'm gonna do.  I'm gonna let ya have a free swing at me.  I don't do this ordinary-like, but hey, I'm feelin' generous t'night.  C'mon, Mr. Bigshot, lesse what kinda alpha boy y'are."

     Th' punk whimpers, an' covers hisself up wit' one paw, while th' other's holdin' his nose.  He's doin' this when Stagg walks in.  Stagg gets one whiff, an' one look.  He ain't none too happy, an' he tells a uniform t'drag Lupino out t'th' bathroom an' clean him up, and get a pair of shorts on him.  An' t'get a mop in th' room.

     "Outlander-canine Karok-son-Karok attack, sir.  Myself incident see..."

     Stagg looks at th' uniform.  Face don't move a muscle.

     "That would seem to be the customary way, constable.  The Sergeant and I will discuss the matter,.  Later.  " Wit' that, he sits down wit' a small stack o' cards, an' waits.

     Lupino is brought back in.  Cleaned up a bit, an' now wearin' at least his unnerwear.  Stagg makes me stand far back, 'cross th' room.  Okeh wit' me.  Stagg's got his back t'me, but Lover Boy can see me real good.  Gettin' his unnerwear makes Lupino a bit braver.

     "You're in big trouble, hatrack.  You've got nothing on me.  When my mother gets through with you..."

     Stagg looks at th' punk real icily-like.  "An old refrain, young Master Lupino." Th' kid flinches a little. "And no sweeter for being familar.  I have a few questions for you."

     "I'm not telling you anything.  I know my rights.  I want a lawyer."

     Th' Inspector smiles alla sudden.  "Ah.  Well.  Mr. Vison will, no doubt, be free very shortly.  Shall I call him?"

     I grins, wit' all my teeth.  Damn.  Wish I'd said dat.  That shakes up th' little punk.  Yeah, I don't think Vison's in any kinda mood right now t'give, whatchacallit, reasoned advice, see?

     "I am not, Mr. Lupino, a believer in playing the shell game.  I see you, or perhaps your mother, paid off a significant fine for the pickpocketing incidents.  Far be it from me to question the wisdom of the magistrates, so I guess that matter is closed."

     "So what are you guys keeping me for?"

     "At the moment?  The murder of Arthur Lupino."

     Th' kid lets out a yelp, like someone had wired him up.  "How the hell can you get that?  I was nowhere near the plane!  Hell, you yourself arrested me.  I was in jail when my father was killed!"

     "You didn't have to be on that plane, Mr. Lupino."

     "So how am I supposed to whack my old man, then?"

     Stagg makes wit' a quiet shrug.  "Well, I expect that's what you wanted to explore with Mr. Volperossi, isn't it?"

     Score another fer Stagg.  Kid turns pale, real pale.

     "We've tracked your communications with Mr. Volperossi.  He's here, and he's most eager to talk to me, Mr. Lupino..."

     "It's a goddamn lie.  You gonna believe a crook?"

    Stagg arches an eyebrow. "I'm listening to you, am I not?"

     "Look, I never met the guy, okeh?"

     "But you did speak to him by phone, and you sent him telegrams.  Think carefully before you answer, Mr. Lupino."

     Now, Stagg's got his back t'me, but I can see from his jaw, he's starin' right at Lupino.  Ain't no sound in th' room.

     "What's more, Mr. Lupino, the switchboard at the Marleybone has confirmed that it was you who placed a collect call to Thomas de Reynard's hotel room in Los Antelopes..."

     "There's another liar."

     Stagg shrugs a lil'.  "Perhaps.  A matter for the jury, one suspects.  That, I suspect, would be a charge of extortion."

     "You can't prove a damn thing."

     Stagg leans forward an' shoots a finger at th' punk.  "I can prove, Mr. Lupino, that you made enough of an effort to contact Mr. de Reynard that you took a note of his whereabouts.  On the back of an envelope.  Interesting thing, this envelope.  It's been said to have contained a very interesting legal document, or a draft of one, anyway.  What do you know about it?"

     "Go ask my mother.  She opened it."

     "In due time.  But you know what was in it, I take?"

     "You mean my old man screwing the two of us out of his money?"

     "I will take that as a yes."

     "Bastard.   Like he didn't get thrown out of school.  And like he didn't have some tailfur on the side now and again.  Hypocrite."

     Stag cocks his head.  "You know a lot about the lives of your parents."

     Lover Boy smirks.  "I've got my ways.  Ask me why my dad had to get new secretaries."

     "In due time, Mr. Lupino, in due time."

     "You haven't got any time, hatrack.  You've got nothing on me, except the fact that I hated my old man.  Go ahead, charge everyone who hated my old man.  Pick any fifteen names out of the phone directory.  They'd have just as much reason to off him.  You can't keep me here."

     I hears Stagg smile.  "On the contrary.  There is, of course, the question of rape."

     "WHAT?!"

     "Of Miss Angelica Vison, tonight..."

     "That's a load of crap.  She's the one that invited me over, when her parents went out.  She's the one that wanted it real bad..."

     "Consent, in this case, is irrelevant.  Miss Vison is under the age of eighteen."

     "So what?  They've got lots of young femmefurs around here that are in heat years younger than that."

     "Yes, but there are rules for the, I think the expression here is "Euros," Mr. Lupino.  The age of legal consent is eighteen, unless there is parental permission, in which case it is sixteen.  I'm of the view that Mr. and Mrs. Vison will have an opinion on the matter."

     "That's crap.  That little tart told me her ma had fixed things up for her, her ma knows all about this.  Hell, she's the one that caught us the first time."

     "Oh?"

     "Yeah, that's right."

    Stagg looked real unsym'thetic.   "Bad luck to get caught the first time."

     Another smirk.  "It wasn't the first time.  Damn, that little minkess had the itch.  A few nights running, too."

     "What did your mother have to say about this?"

     "Like she'd care."

    "Did she know?"

    "Hell, I don't know."

     'nother raised eyebrow.  "Didn't she notice you were out?"

    "What, you think she offered to chaperone me?"

    "Where was your mother, Mr. Lupino?"

     "Hell if I know.  Probably screwing a native ricksha driver.  She had a thing for them."

     Stagg sorta gives me a look outta th' side of his eye.  Me, I just shrugs my shoulders.  Stagg stacks his cards, an' puts 'em in an inside pocket, an' leaves th' room.  I tells a uniform t'shove Lover Boy inta a cell.

     "Hey!  What about my pants?"

     "What 'bout 'em?  I mean, it ain't like ya use 'em or nothin'."

3 August 1934 2310

     Stagg's workin' th' phone like a demon in th' lil' office. 

     "Yes, I am indeed very sorry that the hour is late, but I must speak to the manager on duty at once.  This is a very urgent matter."

     Covers up th' mouthpiece.  "I am trying to get the manager of the Marleybone.  I need some... Yes, thank you.  I need you to look up some charges, please.  Right away.  Yes.  The name is Georgina Lupino.  I need all telephone, meal, drink and other charges between 15 July and 31 July signed for.  Yes, I'll hold."

    Stagg taps th' pencil he's holdin' 'gainst an antler, nervous-like, while waitin'.

     "Whatcha huntin' fer?"

     "A pattern, Sergeant...yes, I'm here, go ahead.  And who signed for them?  Oh, I see..."  Stagg starts writin' down a whole bunch of figgers.  Few minutes of this, he hangs up.

     "Anythin' interestin'?"

     "They can't say who made the charges, but there's a few interesting ones.  3 successive meals, expensive ones with champagne, for dinner on the 24th, and breakfast and lunch on the 25th."

    "Heh.  Breakfast o' champions."

     Stagg nibbles 'is upper lip for a second, thinkin' hard.  "The interesting part, Sergeant, is that this does not follow the pattern.  Before, a pawful of drinks orders.  But, on the 21st, the orders increase sharply."

    "Hang on.  Y'mean there wuz some kinda party, right 'round a few days 'fore th' murder?"

    "After a fashion," Stagg nods.  "Tell me, Sergeant: who orders that sort of room service, three meals running?"

    "A young punk who figgers ma's gonna pay."

    "And do you think he had permission?"

    I thinks 'bout this.  Hell.  I'm drawin' a picture.

     Stagg jiggles the receiver, an' asks fer th' number of Thomas Vison's home.  Oh, hell, he's fer it now.  Stagg gets th' old man on th' line, an' its prolly a good five 'fore he gets a word in edgeways, y'know?  Stagg explains to th' old man that he needs t'ask th' daughter a question or two.  An' no one listenin' in, neither.  It's another five 'fore he gets another word in, an' about another five after that, when I guesses th' little spitfire gets on th' horn.

     "Miss Vison, I'm going to ask a simple question or two, do you understand?  I need you to think carefully.  Do you recall having meals served to you at the Marleybone, three straight ones, back in July?  Mmm-hmmm.  I see.  Yes, I'm sure they were nice.  Tell me, what did Mrs. Lupino think of them?  Oh.  I see.  He said...oh.  Yes.  Well, I...what's that?  Oh, I see.  Yes, I will pass that message on.  Good morning, Miss Vison."

     "Anythin', sir?"

     "Miss Vison wants to pass a message on to young Master Lupino, that she's sorry she got him into trouble."

     "Cripes.  No figgerin' some dames, they're that age."

     Stagg sorta looks gloomy-like at his hooves.

    "Hey, what 'bout yer questions?"

     "Miss Vison didn't know what Mrs. Lupino thought, at least directly, as she didn't see Mrs. Lupino.  She was assured by young Master Lupino that it was with her blessing that she had the nice meals and champagne.  He also said that she was out riding in a ricksha."

     Nothin' like a son's loyalty.  "So, Mrs. Lupino ain't around?"

    Stagg shakes his head.   "Sergeant, where's your notebook on this case?  I recall something on the morning of the murder about where she was."

     I flips t'ru th' book.  I finds it 'ventually.  "Desk clerk said she wuz out, prolly out for early stroll."

    Stagg checks his cards.  "That's what mine says, too."   He gives me a look.  "Sergeant, you stay here.  I need you to make a few late calls.  I'm going back to HQ to look at some evidence, again."

     "Hunh?  Who ya want me t'call?"

     "de Reynard, Short, and the secretaries.  Poll them as to what brand of cigarettes they smoke.  Ask Short what his former employer smoked.  And ask him about the plane's cleanliness."

     Kinda a weird hour fer that kinda stuff, but what th' hell.  I gets crackin', as Stagg goes limpin' out.  We're both tired, but I'm startin' t'get ideas from Stagg.

Saturday, 4 August 1934 0650

     I gets a bit o' kip on th' couch in the precinct house, an' I had th' mate send me a change o' clothes.  Did get th' G-2, though.

     Kitties: Pall Malls.  Short: nothin' (figgers).  de Reynard: Luckies.  Old Man Lupino: ceegars, an' I bet they ain't two-fer-a-nickel stinkeroos, neither.

     Short sez th' plane was cleaned while on layover in L.A., too.

     Now, see, I figger I know now what's on Stagg's mind.  Y'might recall we bagged th' trash from th' different rooms o' th' plane, th' mornin' of th' murder.  Stuff that got made durin' the flight.

     So I heads over t'HQ, an' fills in Stagg on what I finds.  He's got a board set up on two sawhorses.  An' he's got just one bag open.  Th' bag we took outta th' cockpit.

     Only one cup in there.  But it's got a smear of lipstick on th' edge.  Cigarette butts.  'bout fifteen.  Ten Luckies.  Five Abdullahs.

     "We need another chat with Mr. de Reynard, Sergeant.  Now."

4 August 1934, 0745

     Th' clerk at th' fleabag de Reynard's stayin' at gives us th' pass key, so we catches de Reynard in bed.  Alone, which sorta makes a change.

     Stagg gets right on it.

     "Mr. de Reynard, is there anything you would like to add to what you've told us?"

    "Hunh?  Wha?"  Guy's gotta hangover, t'be sure.  'course, he aint' gonna resist much wit' a head like dat.

     "Wash your face, Mr. de Reynard, and while you're doing so, think about what you've told us.  Perhaps you can have a smoke, too.  What's your brand?  Abdullahs?"

     "Cripes, it's like I told your Sarge here, I smoke Luckies..."

     He stops, an' looks at us.  There's that smell again.  Fear.

      "Sergeant, escort Mr. de Reynard to the bathroom, and watch him while he washes."

4 August 1934, 1045

     Stagg's hunched over a typewriter, typin' as fast as he can.  We hadda get de Reynard's statement longhand, wasn't no time t'type it.  Had t'scramble around t'see who's the Magistrate on duty.  de Pathe, one of th' roosters.  Thank God, he's no-nonsense, just a few minutes an' out.

     Onea th' uniforms pokes his head in th' door.  "I'm sorry to distrub you, chaps, but the Desk Sergeant has a bee in his tailfur.  He wants to know what to do with Mr. de Reynard."

     "Stick him in a conference room, willya?  We're busy.  A lil' coolin' off won't hurt him."

    "Well, at least he had his one phone call."

    Stagg stops wit' a jerk, an' looks up.  "Phone call?!"

    "Is there a problem, Inspector?"

     "Who did he call, Constable?"

     "Sorry, don't know, chaps.  Half a tick, I'll find out."

     Stagg grabs his hat, an' starts shufflin out th' door, wit'out a word.  I ain't sure what's goin' on.  Th' uniform comes back.

     "Hmmm?  Oh, ah.  Hmm.  Sergeant, when you see the Inspector next, tell him the telephone call was to the Marleybone."

     Aw, CRAP.

     I passes th' Inspector at a dead run, an' grabs th' first water-taxi I finds.

     "Marleybone, an' go like hell!"

4 August 1934 1130

     Th' driver rooster-tails it over t'Casino, an' I flatfoots it fast over t'th' Marleybone.  Lotta folks walkin' round, an' it's kinda hard movin' t'ru th' lobby.  Folks millin' 'bout th' el'vators, ain't no way that's gonna work, so I gots t'hightail it up th' stairs.

     I'd just got t'th' top o' th' stairs when I hears th' gun go off.  Ain't more'n a few flyin' steps, an' I takes th' door off wit' my shoulder.  Ain't no use.

     This ain't no job fer me 'n Stagg no more.  Job fer Meffit.  An' not his day job, neither.  Nothin' much t'see.  'ceptin' the envelope addressed t'Stagg on th' table in front of th' late Mrs. Georgina Lupino.

Sunday, 5 August 1934 0950

My Dear Inspector Stagg:

     I hope you will forgive this one last act of rudeness, but I have no intentions whatsoever of going through the circus of a trial.  And a circus it would have been, given all of the players.

     Fancy you thinking that miserable son of mine might have been responsible.  Mark you, that's the only time you could have ever used the word 'responsible' in a sentence referring to him.  Wretched little beast.  Like his father, only no brains whatsoever.  It explains the fact that they were trying to stuff something in that empty head of his during summer term, though I imagine he considered it a mere extension of rutting season.  And, if you want my opinion, he has no taste either.  What he could possibly see in that vapid, brainless little caramel-furred hussy, I have no idea.  Still, it was convenient for me.  It would be entirely predictable that without my presence, he would take the opportunity for a good debauch.  I saw the bill.  Little sneak tried to deny it, said it was a mistake.  I talked to the room service people, they told me the truth, as if he could possibly hide what he was doing.  And I could smell mink musk, too.  Housecleaning missed the couch.

     Still, he had good reason to kill Arthur.  So did many of us.  Arthur's little shell game was coming apart at the seams.  You can only keep so many balls in the air, before at least one or two start returning to earth, and that's usually the end of the act.  That German wolfess of his played him for a fool.  I doubt she let him into his bed, anyway.  He's probably not her type.  But I digress.  Back to Arthur.

     I wouldn't have predicted he would sink so low as to steal my own money from me.  But there you are.  I suppose it bought him another few days of relief from the moneylenders.  I suppose that, and bailing my worthless son out, were the reasons he went off in a rush.

     I figured that if he was sneak enough to forge my name to cheques, I was entitled to see what he was up to behind my back.  Yes, that was the will.  There was nothing I could do about it, at that point, except rip it up.  I knew, sooner or later, he would get around to executing it.  You know, I suppose there was some pleasure I got in knowing that my son was having his way with the daughter of Arthur's lawyer.  Payback, in a way.

     If Arthur came back, of course, the game was up, in one way or another.  Either all of Arthur's schemes would go bust, or even if he managed to get out of the corner he was in, it was certain he would cut me off, one way or the other.  He had some notion of my affairs, though how on Earth he could blame me, after not sharing my bed in years, I can't imagine.

     If you've got any notions in your head that I had Tommy commit the crime for me, get them right out.  That kind of chivalry is dead.  Still, Tommy's about the only one of the furs in my life that I had any respect for.  At least he was straight with me, and wasn't cynical about our love-making, as I suspect the natives were.  To be sure, he was getting some of his own back at Arthur's mistreatment of him, but I was entirely in sympathy with that.

     When I saw that my cheques had started to bounce, and I saw the draft of the will, as I said, I knew the game was up.  It was a question of getting to Arthur first.  You made a mistake, Inspector, if you will pardon my criticism: you didn't check for the possibility that I had left the Spontoons.  In any event, I caught a flight to Los Antelopes, and met up with Tommy, who was preparing the plane, once Arthur got back on the Los Antelopes Limited.

     Tommy tried to talk me out of it, the darling.  But my mind was made up.  Never more so when I heard Arthur scream and rant at him that Tommy had had a long phone call with me, and no doubt was plotting his next rendezvous.  Tommy told him to go to hell, and that's when Tommy was fired.  Tommy would never have betrayed me, in any event, but now he had absolutely no motive to do so.

     I knew what I wanted to do.  Arthur was going to have the problem with the door fixed, but he had to cancel the project.  Lack of money.  Somewhat ironical that I was able to take advantage of this.

     I braced myself behind the door in the cockpit as we took off from Los Antelopes.  From then on, it was only a question of staying out of sight.  Tommy smoked a good deal to cover up my scent, and I added to it.  Tommy told me you found the cigarette butts.  There was my mistake.  Well, that and sharing a cup of coffee with him.  I thought I had wiped the rim, but evidently I didn't.

    Once everyone had gone to bed, it was enough to pad back to the rear of the plane, and wait to ambush my husband.  I'd forgotten to bring a weapon, but the tool chest was right there, and the ballpeen hammer suited my needs admirably.  Small, light, and most of all, silent.

     Sure enough, at one point, Arthur had to answer a call of nature.  I knew his scent, and I knew his manner of walking.  I also knew that he'd have to stutter-step to get to the bathroom.  So he had his back to me when I stepped out from the little luggage room.

     I had only one word for him.  "Bastard."  He turned around, and looked at me, surprised.  I didn't give him any chance for explanation, but let him have it with the hammer, right over the eye.  Whether or not it killed him, I don't know, and I don't care.

     I spent the next bunch of minutes sawing through the door-pins.  Not something that requires a great deal of strength, and God knows I was in an excited state.  It wasn't much to finally grab a hold, and kick the door open. 

     Amazing it didn't wake up the whole plane.  Perhaps they were all sound sleepers.  In any event, out went my husband into the night air, followed by the hammer.  That's one Exhibit "A" you won't have, Inspector.

     Tommy couldn't believe that I'd actually done it, and looked slack-jawed at me.  So I had to fetch the other door and put it in, myself.  Before closing it, I used some of the seawater to clean up a bit.  Not much blood, it was all in one pool, and a towel took care of that.  That's somewhere in the Pacific too, right now.  No Exhibit "B" for you, either.

     And there you have it.  I stayed in the luggage room for the rest of the flight.  While everyone was fussing about, I simply slipped out of the plane and headed back to the hotel.  To find that you had arrested my son the previous day, which goes to show you what a lack of supervision will do.  I wonder where he learned to pick pockets.   No matter.

     I must say, it was bad luck that you had happened along.  Just a week or two before, and I might have gotten away with it.  You can take that as a backpawed tribute to your professionalism, if you like.

     I suppose Dan, assuming he hasn't committed some other crimes, will be inheriting everything now, and good luck to him.  We'll see if that bushy-tailed, empty-brained little hussy will still love a bankrupt, equally empty-brained young wolf.  Who knows, perhaps they're made for each other.

     The only thing I ask of you, Inspector, is that you give the ring that I was wearing when I killed myself to Tommy.  He's the only one out of this whole mess that deserves anything.

     I'd say 'Very truly yours,' but that would be a lie.  My last one.  I'd rather have a different last lie, thank you.

/s/ Georgina Lupino


     I hands th' letter back t'Stagg.  "Well, at least we solved it, Sir.  Ain't our fault th' constables let Tommy blab to his sweetie that we wuz 'bout t'lower th' boom."

     "Cold comfort, Sergeant.  Any word on how the Chief is taking this?"

     "Sorta relieved, actually.  I mean, ain't gonna be no dirty laundry, see?  That woulda been one helluva trial.  Woulda made a lotta folks in th' Althing nervious t'see what th' dame wuz gonna say."

     Stagg sorta looks sad, an' stares at th' ground while we wuz walkin' t' St. Anthony's.

     "What a poisonous family, Sergeant."

     "Yeah.  Fer all th' dough they had, an' all th' fancy geegaws, didn't do 'em no good.  Just a whole lotta stealin', drinkin', and yiffin'.  It's what killed 'em."

     "Not exactly, Sergeant."

     "Hunh?"

     "What killed Arthur Lupino, and Georgina Lupino, and what's crippled that boy of theirs, isn't so much the money.  That's merely the symptom.  The disease is vanity and pride.  It can take many forms, but add wealth to the mix, and you can get a particularly virulent outbreak of it.  And, in the end, pride and vanity always have their price, and one not payable in gold coin, either.  Payable in flesh and blood.  Sometimes even innocent flesh and blood."

     "Ya figger?"

     "I don't figure, Sergeant.  In this case, I know.  The price of one's pride and vanity is very high, indeed." There's a worlda hurt in them dark eyes.  Stagg sighs.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, Sergeant, I must go and pay an installment of my debt."

     An' wit' that, he shuffles inta St. A's.

     Gonna be curious, workin' fer this guy.