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Off the farm? Think of the stories this house could tell, Mr. Mason. At one time it was a mansion out in the exclusive suburbs. Those were the days when you traveled by horse and buggy and went back and forth to town on an interurban streetcar. Beautiful women climbed up and down those stairs. There were marriages... births... deaths... and then there were people who moved in, common, ordinary people, then another class of people. Can you imagine persons moving out of a house and leaving all of that nasty litter behind them? Its awful when something outlives its usefulness, Mr. Mason. A third time Mason pushed his paddle against the swimming animal. The dog once more grabbed the blade of the paddle. Once more, Mason twisted him over on his back, held him momentarily under water, and this time when the confused animal reached the surface he was swimming back toward the island. She ushered him inside, and he took in the space. Clean, uncluttered, minimal furniture, some decent artwork, colorful rugs on the hardwood floors, a couple pieces of what looked to be African sculpture, and the scent of reefer. Come on, Audrey. What the hell did you tell her? I think you can figure that out, Mr. Mason. Ill go with you, Stone said. Mr. Lutts said he had some business to attend to, and I went home. Just for your thoughts on the matter? He had picked up immediately on the think I had used, which was another good reason to call him Slick. Look it over, Krogar said. Hell be here in a minute, so if you dont mind, Im going to relieve myself. What do they show? He cant say. They were doing their road show act again. Bouncing lines off each other and grinning. I think I did. He asked me a few questions at first, and then he seemed to take my story for granted. A problem has come up. We need to discuss tonight. Can we get into the place? Mason asked. Its dinnertime. He looked at Campbell; the man didnt seem overly confident. Whats the problem? After I dropped Senator Corsing off at his office I found a pay phone and called Slick. Once again I got his answering service who informed me that he now was expected to return around four. I looked at my watch and saw that it was one-forty. I thought a moment, then picked up the phone book and looked up a number. The number that I looked up belonged to Douglas Chanson, the headhunter. With much reluctance, he agreed to give me ten minutes at two oclock. They may turn up later on...