It was not yet nine o'clock; we could not expect Karasu for another hour. I proposed that in the meantime, and while eating our agedashi tofu, we should proceed, as previously intended, with the reading of Giullia's letters. Though they might throw no direct light on the stabbing incident, it would, I suggested, be useful for Kiyoshi-dono, before plunging in medias res on Giullia's behalf, to be as well-informed as possible of the antecedent events.

    The first began ominously.

Hotel Cytherea,
Venice.
Late on Thursday night.

Ichiban no Akuma-chan,
    I have news of a most shocking nature to impart to you. You will scarcely believe it. If anyone else had told me, I should scarcely have believed it myself. 'No, no,' I should have cried, 'it is not possible. The monstrous cannot disguise itself in an angelic mask. Reason and nature prohibit it. The deformity of the mind would necessarily distort the perfection of the profile. The depravity of the soul would inflict with some hideous blemish the smoothness of the complexion. No, it cannot be.'
 

    'I suppose she's referring,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'to that young man she admired so much on the airplane. But this is evidently written only a few hours later -- what can have happened in the meantime that Giullia-san finds so shocking? She is, after all, a tolerant woman.'

    'To a fault,' Akuma-chan said.
 

    But it is no use writing to you in this haphazard incoherent fashion, beginning at the end and ending God knows where. I will proceed clearly and chronologically, beginning at the beginning.
    The beginning was not altogether auspicious, owing to my separation from my passport. We were fortunately met at the airport by our courier, a tall, aquiline, fragile-nosed Venetian lady, who told us that her name was Kuroko. It took Kuroko-san a mere ten minutes to understand my difficulty, explain it to the Customs officer and secure my lawful entry onto Italian soil. In the meantime, however, the other Art Lovers were obliged to wait for us in the motorboat which was to transport us across the lagoon to Venice. By the time we joined them, there were signs of restiveness.
    The armor-plated matron, in particular, who was sitting next to the beautiful young man, made some rather wounding remarks about total imbeciles with no concern for other people. She may not, perhaps, have intended for me to hear them; but she much underestimates, in that case, the carrying power of her voice.
    So fearful was I of incurring yet further disapproval, so intent on the composition of some soothing apology, that while getting into the boat I somehow missed my footing. My entry into the vessel was accordingly at an angle rather obtuse than perpendicular to the quayside and at a speed rather rapid than graceful. In short, I fell in head first.
    This caused the armor-plated matron to make certain further comments reflecting on my sobriety. Still more regrettable, it enabled the Major, on the pretext of breaking my fall, to gather me in a tenacious embrace, uttering as he did so loud cries of 'Whoops-a-daisy.'
    By a further stroke of misfortune, my handbag, in consequence of my over-rapid descent, had become unfastened and its contents had dispersed themselves about the bottom of the boat. Anxious to be as little obliged as possible to the Major for the assistance which he offered in their recovery, I set about collecting them with, as I now realize, imprudent haste and insufficient thought for the effect on my balance of an attitude of semi-genuflection. Impatient, no doubt, of further delay, the boatman now cast off. The sudden movement threw me against the side of the vessel, and brought the wooden bench, fitted thereto for the repose and comfort of passengers, into collision with my nose. My nose began to bleed.
    I was thus compelled, after all, to be obliged to the Major, videlicet for the loan of his handkerchief. He took the occasion to pat me here and there, and seemed inclined to offer me his shoulder to bleed on. I explained to him that it was essential, when suffering from a nosebleed, to lean backwards rather than forwards, and that if he did not object to my first soaking his handkerchief in the lagoon the bleeding would stop very shortly. 'Attagirl,' said the Major, patting me again and adding that he liked a girl with guts.
    I considered the advantages of bursting into tears: not only would it have relieved my feelings but also, apparently, discouraged the Major's admiration. Looking about me, however, I felt that I would not have a sympathetic audience. It seemed possible, moreover, that the Major would change his mind and develop a preference for the weeping and womanly. I judged it better to keep a firm hold on the remnants of my sangfroid. Settling myself as far as possible from the other passengers, I leant back with my eyes closed and the Major's sea-soaked handkerchief pressed firmly against my nose.
    I could not feel I had made a favorable impression.
 

    'Giullia did very well,' said Akuma-chan, 'not to fall into the lagoon. How rotten of that woman to suggest she'd had too much to drink.'

    'Most uncharitable,' said Hotohori. 'Giullia, as we all know, needs no assistance from alcohol to make her trip over things.'
 

    Kuroko-san, as we crossed the lagoon, gave a most instructive account of the history of Venice from its foundation in the fifth century to the defeat of the Frankish Invasion in the ninth. I was not, however, in any condition to attend to it as I should have done, or to observe the many features of artistic and historical interest which she pointed out to us. When at length I thought it prudent to remove my nose from the handkerchief, the crossing was almost completed. I looked up and saw Venice floating on the water.
    Venice, as one sees from the map in Hotohori-Love's Guide, consists essentially of three large islands, though subdivided by canals into a great many smaller ones. Two of the three lie curled together, divided only by the Grand Canal, in an embrace of such Gallic sophistication as to prevent my pursuing further the anatomical analogy. To their left, excluded from their intimacy, the long thin island of Giudecca stretches out alone, a parable in geography of the hazards of a partie à trois. For consolation, like a divine water-bottle, it has at its foot the little island of San Giorgio Maggiore.
    The church of San Giorgio, therefore, and a little afterwards that of the Salute, rising on the left at the entrance to the Grand Canal, are the first of the great religious buildings of Venice to offer themselves to the admiration of the tourist. That they are to the honor of exclusively Christian deities seems by no means certain; there is a too Eastern voluptuousness in their swelling domes, a too Athenian elegance in their Palladian facades. They seem designed for travelers who would wish, on setting forth, to murmur a prayer to Allah as well as one to St. George; or who, giving thanks for a safe homecoming on the wide steps of the Salute, would include a word or two to the goddess Aphrodite.
    With the palaces along the Grand Canal there is no such ambiguity. They, one does not doubt for a moment, were built entirely to the greater glory of their owners, in a single-minded spirit of keeping up with the Foscari. If one facade has two tiers of columns and carved stonework, the one next to it has three; the one opposite has columns even more delicate; the stonework of the next is pierced and drawn in a still more intricate embroidery. So that one almost expects, seeing them reflected in the water, to find there too some further embellishment.
    I experienced, as we traveled through this great corridor of mirrors, the emotion which I had last felt on entering the amusement park, when taken to it, at the age of seven, by my maternal grandmother. She took me again when I was eight, for my maternal grandmother was always very kind to me; but by then I was less easily impressed. The pleasure was one, therefore, that I had not looked to feel again.
    Turning off to the right somewhere after the Accademia Bridge, we disembarked at the landing stage of the Cytherea.
    'Signore, signori,' said Kuroko-san, 'dinner will be at eight o'clock. If you will come to see me before then in the reception area, I will explain to you about our excursions. You have plenty of time to wash and repose yourself; however, dinner is quite informal.' She glanced at me, however, in a way which suggested that the management of the Cytherea, broad-minded though it might be, would draw the line at mud-stained trousers and a blood-spattered shirt.
    We retired, as instructed, to wash and repose ourselves. I directed my mind, while so engaged, to the subject of the beautiful young man, lamenting once more the absence of your own always admirable counsel. Deprived of it in fact, I sought it in hypothesis: 'If Akuma-chan were here,' I asked myself, 'what would she advise?'
    I answered without hesitation that you would recommend a pragmatic approach: not to base my plans on some theoretical first principle, but to examine the situation as it was and see what advantage could be taken from it.
    This naturally led me to think of canals. We were in a city full of canals. How could this circumstance be turned to my advantage? One possibility would be to fall into one and be rescued by the beautiful young man. That, I thought, would surely lead to something. There was, however, a flaw in this scheme: I might fall into a canal, but the young man might not rescue me.
    Another possibility would be for the young man to fall into one and be rescued by me. That seemed even more certain to lead to something. But I saw that this scheme also was by no means foolproof. The only way of ensuring that he fell into a canal would be to push him into it: unless this could be done with extraordinary discretion, the enterprise might well prove self-defeating. Nor was I entirely confident that once I had got him into the canal I would be able to get him out again.
 

    'Kiyoshi,' said Akuma-chan, 'Karasu did say "stabbed," didn't he?'

    'Oh yes,' said Kiyoshi-dono, '"stabbed" was definitely the word.'
 

    To be perfectly candid, Akuma-chan, I was not wholeheartedly enthusiastic about any plan involving my immersion in a canal. Though beautiful, they are not, at close quarters, appetizing: it seemed to me that what they would invariably lead to would be a nasty cold, complicated, possibly, by some unpleasant virus.
    I concluded that you would advise me to have nothing to do with canals, but to concentrate on the opportunities afforded by the hotel itself. The Art Lovers are accommodated in an annex, surrounded by canals on three sides and joined to the main hotel by a little bridge. On the fourth side it adjoins another building, forming part, as it were, of the same peninsula; but this has nothing to do with the Cytherea and there is no way through to it. The bridge is accordingly the only method of access. The rooms on the second floor are occupied by the Art Lovers, those on the third, apparently, by members of the hotel staff. The first floor is used merely as a sort of entrance hall, where the chambermaids sort the linen and so forth.
    I contemplated with some satisfaction the possibilities offered by this arrangement. I had only to get rid of the other Art Lovers and the hotel staff and find some means of barricading the bridge -- and I should have the lovely creature entirely at my mercy, without means of escape. Unless, of course, he were to jump out of the window into the canal, in which case I would be obliged, albeit reluctantly, to revert to the plan previously mentioned. Though certain points of detail needed to be worked out, it was in a mood of some optimism that I went down to dinner.
    I remembered that I had at least the benefit of your advice on general strategy. It is your view, as I understand it, that when dealing with young men one should make no admission, in the early stages, of the true nature of one's objectives but should instead profess a deep admiration for their fine souls and splendid intellects. One is not to be discouraged, if I understand you correctly, by the fact that they may have neither. I reminded myself, therefore, that if I could get the lovely creature into conversation, I must make no comment on the excellence of his profile and complexion but should apply myself to showing a sympathetic interest in his hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Little did I know, Akuma-chan, how fearful were those dreams, how sinister those hopes, how altogether unspeakable those aspirations.
 

    'Oro,' said Kiyoshi-dono. "What can he have done?'

    'It would be very helpful,' said Hotohori, 'if this young man turned out to have a serious criminal record. It would make him a natural suspect for -- any unpleasantness which may have occurred.'

    'Most helpful, certainly,' said Akuma-chan. 'Though whether Giullia, in such a case, would have expressed herself in quite those terms -- still, no doubt we shall see.'
 

    The dining room of the Cytherea occupies a corner at the junction between two canals, so that one may eat by a window looking out one and adjourn to a terrace at the side of the other. The terrace, in fact, faces the annex in which we are accommodated.
    The management, it seemed to me, had done rather badly about the seating arrangements. They had put the beautiful young man at a table with his traveling companion and the armor-plated matron. They had put the pretty red-haired girl at a table with the trapezoid young man. They had put me at a table with the Major.
    'Care to join me in a bottle of hooch, m'dear?' asked the Major. The notion of joining the Major in anything was repugnant to me; but I felt I could not civilly refuse. He studied his wine list with the furtive squint which has characterized the American abroad since the decline of the dollar; it comes of comparing prices while pretending to study the vintage. He suggested that the Colle Albani sounded like a decent little wine. Confirming, by a similar surreptitious glance, that it was two hundred lire less than anything else available, I concurred in his choice.
    'Comfy little billet, this,' said the Major. I did not dispute it -- the standards of the Cytherea seemed to me to be luxurious. 'Been in worse quarters than this in my time, I can tell you, m'dear,' he continued, undiscouraged by my agreement. 'I remember the troopship I went on to Tripoli in '48 -- '
    From this starting point, he launched adroitly into an epic of military reminiscence, beginning shortly after the Second World War and ending -- no, I fear it has no ending, or if it does, that I have not yet heard it. It included a number of anecdotes designed to illustrate the proposition that the Major had 'always been a bit of a japester.' There was one, as I recall, about hijacking a tramcar in Alexandria in '49 and another about the introduction of a goat into the nurses' quarters in Limassol in '52.
    I began to be very worried about Desdemona. We are given to understand that Othello's courtship of her consisted almost entirely of stories beginning 'When I was stationed among the Anthropophagi --' or 'I must tell you about a funny thing that happened during the siege of Rhodes.' The dramatist Shakespeare would have us believe that she not only put up with this but actually enjoyed it: can that great connoisseur of the human heart really have thought it possible?
    'And what do you do now, Bob?' I asked, several eternities later, hoping for a change of subject.
    He told me that on leaving the Army he had found himself with a few bits and pieces which he had picked up as souvenirs here and there on his travels. Thinking that these objects might be of interest to the public, he had been inspired to invest his gratuity in the purchase of a junk shop in Dearborn. (He used the expression 'junk shop' as if referring modestly to a rather superior antique-dealing establishment; I suspect that it is, in fact, a junk shop.) Some of his friends had also found themselves with bits and pieces similarly picked up here and there in the course of their military careers: these had been added to his stock in trade. The bits and pieces proving more valuable than expected, the business had prospered. I would think it, he said, a funny job for an old soldier, but it suited him. He now reverted to reminiscence, telling me of various pranks and japes by which the bits and pieces had been acquired.
    'I suppose we ought to ask Gel Sadra-chan to join us for coffee,' said the major a the meal drew at last to its close. 'Bit of a bore running into the old girl, but I'd better do the dutiful.'
 Gel Sadra proved to be the armor-plated matron. I had noticed no sign of any acquaintance between her and the Major; but they know each other, it seems, in the way of business, Sadra being the owner, by inheritance from a deceased uncle, of a firm of art and antique dealers.
    I fell in very cordially with his suggestion, for it seemed to me that any invitation to Sadra must in all courtesy be extended to the two young men at the same table. In the end , since it hardly seemed kind to exclude the remaining pair of Art Lovers, all seven of us adjourned to the terrace together. In the course of arranging this, it was discovered that the beautiful young man was Kurama; that his diminutive friend was Hiei; that Sadra was Gel Sadra-sama; that the pretty red-haired girl was Haku Kaen; that the young man with her was her husband, Myou Ju-an; that the Major was Bob to his friends; and that I was Poison Giullia. I already knew, of course, that I was Poison Giullia, and the others, I dare say, also knew who they were; but there is presumably some sense in which the sum of human knowledge was increased.
    The Major, once our coffee had arrived, tried to go on telling me about a merry prank by which he had become the owner of a twelfth-century Greek icon, formerly the property of an innocent girl so unwilling to believe that some people are not nice that she had even been willing to tolerate the Major's advances. Fortunately, he was interrupted by Hiei, who told him, in a dark voice thick with disapproval, that he shouldn't have done it, and went on to deplore the damage done by certain very dead people to the peace and happiness of young girls. This did not silence the Major for long, but it diverted his attention. Hiei became the inattentive audience for a series of further anecdotes, illustrating the hardships of military life not known to young men of Hiei's generation.
    Sadra and Kaen were sitting next to each other. I settled myself on a footstool at their feet, and thought that I should try to eradicate the unfortunate impression I had earlier made on Gel Sadra. I remembered that I had seen the name of her firm quite recently, on an inheritance tax valuation obtained by clients of mine. This gave me some straw for the bricks of flattery.
    'I shall not venture,' I said, 'to open my mouth in Gel Sadra-sama's presence on any subject connected with the arts. I expect you know, Kaen-san, that Gel Sadra-sama is a director of one of our leading firms of experts in antiques and the fine arts."
    It worked like a charm. Insofar as a woman so closely resembling the late Queen Boadicea can be said to simper, Sadra simpered. 'Really,' she said, 'Poison-san exaggerates. We're not Christies or Sotheby's, you know.' But she made being Christies or Sotheby's sound rather over-flamboyant.
    She melted to such an extent as to ask my own profession. I answered that I was in practice at the Tax Bar; but the name of her firm was naturally familiar to me, since clients of mine with important collections to be valued for tax purposes so frequently had recourse to the expertise of Galactrix Regnata. There is no bond like that of mutual clients; we were thereafter as Ruth and Naomi. Well, yes, Akuma-chan, I do exaggerate -- but at least we were 'Giullia-san' and 'Sadra-san.'
    I remarked on the coincidence of her being acquainted with the Major. It seems, however, that it is not really surprising. The travel agency which arranged our package has close connections in the world of art and antiques and long experience of making business travel arrangements for those concerned with it.
    'Business travel?' I asked. 'You are not simply on holiday, then?'
    'Giullia-chan,' said Sadra, with a certain coyness, 'for accounting purposes, of course, it has to be business travel. You will be the first to appreciate that with our penal system of taxation -- '
    'Do you mean,' asked the enchanting Kurama, taking part in the conversation for the first time, 'that you put your holidays down as a business expense for tax purposes?'
    'My dear boy, of course,' said Sadra benignly. 'Everyone does.' It was not for me to strike a discordant note by suggesting that such a practice fell on the wrong side of the delicate line betweenlegitimate avoidance and illegal evasion.
    It is ironic to reflect that I congratulated myself, as I sat there on the footstool, on the pleasantness of my situation. The soft night air was warm against my cheek; the stars were shining in a velvet sky; the canal was lapping gently against its banks; the Major was telling someone else about the troopship. What more could a woman ask for, to be perfectly contented?
    Except, of course, the favors of the lovely Kurama. The time had come, I felt, to show some interest in his hopes, dreams, and aspirations.
    'And you, Kurama,' I asked, 'are you professionally interested in the fine arts?' I prepared to give sympathetic encouragement to a boyish ambition to discover a lost Giorgione or something like that.
    He exchanged a quick glance with Hiei, apparently amused by some private joke. 'No,' said the lovely creature. 'No, actually, I'm a lawyer, like you.' Less romantic, but easier -- one could spend many happy hours discussing recent decisions of the Appellate Courts. 'That is to say, I took my degree in law. I am not in private practice.'
    'Ah,' I said, 'you have gone into industry.'
    'No,' he said, looking at me demurely under his beautiful eyelashes. 'No, not precisely. I am employed by the Internal Revenue Service.'
    My pen as I write these words falls trembling from my petrified fingers. I am left with hardly the strength to wish you a

    'My dear Ysabeth,' said Akuma-chan. 'You do not seem to appreciate the intensity of Giullia's feelings towards the Internal Revenue Service. She is under the impression that it is a vast conspiracy having as its objective her physical, mental, and financial ruin. Her feelings at finding them suddenly in her midst are expressed with remarkable moderation.'

    'It's disappointing,' said Hotohori, 'that the young man has not turned out to be a homicidal maniac. But it can't be helped.'

    'I wonder what's happened to Karasu-san,' said Kiyoshi-dono. 'They usually let him go by this time.'

    It was growing late. The steady emptying of Fuji's tables was a sign that things were winding down in this part of town for the evening, only to blossom south of Huron between State and Main. We asked for the main course.

    Karasu arrived simultaneously with the sushi on the 'boat.' His hair and eyes looked blacker than ever (quite a trick, to make violet look black;) his complexion paler; his fingertips too were slightly blackened from flicking through damp newsprint: he looked like an invitation card for a rather frivolous wake. Then again, Karasu always looks thus; this time he looked more so. He took out and placed on the table a sheet of paper, evidently torn from the facsimile machine.

VENICE 22.30 HOURS LOCAL TIME 9.6.98
VICTIM OF HOTEL STABBING NAMED BY POLICE AS MINAMINO SHUUICHI 22 OF YPSILANTI INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE EMPLOYEE AMERICAN WOMAN TOURIST STILL HELD FOR QUESTIONING

'Guy who got done in was a guy from the IRS,' said Karasu.

    'Shimatta,' said Hotohori, looking somberly at Karasu.

    'That's what I thought,' said Karasu, looking glumly at Hotohori.

    'If Seishuku and Kozue are going to talk yivshish -- ' said Akuma-chan. The use of their given names was a sign of her utmost displeasure.

    Karasu shot her an extremely dirty look. He excessively dislikes his given name. 'She was pretty darn ticked off about that last assessment,' he said.

    Akuma-chan began carefully eating the bean sprouts beneath her yakiniku one by one, looking like an Abyssinian cat which had unexpectedly found itself in low company.

    'Few people,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'are delighted by their tax assessments.'

    'Precisely,' said Akuma-chan. 'Properly regarded, the news is most encouraging. A man from the IRS might be murdered by almost anyone.'

    'Let us,' continued Kiyoshi-dono, 'be sensible. None of us, surely, can believe that Giullia-san has stabbed anyone. It's not simply a question of character, it's a matter of competence. Even if she wanted to, which she wouldn't, she wouldn't have the faintest idea how to do it.'

    'That's true,' said Karasu, looking more cheerful. 'I hadn't thought of that.'

    'So I don't doubt that the whole thing is simply a mistake and in the long run we can sort it out. It would be rather nice, though, if we can get it cleared up before there's too much publicity. It's not the sort of thing that's good for one's practice.'

    'That,' said Akuma-chan, 'is certainly a point. Once clients start thinking of Giullia as liable to intermittent fits of homicidal mania, they may begin, however irrationally, to question her soundness on tax law. Will there be anything in tomorrow's Bull?'

    'Not a chance,' said Karasu. 'I told them it was all incredibly libelous and too sub judice for words. Which it may be, for all I know. Anyway, they've dropped it like a hot potato.'

    'Oh, well done, Karasu,' said Akuma-chan.

    'And I called a guy I know at the news agency and asked him if he'd noticed they'd got a story pouring out over the fax which would land them with a fantastic claim for damages. And he hadn't, so he was pretty grateful to me for telling him. That's why they're not mentioning Giullia's name anymore.'

    Mollified by these achievements, Akuma-chan summarized the first letter for Karasu while I offered the broccoli tempura to anyone who would take it and mused on the knotty problem presented in the letter being summarized. By the time she had finished, I had come to a conclusion.

    'That cannot be the same Kurama,' Karasu and I remarked thoughtfully in perfect unison. (Well, I was thoughtful. Karasu sounded rather perturbed.)

    'Why not, Ysa-chama?' Kiyoshi-dono is very cute when he's puzzled.

    'Because before I would believe that the Kurama I know of would take any job as a government salaryman, especially in the field of federal taxes, I would believe that the Shogun Nakago has taken a new job as the person in the Donald Duck suit at Disneyland. Really, Hotohori, the salmon sushi they have here are far too good to waste by choking on them, even if you were laughing.'

    While Hotohori was coughing into his napkin, Karasu repeated his statement. 'This guy can't be the same Kurama, because I'M going to kill him!'

    After Karasu had been calmed down (I could either pay for a full run of CLAMP Gakuen Tanteidan laserdiscs, or part of the repair costs for bomb damage to the restaurant. The others faced similar difficulties) Akuma-chan proceeded to the next letter.

Terrace of the Cytherea.
Friday evening.

Ichiban no Akuma-chan,
    I have found a convenient place in which to enjoy undisturbed the pleasures of writing to you and of drinking Campari before dinner. One corner of the terrace is divided from the rest by a little trellis, over which there grows some kind of vine or similar shrub. The vine or similar shrub is not, by the standards of horticulture, doing terribly well; but it is enough to screen one from observation by anyone coming onto the terrace whom one might wish to avoid. As it might be, the Major. There is also a clear view of the bridge to the annex, so that one is aware of the approach from that direction of anyone whom one might wish, by apparent accident, to meet. As it might be, the lovely Kurama.
    The discovery of Kurama's appalling profession has made me, as you may imagine, implacable in my resolve. Have the IRS, in their demands on my time, my energy and my meager earnings, been deterred by any sentiments of pity or remorse? No. Shall I, if Kurama's virtue were the dearest jewel they own, show more forbearance in pursuit of it? No, I shall not. 'Canals if necessary' is my watchword now.
    It was in this frame of mind that I woke to greet the morning, personified by a waiter bringing coffee and rolls. (He is a rather pretty waiter, young and very thin, with red hair in a high ponytail and shy golden eyes, like those of a wolf cub; but my heart is set on the enchanting Kurama and I took no notice of him.) On beginning to dress, however, I met a setback.
    Kuroko-san had asked us, since the day's excursion was to include places of divine worship, to refrain, if female, from wearing trousers, if male, from wearing shorts. I had been disposed to welcome any prohibition designed to protect the public from the sight of the Major's legs in shorts. For myself, I foresaw no difficulty in complying, for I have with me two skirts of suitable length for the daylight hours. One has a few small cigarette burns and the other has lost the button which ought to secure the waistband; but these seemed minor defects, not calculated to offend the devout.
    To make a final choice between them, I consulted the mirror, assisted in a critical examination of my appearance by the sunlight pouring in from the window behind me. It was thus that I discovered that neither, in those conditions, has the opacity required for perfect decorum. In the dim interior of the churches they would be unobjectionable; in the sunlit exterior, however -- you will see the difficulty.
    But I was not dismayed. I remembered that while I was packing you had advised me -- foreseeing, it may be, with wonderful prescience, this very contingency -- to take a slip. There was some difficulty, you may recall, in finding one which would not, if extracted from my suitcase and waved in the air by an over-zealous Customs officer, expose me, by its grubby and ragged condition, to the censure of my fellow passengers; but our searches were at last rewarded by finding a perfectly clean one, almost unworn.
    I remembered, when I put it on, why it was almost unworn. It is the one I bought last October at The Tree when Ysabeth dragged me in to look for slightly used garments, and which turned out, when I had got it home, to be four inches longer than any of my skirts.
 

    'One can't think of everything,' said Akuma-chan.

    'No, of course not,' said Kiyoshi-dono.
 

    Someone once explained to me that this sort of thing is due to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which requires that everything shall tend towards Chaos. One cannot struggle for ever against the laws of physics: I began to think it might be best, however compulsory the excursion, to return to bed and read the Internal Revenue Code, very quietly, until someone came and told me what to do. Someone, in the end, usually does.
    Before I could give effect to my indecision, there was a knock on the door: Kaen had come to make sure I was ready for the excursion. I told her of my difficulty.
    'Giullia-chan,' she said, 'couldn't you just cut four inches off the hem of your shift?'
    'That,' I said, 'would be a most ingenious solution. But impractical. One would need a pair of scissors.'
    'No problem, Juri-P,' she replied. 'I have my dressmaking scissors in my room.'
    Off she went to fetch them, and, on her return, sheared away, in a matter of moments, the four inches of material which had divided me from the presentable.
    It was thus, after all, only a few minutes after half past eight that we arrived in the entrance hall to begin our excursion round Venice.
 

    'Interesting,' said Hotohori.

    'Interesting?' said Karasu, almost choking on his maguro sashimi. 'Interesting? Absolutely sickening is what I call it. I don't know what it is about Giullia. She only has to sit back and look helpless -- which, Tentei knows, I'll admit she is -- and some misguided girl shows up and starts taking care of her. It's just like a baby cuckoo. What a baby cuckoo does is get itself hatched in someone else's nest. Then it just sits there with its mouth open, looking hungry. And the birds the nest belongs to, instead of shoving it over the edge, get this irresistible urge to shove food down it. Same effect as Giullia has on girls. And what's more, they're usually darn attractive girls, who ought to have something better to do than collect worms for Giullia.'

    'The ways of Nature,' said Akuma-chan, 'are indeed very wonderful.'

    'What I thought interesting,' said Hotohori, 'was the dressmaking scissors. There are, of course, various sizes and types of scissors used in dressmaking. But one could not conveniently use a small pair to cut off the hem of a slip -- it must have been a proper pair of tailor's scissors. With long blades. Quite long and quite sharp. And pointed, of course, at the ends. You did say "stabbed," didn't you, Karasu?'
 

    There were no defaulters among us except for Kurama's small friend Hiei. The rest of us, in a group which also included a score or so of foreign Art Lovers, followed obediently in the footsteps of Kuroko-san. Kuroko-san takes conscientiously her duty to instruct us in the general and artistic history of Venice: I feel that she may require us, at the end of the vacation, to take a test in these subjects. I listen to her, therefore, with the utmost attention, for I would not wish in that event to disappoint her.
    The excursion began in the Piazza San Marco, described by Napoleon as the finest drawing room in Europe. This showed, said Kuroko-san, that Napoleon was a very silly man, because the Piazza is not in the least like a drawing room; in reality, though certainly spacious and elegant, it is the forecourt to St. Mark’s Basilica, designed to permit the visitor, before admiring in detail the church's rich mosaics and luxurious columns, to appreciate as a single unity the grandeur of its facade. We duly appreciated the facade.
    The Venetians, it seems, adopted St. Mark as their patron saint in the ninth century, at which time the mortal remains of the Evangelist were reposing in Alexandria. To demonstrate their piety, the Venetians sent out a body-snatching expedition, which abstracted the sacred corpse from its resting place and brought it back through Customs packed between two sides of pork, so discouraging investigation by the fastidious Muslims.
    This reminded the Major of a funny thing that happened to him in Lebanon in '52. I began to worry about Desdemona again.
    Having secured the body, they spent three hundred years building a church to house it, during which time they pillaged the Levant for suitable building materials. In the meantime, they lost the body; but they did not allow this to discourage them. The opportunity to put the finishing touches to the masterpiece came in 1204, when they more or less hijacked the Fourth Crusade. The Crusaders had meant to go to Jerusalem; but the Venetians, who were providing the transport, said about halfway across the Mediterranean that it would be a better idea to go and sack Byzantium. So they went and sacked Byzantium; as a result of which the Venetians acquired and empire in the East Mediterranean and the four horses of antique bronze which stand on the balcony of St. Mark's Basilica.
    From there we went on to the Doges' Palace. Kuroko-san instructed us to note the development, as thereby exemplified, from the Gothic to the Renaissance style, and gave us a little lecture on the Venetian constitution. She spoke of it tenderly: it had been, it seems, a splendid constitution, full of senates and committees and checks and balances and other things delightful to the political theorist.
    'If it was that fine,' said Ju-an, 'why didn't it last?'
    'It lasted six hundred years, signor,' said Kuroko-san. 'And when it was quite worn out and would not work at all anymore, it was exported, of course, to the United States of America.'
    Ju-an's expression, as I have mentioned, is habitually that of a man who suspects that somebody is going to pull a fast one: it now became that of such a man finding his suspicions confirmed. Kaen looked at him as if judging him to have committed some regrettable public blunder; and further marked her displeasure by keeping to my side, rather than his, during the remainder of our time in the Doges' Palace.
    Regard for historical truth compelled Kuroko-san, when we came to the room of the Council of Ten, to make some mention of the methods by which that body, during the Middle Ages, had preserved the security of the Most Serene Republic. She spoke rather vividly of the dark proceedings, the whispered evidence and unappealable judgments to which that graceful room must be presumed a witness. Kaen was much distressed -- as I thought, she is an idealist.
    'I can't believe it,' she said. 'Giullia-chan, do you believe anyone could do such awful things in such a lovely room?'
    'I can believe anything,' I answered, 'when a young man with such a beautiful profile as Kurama's turns out to be a tax-gatherer.'
    'Are you suggesting,' asked Kurama -- by whom, of course, I made sure to be overheard -- 'that my Service is to be compared with the Council of Ten?'
    'No,' I said, with the bitterness of experience, 'it is infinitely worse.'
    You may perhaps feel, Akuma-chan, that I departed a little in this conversation from the policy you have recommended. My remark was made, however, with great severity -- I hardly think you should count it as a compliment. Besides, since I have paid more attention to Kaen than to anyone else, I am rather hoping that both Kurama and the Major may now suspect me of a certain unorthodoxy in erotic preference: the former will be lulled into a false sense of security and the latter will be discouraged. I feel I may risk a compliment or two.
 

    'It's too bad of Giullia,' said Hotohori. 'Her preferences, as are all too well known, are as orthodox as anyone's. If not more so.'

    'Absolutely,' said Karasu.

    'Never mind,' said Akuma-chan, 'no one takes Giullia seriously.'*

*Another fic-necessity. Trust me, we take her very seriously. Don't we, Juri-chan?
 

    The last visit of the morning was to a small glassworks, where we were to observe, said Kuroko-san, the traditional and historic art of glass-blowing. I was feeling inclined, by this time, to take a keener interest in the traditional and historic art of putting bubbles in Campari soda; but I did not venture to say so.
    Soon, however, like the first rumblings of a zinc thunder-sheet, there began to be murmurs of complaint from Sadra. It wasn't, she said, good enough: what we had been promised was a guided tour of sites of artistic and historical interest; instead of which, we were made to spend half the morning being dragged around a glass factory. This was not mere incompetence, but contrived deliberately: the object was to make us buy at an inflated price the probably inferior products of the factory and so enable that woman (videlicet Kuroko-san) to pocket a handsome commission.
    These complaints were originally addressed tome -- we are, you will remember, as Ruth and Naomi. It seemed clear, though, that they represented merely a limbering up for a direct attack on Kuroko-san. I considered the prospect of spending the next eight days caught in the crossfire between those two formidable women -- its frightfulness spurred me to action.
    'Sadra-san,' I said, 'I have not your stamina. I was thinking of slipping away and having a coffee in the Piazza. If you're not really wild about the glassblowing, perhaps I could persuade you to keep me company?'
    Sadra would naturally have preferred to stay and wrangle with Kuroko-san; but she could not, with much color of politeness, say so. I bore her off in triumph, congratulating myself on my stroke of diplomacy. Buying Sadra coffee, even at Florian's, seemed a small price to pay.
    Our conversation turned to the subject on which we are most in sympathy -- that is to say, the wickedness of income tax. Such phrases as 'penalizing achievement,' and 'petty-minded persecution,' soon filled the air of the Piazza.
    Descending, in due course, from the general to the particular, Sadra sought my views on what might be done to mitigate her own liabilities. Her position is very pitiful: though her share of profits from Galactrix Regnata is received as director's remuneration and treated, therefore, as earned income, and her other investments have been selected for capital growth, her top rate of tax is 90%.
 

    'May I infer,' I asked, 'that Gel Sadra-san is in comfortable circumstances?'

    'You may infer,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'that her income is somewhere between $50,000 and $60,000 a year.'

    'And if,' said Akuma-chan, 'a substantial portion of that is derived from group investments -- '

    'You may conclude,' said Hotohori, 'that she could, without undue personal sacrifice, have paid for her own coffee. Even at Florian's.'
 

    I did my best to be helpful; but Sadra seems already to be excellently advised -- every suggestion I put forward is reflected in her existing arrangements. I had almost despaired of assisting her when it struck me that she was quite perfect for the penniless husband scheme. Or rather, vice versa.
    'Sadra-san,' I said, so excited that I spilt my Campari soda, 'am I correct in assuming that you are free to marry?'
    'Giullia-chan,' she said, emitting a noise like a baby xylophone, intended, I gather, to express amusement, 'if you are advising me to find myself a rich husband -- '
    'No, no,' I cried. "Certainly not. You must find yourself a husband with no money at all.'
    I went on to explain to her the consequences of marriage, which are, of course, that the earned income of the female spouse may be treated as hers for tax purposes, just as if she were a separate, but her investment income is treated as the property of the husband. It follows, as we all know, that if the parties to a marriage have both earned and unearned income they should arrange for the earnings to be those of the wife. It also follows that a single lady with income from both sources should take immediate steps to acquire a penniless husband.
    Presented, free of charge, with this elegant and efficient tax-saving scheme, requiring no expensive documentation and not attracting duty, you will imagine that Sadra wept tears of gratitude and offered to buy me another Campari soda. You will be wrong.
    'Giullia-san!' she said in the same shocked tone as my niece had adopted when she learned that parents were not required to love their children, leaning forward with both hands on the table. 'That's a HORRIBLE view of marriage!'
    I am, as you know, Akuma-chan, by no means cynical, being on the contrary sentimental to a fault; but if people are going to let sentiment interfere with their tax planning, there is no helping them.
 

    'Giullia's scheme,' said Hotohori, 'makes no allowance for the cost of keeping the husband.'

    'It is clearly envisaged,' said Akuma-chan, 'that the husband would undertake those functions -- as of gardener, chauffeur, and general handyman -- for which a woman in Sadra's position would otherwise expect to pay on a commercial basis.'

    There followed a digression, while my companions discussed the merits of the penniless husband scene. Knowing nothing of such matters, I am unable to report it in detail; should any of my readers be able to put it to personal advantage, they will perhaps think it proper, when next in the Corkscrew, to offer Giullia a glass of wine.
 

    I asked Sadra if she did not find it a little unnerving to have among our traveling companions a member of the Internal Revenue Service.
    'Kurama? Oh, watashi no Giullia-chan,' said Sadra, 'of course not. He's a friend of Hiei's.' I looked, I suppose, baffled. 'You do know who Hiei is?'
    I mumbled an embarrassed negative -- not to know who Hiei was seemed to be a solecism, but one I could not remedy.
    'Oh, watashi no Giullia-chan,' she said, repeating the xylophone effect, 'Jaganshi Hiei. One of our most promising young weavers.'
    'Oh, really? How very interesting -- I didn't realize," I said, trying to disguise the fact that the name was unfamiliar to me. 'Even so, Sadra-san, I am by no means persuaded that friendship with a weaver, however distinguished, will prevent a man from the IRS from behaving like a man from the IRS. I don't think that I myself would be inclined, in such company, to mention, for example, that I was putting down my vacation as a business expense.'
    On this point, however, it appears that Sadra's strength is as the strength of ten, because her heart is pure: she really is here for business purposes. An English lady of substantial means and excellent taste, a life-long collector of antiques and objets d'art, and a resident of Venice for the past thirty years, has recently made the transition to Paradise: her collection is expected to be of considerable importance. The object of Sadra's journey is to take an early view of it, in the hope, I gather, of arranging a private purchase of those items which interest her: once they go to auction, she says, the prices will become ridiculous. She has asked the Major if he is here for the same purpose and it appears that he is. Neither of them, therefore, is in Venice for pure pleasure: their designs are on the furniture and effects of the late Tenteizoku no Kisshouten-sama.
 

    'Oroooo,' said Kiyoshi-dono. 'They're pillaging the estate of my client's courtesy-aunt.'

    This observation was not well-received. Kiyoshi-dono suggested, a little waspishly, that if I thought so ill of his source of income I might not wish him to buy me a ginger iced tea. I reassured him on this point.

    Some of my readers, it occurs to me, may divert theiridler moments by reading detective fiction: a pastime sometimes conducive to over-fanciful speculation. For their benefit, I should at once make it clear that the late Kisshouten-sama had died, so far as is known, of entirely natural causes; that the designs of Gel Sadra and the Major on her collection of objets d'art did not cause or contribute to the crime of which Giullia was suspected; and that the choice of Kiyoshi-dono to advise in connection with her father's successor's empress' father's trust fund was -- save to the extent that there may be seen in his presence at the right place at the right time for the purpose of or investigation the hand of a benevolent and all-seeing Providence, the Mahadevi, or a lot of hyperactive nyan-nyan -- was save to that extent the purest coincidence.

    It was getting quite late. The only other people in the restaurant besides ourselves were a couple of wandering sorceresses stuffing their faces. Our ginger iced teas and warm sake arrived. Akuma-chan continued her reading of Giullia's letter.

My room at the Cytherea.
Sunday evening.

    I hope there is not going to be any unpleasantness -- I mean I think there is. At any rate, no one can say it is my fault -- I mean they will certainly say so. Well, I will describe to you in full the events of the weekend: I leave it to you to judge whether I have at any stage or in any particular done more than politeness and good nature required of me.
    On Saturday morning, sitting on the terrace in the corner previously described, I was reflecting on my proposed pursuit of Kurama and wondering, rather anxiously, whether it might cause distress for his friend Hiei. I would be reluctant -- for I am well-disposed towards artists -- to do anything which might give pain to one. That there is an attachment one can hardly doubt, but whether it is a deep and sincere attachment, of the kind which makes people upset, or of a merely frivolous nature, I cannot at present be certain. I reasoned, however, as follows:
    1) either Hiei is deeply and sincerely attached to Kurama or he is not;
    2) if he is not so attached, then my pursuit of Kurama will cause him no distress;
    3) if he is so attached, then either the attachment is reciprocal or it is not;
    4) if it is reciprocal, Kurama will reject my advances and my pursuit of him will therefore cause Hiei no distress;
    5) if it is not reciprocal, Hiei will suffer distress whether or not I pursue Kurama;
    6) if Hiei will suffer distress whether I pursue Kurama or not, my pursuit of Kurama cannot be the cause of Hiei's distress;
    7) it is therefore logically impossible for my pursuit of Kurama to cause Hiei distress.
 

    'That,' I said, after recovering from the minor choking fit induced by mis-swallowing the ginger iced tea, 'is one of the most perfect examples of Xenedran logic I have ever encountered.'

    'Xenedran logic?' Hotohori asked.

    'Thus named because Queen Ce'Nedra was one of its greatest practitioners.'

    'Wait a moment,' Karasu said. 'The names don't quite match -- '

    Akuma-chan coughed impatiently.

    We fell silent and listened to Giullia's letter.
 

    I had taken up my pen to report to you this example of the usefulness of logic -- without which I might have come to an altogether different conclusion -- when I saw that Kaen had come onto the terrace. She is by no means one of those whom I would wish to avoid; I emerged from the cover of the vine or similar shrub.
    'Are you,' I asked, 'waiting for your husband?'
    'My husband,' said Kaen, 'has gone to Verona for the weekend to stay with a business associate.' She made the expression 'business associate,' which I would previously have thought innocuous, sound decidedly pejorative. She didn't make 'husband' sound all that flattering, either. Wondering if these were discreet Chinese euphemisms for some unspeakable debauchery, I made noises of sympathetic inquiry.
    Ju-an is employed by the American subsidiary of a Kounanite engineering-or-something firm.
 

    'Engineering-or-something?' Akuma-chan asked Hotohori, amusement in the tilt of her eyebrows.

    'Tamahome handles that end of it,' Hotohori said with a shrug of his rather beautiful shoulders.

    'Don't let's talk about him,' Kiyoshi-dono pleaded, treating everyone at the table to his best hurt-puppy look.

    I poured Kiyoshi-dono a little sake.
 

He is, it seems, one of those abrasive, dynamic young executives who refuse to take a vacation unless calculated to further their acquaintance with those useful in business. Still, after a campaign of several months, Kaen had at last persuaded him to take her on a genuine private vacation -- one, that is to say, during which Ju-an would devote to her his whole time and attention and she, in her turn, would not be obliged to make polite conversation with the wives and other relatives of his customers and colleagues. Or so, poor girl, she had believed. At the last moment before their departure, he had disclosed to her his acceptance of a weekend invitation from an important bandit in Verona.  Justly indignant at his duplicity, she had refused to go; but now she had no one to look at Venice with her.
    I suggested, naturally, that we should explore it together, and asked if there were anything in particular which she would like to see.
    'I saw a divine set of embroidered table linens when we went to the Rialto yesterday,' said Kaen. 'But I didn't have time to buy it. Could we go back there? Or is it too far?'
    I assured her that it was not. Although the distance from St. Mark's to the Rialto represents nearly half the length of the Grand Canal, it is, by land, a mere five minutes' walk.
    That, at any rate, is the impression given by the map in Hotohori-Love's guidebook. There is a strange lack of correspondence between places as represented by maps and places as they actually are. Setting forth on a route which should lead one, according to the cartographer, to one's objective in square F11, one suddenly finds oneself outside a church which he assigns to square M3. If, as in Venice is always the case, the church contains two Bellinis and a Giorgione, it is hardly possible for the Art Lover to pass by without a glance.
    Our progress towards the Rialto was therefore erratic. Our passage across it was no less dilatory. Of the two rows of shops which line the ancient bridge, none could complain of lack of patronage. It was not only the set of table linen: it was, in the end, three sets of table linen; it was lace shawls; it was leather purses, elaborately decorated; it was little glass mice, holding orchestral instruments; it was many other things of pleasure and delight, all described by Kaen as perfectly divine and not really expensive. Kuroko-san had told us of the great days of Venetian commerce, when all the money in the world was said to change hands on the Rialto: it appeared Kaen's intention to restore them single-handed.
    We came at last to the far bank of the Grand Canal and the district known as the Dorsodouro. Seeming rather to welcome the student than the tourist, it is altogether different from that of St. Mark's. There is in the very air an almost Attic saltiness, reminding one that here indeed is one of the historic centers of the European intellect, the nursery of the Renaissance, the acropolis of free thought against the pedantry of Popes and the tyranny of princes. Here the great Aldus --
    'That's not what Kuroko-san said yesterday about the Council of Ten,' said Kaen, the confidante of these reflections.
    'Kuroko-san,' I replied kindly, 'was talking yesterday about the Middle Ages. I am now speaking of the Renaissance, which is entirely different. And I should mention, Kaen, that to interrupt Counsel, when fairly launched on a nice piece of rhetoric, is the exclusive prerogative of the judiciary -- and in them to be discouraged.'
    I had forgotten that Chinese always think one means what one says. To my dismay, she began to apologize. I added at once that she was a dozen times prettier than the entire Appellate Court Bench, and might interrupt me whenever she pleased. But she seemed unpersuaded. By way of further assurance, therefore, I kissed her on the nose. This, occurring outside the Casa Rezzonico, occasioned some mockery from the passing Venetians; but in all good nature, Akuma-chan, what else could I have done?
 

    'No good will come of this,' said Hotohori.

    'It was only on the nose,' said Akuma-chan.
 

    We had lunch in the restaurant recommended by Hotohori-Love, off the Campo San Barnaba, where a vine-tree has spread its branches to make a roof over the garden. They fed us on vegetable soup and omelets and gave us cold wine in a china jug. I hoped, with these diversions, that Kaen might forget her matrimonial discontent. Not so, however.
    'Juri-P,' she said, somewhere around the second grappa, 'do you think that marriage can be a valid interpersonal relationship in a life context?'
    'I am not well qualified to judge,' I answered cautiously. 'I am not a marrying woman.'
    'I guess you'd think it intrusive,' she said, 'if I asked you why not.'
    'By no means,' I said hastily; but explained that there was no one with whom I would contemplate such a relationship except my learned and elegant friend, Hotohori kohtei-heika-sama,
 

    'Well, really,' said Hotohori.
 

who had, however, rejected my honorable proposals.
    'You mean you asked him and he said no?' said Kaen.
    I confirmed that that was indeed the case. She was shocked at such heartlessness and undiscernment and displayed, warm-hearted girl, such sympathetic indignation on my behalf
 

    'It's a bit much,' said Hotohori.
 

that I felt obliged to point out, in extenuation of Hotohori-Love's offense, that any virtues I possess are not of a domestic nature. This, however, did not placate her. If, she said, all Hotohori-Love wanted was someone to keep the house clean and give him a nice time in bed
 

    'From Giullia of all people,' said Hotohori.
 

then he was not worthy of me: a woman of my intellect and personality, she said, needed someone who would appreciate her as a person, not merely a household object.
 

    'Do have some sake, Hotohori,' said Akuma-chan. 'You'll feel much better.'
 

    It was a day of many and diverse pleasures. The best of which was the discovery, on our return to the Cytherea, of the lovely Kurama sitting all alone in the bar. Alone and discontented: Hiei, it seemed, had been busy all day with something serious and artistic; Kurama, deserted, had wandered round Venice with no one to talk to and been very bored. He was sadly looking forward to an equally tedious Sunday.
    Well, Akuma-chan, one has not a heart of stone. Kaen and I, having already agreed to spend Sunday morning together at the Lido, invited Kurama to join us. If he had been a plain young man, we could hardly have done otherwise.
    On Sunday morning, therefore, I rose in a mood of optimism -- I had great hopes of the Lido.
    'The signorina is very happy today,' said the young waiter who brings me breakfast.
    'Who could fail to be happy,' I said, 'who is given breakfast by a young man with such beautiful eyes?' My linguistic ability was not equal to expressing this in Italian, nor his to fully understanding it in English; but he gathered, sufficiently to look pleased, that a compliment was intended.
    Arriving first on the terrace, where we had arranged to meet, I settled down in my usual corner. In consequence of this, I came to overhear a most peculiar conversation, or rather fragments of one, between Gel Sadra and Jaganshi Hiei. I will report it in as much detail as I can manage and see what you make of it.
    They came together on to the terrace and sat down at a table at the other end of it. I stayed where I was, concealed by the vine or similar shrub. That I might have the embarrassment of overhearing them did not occur to me, for anything said in normal tones would not have been audible. I had not allowed for the resonance of Sadra's voice in moments of irritation.
    For a few minutes, indeed, they talked quite quietly and peaceably, so that I heard nothing. That is, Sadra talked, and Hiei interjected briefly now and then. Then I heard Sadra say, 'It's no use blaming me, Hiei. Of course I thought he knew about it -- I wouldn't have mentioned it otherwise.' Then Hiei said something I didn't hear, which seemed to soothe her a little. The next thing I heard her say was 'Well, I've warned you about him and that's all I can do. As long as you keep it properly locked up while he's anywhere about the place, you shouldn't have anything to worry about.'
    I first assumed, I don't quite know why, that she was talking about the Major. The Major strikes me, for some reason, as the sort of man in whose vicinity it might be prudent to lock up the spoons. It seems, however, that I must have been wrong about this, because soon afterwards I heard her say that someone named Bruce had stolen an armchair and a rococo mirror which she particularly liked. I concluded that Bruce, whoever he is, must have been the subject of her previous warning.
    I cannot imagine, however, what Hiei might have in his possession valuable enough to be in danger of theft -- unless, of course, one counts the lovely Kurama. So it all seemed rather odd; but not nearly as odd as the next part.
    Built, as I have mentioned, like a wildcat, Hiei had hitherto demonstrated a corresponding control. Soon after the reference to Bruce, however, he seemed to become enraged. He rose from his chair and stood in front of Sadra, head extended and shoulders forward as if about to spring; little tongues of black flame licked up and down his right arm. Indignation now made him, too, sufficiently resonant to be audible to me. I cannot attempt a verbatim account of his remarks: the general burden was that Sadra didn't own him, that he wasn't employed by Galactrix Regnata and that she'd already had her money's worth out of him. Something, too, about not letting his friends down to please her.
    After which he left the terrace, evidently in dudgeon. Sadra, to my relief, left soon afterwards, saving me the embarrassment of discovery.
    Don't you think it extraordinary, Akuma-chan, that Sadra and Hiei should in two days have reached a sufficient intimacy to wrangle? Rancor, I have always supposed, is the fruit of long acquaintance. But you, with your usual agility of mind, may perhaps arrive at some reasonable explanation.
 

    'I like the Bruce guy,' said Karasu.

    'You mean, said Hotohori, 'that you see him as a kindred spirit?'

    'No, I mean I like him for the murder. I think he did it.'

    'With respect,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'are you not theorizing a little in advance of the evidence? A single mention of his name in an overheard fragment of conversation --'

    'Darn significant, though. Because now we know that this weaver guy's got something valuable with him. And we know this Bruce guy knows he's got it. And we know it's the sort of thing this Bruce guy will go to any lengths to get hold of. We don't know what it is, of course. I expect it's some more of this rocky cocoa stuff, if that's what Bruce goes in for. Is rocky cocoa valuable?'

    'One imagines,' said Hotohori, 'that a good piece of genuine rococo furniture would command an attractive price.'

    'Right. So what the Bruce guy does is hang around the Cytherea till he thinks there's no one about. Then he weasels into the annex with a view to knocking off the rocky cocoa armchair or whatever it is. Only the IRS Kurama comes back unexpectedly and catches him at it. Threatens to call the pork. The Bruce guy pleads with him a bit, I expect, says he's got a wife and five children and so on and they have no armchairs to sit in. But it's no good, because guys from the IRS are specially trained not to listen to hard-luck stories. So the Bruce guy gets desperate and stabs him. I like it, myself. What do you think?'

    'I think,' said Akuma-chan, 'that we'd better go on and find out what this unpleasantness is that Giullia is worried about.'
 

    Kaen and Kurama joining me soon afterwards, we took the vaporetto across the lagoon to the Lido. There we swam very energetically and drank a good deal of Campari soda. That, I mean, was the sum of our joint achievements: Kaen and Kurama did most of the swimming and I drank most of the Campari. Kurama, when disrobed, is a fraction more muscular than I had imagined, but not distastefully so. And not at all hairy, which was a great relief to me.
    I begged them both to avoid sunburn. It would be disgraceful, I said, to take out with me the two most beautiful people in the Cytherea and bring them back looking like boiled lobsters.
    'Only in the Cytherea?' said Kurama, looking reproachful.
    'In Venice,' I said. 'On the whole coast of the Adriatic.'
    'Why not the whole Mediterranean?' he asked, still not satisfied. But I was not to be drawn into such gross exaggeration.
    I did not forget to show an interest in Kurama's hopes, dreams, and aspirations. I asked if he really intended to spend all his days in the service of the IRS, sending ever more menacing letters in ever more buff-colored envelopes. 'Surely,' I said, 'it is a very soul-destroying occupation?' This seemed to me to be rather subtle.
    Kurama's mouth quirked. 'I don't know,' he answered. 'Perhaps there'll suddenly be some amazing transformation in my circumstances. My friend Hiei has plans  to make both our fortunes." His jade-green eyes sparkled with some private amusement.
    Encouraged, however, to speak more of these, he laughed, 'Oh, they won't come to anything. You know what artists are like. More likely I'll rob some of the rich slobs I audit and retire on the proceedings to a life of computer hacking." Despite his amusement, he made it very clear that he was disinclined to say anything more: I therefore felt no obligation to pursue the subject further.
 

    'Don't you think,' said Akuma-chan, 'that that is also a significant conversation?'

    'Well,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'he was right, in a way, about the sudden change in his circumstances. But presumably he wasn't thinking of being murdered, poor guy. What have you in mind?'

    'I was remembering,' said Akuma-chan, looking dreamily into her empty sake cup, 'the excellence of Gel Sadra's tax planning. Still, perhaps I am being fanciful -- '

    'I was thinking,' I interjected, 'that the line about theftificating rich guys' stuff and then hacking sounds much more like the Kurama I know. It would be a suitable career... maybe it was him after all.'

    'What,' Karasu asked, 'has hacking to do with plants?'

    'But, my dear Karasu,' I murmured as demurely as I could manage, 'have you not heard of the binary tree?'

    This spawned a short but furious discussion, in which it was determined that the best I could do with regard to explaining computers was to point those unfortunates to #Peacewarez on newnet.

    'Let us continue,' Akuma-chan said firmly.
 

    'I don't believe Shakespeare told Giullia to try fainting,' said Karasu. 'He's dead.'

    'She is referring,' said Akuma-chan, 'to his early poem "Venus and Adonis." Giullia read it at an impressionable age and has since regarded it as a sort of seduction manual.'

    'It is a most indelicate work,' said Hotohori. 'Not at all suitable reading for a young girl.'

    'It's hardly Giullia's fault,' said Akuma-chan. 'They told her at school that Shakespeare was educational.'

    'As I recall,' I said, 'the methods applied by the goddess in her pursuit of Adonis, though forceful, achieved only limited success. Doesn't Juri-chan find that discouraging?'

    'No,' said Akuma-chan. 'No. On this point alone, she believes that Shakespeare has been less than candid. She is persuaded, you see, that the poem is based on personal experience. The historical evidence shows that he yielded.'
 

    We returned, therefore, in the usual way to the Cytherea -- that is to say, with no one carrying anyone else. Kurama went off to rest before dinner.
    'Juri-P,' said Kaen, 'you must let me fix that skirt.'
    At some stage of the afternoon the hem of my skirt had come down. It is the nature of hems to come down; and Kaen is of the school of thought which holds that they should be put back up again. We accordingly adjourned to her room, where she keeps her sewing things, acquiring en passant from the bar a bottle of Frascati.
    We sat on the bed, drinking Frascati, she sewing and I watching her sew. She displayed a great interest in life at the Michigan Bar, and I was happy to gratify her curiosity. I gave her, I think, a pretty fair and balanced picture. That is to say, I did not dwell exclusively on the forensic triumphs attributable to my own skill and brilliance, but mentioned also the forensic disasters brought about by the idiocy of my client, the incompetence of their personal lawyer or the senile dementia of the tribunal hearing my case. It was, in short, a very similar account to what she would have got from any other member of our profession.
    'Juri-P,' she said, 'I think I ought to oversew the hem of your shift.'
    The lower edge of my slip, since its abbreviation, inevitably lacked its original smoothness. The defect was latent: but for my taking my skirt off to allow her to sew the hem, Kaen herself would not have remembered it. Still, it is curiously pleasant to watch someone engaged for one's benefit on some delicate domestic task; with only formal protests, I surrendered the slip.
    I seem to have given her an unduly rosy picture of life at the Bar. 'I wish I'd done something like that,' she said. 'I wish I'd done something valid and meaningful, instead of just marrying for citizenship.'
    I assured her that celibacy was not a prerequisite to practice at the Bar; I suggested, indeed, that a husband might prove a great comfort in those moments of stress and anxiety which are unavoidable in our profession.
    'Not if the husband was Ju-an, Juri-chan,' said Kaen. 'Ju-an is not the kind of husband who would be supportive to me in a self-actualizing role. Ju-an does not care about me as an individual person.'
    I said -- what else could I say? -- that if Ju-an did not adore her he was both a fool and a scoundrel; and I could not easily believe so ill of him.
    'No, Juri-chan,' said Kaen. 'He adores the way I look and the way I dress and the way I keep house and the way I organize parties. He does not adore me as a person. He does not care about me as a person. If he cared about me as a person, he would not have come to Venice with me and then gone to Verona to spend the weekend with a business acquaintance.'
    She then burst into tears.
    I was much distressed by this and did not know what to do. Still, it is common knowledge that those who weep do not wish to do so in vacuo, but on a convenient shoulder: I proffered my shoulder and Kaen wept on it. 'Maa, maa,' I said, or words to the like effect.
    It will be clear to you from the foregoing that the reasons for my being on Kaen's bed in a fairly small quantity of underwear and holding her head on my shoulder were of the most innocent nature imaginable. I do quite see, however, that it was perhaps not the best moment for Ju-an, returning from Verona, to walk, without knocking, into the bedroom. The scene was open to misconstruction: from Ju-an's expression it was clear that he misconstrued.
    Still, he did not, while I remained present, actually say anything.  I was hopeful that by the time we all went down to dinner, Kaen would have persuaded him of the absolute purity of her motives and my own. From the way Ju-an looked at me over dinner, however, I fear this is not the case. I hope, as I say, that there will be no unpleasantness.
    I was so upset by all this that when the Major suggested cutting a rug together some evening, I was not immediately able to think of an excuse and have, in principle, agreed.
    I excused myself from coffee on the grounds of a headache, seeking in the privacy of my room the consolation of reporting to you the difficulties from amidst which I send you a

    'It does seem extraordinary,' said Hotohori, 'that if anyone was going to murder anyone, that no one murdered Giullia. One's glad they didn't, of course.'

    'We'd better go,' said Kiyoshi-dono. 'Akuma-chan, do you still feel like driving me to the airport tomorrow?'

    It had been arranged, earlier in the week, that Akuma-chan should drive Kiyoshi-dono to the airport, arriving there in time to coincide with Giullia's return. The rest of us, thinking to spend in convivial reunion the hours between Giullia's arrival and Kiyoshi-dono's departure, had intended to include ourselves among her passengers. It was agreed, in spite of the altered circumstances, that these arrangements should stand.

    'Ne, Hotohori,' said Karasu. 'You know what you said about no one murdering Giullia -- you don't think it's one of those mistaken identity things, do you? I mean, you don't think someone meant to murder Giullia and got the IRS guy instead?'

    I pointed out that to murder, in mistake for Giullia, a tall and slender young man with bright red hair would require a singularly myopic assassin.

    'Might have been dark,' said Karasu. 'And we don't know whose room it happened in -- the report just said "in hotel bedroom." Suppose the guy from the IRS was in Giullia's bed -- '

    'That,' said Hotohori, 'is a possibility, which, regrettably, we can not entirely discount. But wouldn't Giullia have been there with him?'

    'Temporarily absent,' said Karasu. 'In the bathroom or something.'

    'I'm rather doubtful,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'about the timing. You called the Corkscrew at about twenty past eight, Karasu-san. So I take it the news must have been on the teleprinter by quarter past. If the murder happened after dark, I wouldn't have thought it was possible.'

    'Don't know,' said Karasu. 'Depends on what time it gets dark in Venice.'

    Kiyoshi-dono paid the bill. We rose to leave.

    'By the way,' said Akuma-chan, 'if you don't mind, I'd still like to get to Detroit-Wayne Metro in time to meet the flight Giullia should have come back on.'

    'Yes, of course,' said Kiyoshi-dono. 'If it turns out she's on it after all -- '

    'That, certainly, would be a great relief. But if she isn't, then I think, you know, in the light of what Karasu's just been suggesting, that I'd like to be sure that all the other Art Lovers are.'
 

    It was thus at a comparatively early hour on Saturday morning, particularly considering the lateness of our retirement, that Akuma-chan collected me from my borrowed residence in Burns Park. She had received, but not yet had time to read, a further letter from Giullia, evidently mailed on Wednesday. She proposed, by reading it aloud, to relieve the otherwise idle hours at the airport.

    Taking my place beside her, I resigned myself to being driven through the traffic of Central Campus at the pace she describes as brisk. Still, we arrived without accident at the East Washington parking garage.

    Kiyoshi-dono had already spoken by telephone to Giullia's travel agents. They had confirmed that their customer, Poison Giullia-san, was experiencing certain difficulties with the Venetian police, but were happy to reassure him that she was not actually in custody: she had merely been asked to surrender her passport and not to leave the Veneto. Arrangements were being made for her accommodation. Relieved, I dare say, to find that they were not solely responsible for the poor creature, they had given Kiyoshi-dono the name and address of their representative in Venice -- that was to say, Kuroko-san -- and had promised that she would give him every possible assistance in his efforts on Giullia's behalf.

    To save Akuma-chan an unnecessary detour, Karasu had offered to make his own way to Hotohori's house in Pittsfield Township, where we would collect them both. It had not been, perhaps, a wholly altruistic offer: Hotohori is known to make excellent breakfasts. Indeed, I had rather hoped -- but Karasu had already finished the scrambled eggs, and Akuma-chan did not think we had time for hot apple cider.

    Hotohori and Karasu joined me in the back seat of the vehicle and we continued eastwards, Akuma-chan negotiating with wonderful insouciance -- I suppose that is the expression I am looking for -- the series of cloverleafs which seem designed to prevent the casual driver, once in Ann Arbor, from ever leaving it. They, however, pale in comparison to the rats' nest of freeways in Los Angeles.

    Karasu had also been making telephone calls. Claiming the privileges of a part-time employee, he had used the information services of the Bull to find out the time of sunset in Venice. It was ten o'clock.

    'In that case,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'the mistaken identity theory must be out of court, ne?'

    'Local time,' said Karasu. 'The Italians are six hours ahead of us. So by Eastern Standard time it would only be four. And then I called this guy I know at the news agency and asked how long it would take for a story like that to get on the teleprinter. I said I'd got a bet on about it. And he reckons they've got a guy in Venice who can barely find his ass with both hands newshoundwise, so once someone called the pork it'd take four hours or so to get on the wire.'

    'Still cutting it fine,' said Kiyoshi-dono.

    'Not that fine,' said Karasu. 'Look, the way I see it is this. Friday evening, about quarter of ten Italian time. This American chick and her husband changing for dinner.'

    'At ten?' I said.

    'They're on vacation, they've spent all day out, of course they'll have dinner late. There's a squabble, ne -- starting with an argument about who left the toothpaste top off or something and going on from there. And as you'd expect, Giullia's name crops up. "And on Sunday afternoon," says Ju-an, "when I found you and Giullia lying on the bed in a newt-like condition, don't you tell me she was just explaining an interesting point of legal procedure. Pigs might fly," says Ju-an. "There were goings-on going on." And Kaen says all right, if that's his attitude, she is happy to say that she and Giullia actually spent the whole afternoon in nameless debaucheries -- '

    'We are given to understand,' said Hotohori,' that such is not the case.'

    'That wouldn't stop her,' said Karasu. 'I mean, when a girl's having a spat with her husband, she's not going to admit that all the years they've been married she's been absolutely faithful to him -- too humiliating. So they always say they've been having it off with someone else, even when they haven't. Of course,' he added with some bitterness, 'this often causes a lot of distress and embarrassment to certain innocent third parties. But they don't think about that.'

    'We defer to your experience,' said Hotohori, 'as a possible co-respondent.'

    Karasu construing this remark as offensive, there ensued a scuffle.

    'Please,' said Akuma-chan, 'this isn't Monday morning in the Fiscal Courts.'

    'Gomen,' said Karasu. 'Where was I? Aa, soo -- Kaen says that as a matter of fact Ju-an is quite right and she spent Sunday afternoon in bed with Giullia. Going on to say that if he really wants to know this was about seventeen times more fun than anything along similar lines with Ju-an. Good exit line, so she sweeps out of the matrimonial bedroom and goes down to dinner. And Ju-an, in a frenzy of jealous passion, seizes the nearest weapon -- the dressmaking scissors or whatever -- andgoes off to Giullia's room to avenge his honor.'

    'Surely not,' said Akuma-chan.

    'No use your saying "surely not" like that -- Kounanites get darned steamed up about these things.'

    Hotohori taking personal offense to this remark, another scuffle ensued.

    'BLOW MY WINDOWS OUT AND YOU'LL REGRET IT THE REST OF YOUR CAREER!' Akuma-chan shrieked as she passed five cars in what seemed one jerk of the wheel.

    I offered Kiyoshi-dono some analgesic tablets.

    Karasu put his bombs away.

    Hotohori offered his best impression of a kabuki scene-changer.

    Kiyoshi-dono gulped down the tablets while keeping a death grip on the support handle.

    'Avenging his honor?' I prompted.

    'Meanwhile Giullia's lured the IRS guy to her bedroom -- made a lot of wild promises, I expect, about submitting her W-2s on time and so forth -- and had her way of him. Feeling, in consequence, all bright and breezy and full of the joys of spring -- you can defer to my experience on that, too, Hotohori -- she is now having an invigorating shower. Singing, I dare say.'

 'Singing?' said Hotohori, apparently deeply shocked.

    'What's wrong with that? Giullia's got a lovely voice. Anyway, it doesn't matter whether she's singing or not, the point is she's having a shower. And the IRS guy is still lying in the bed, covers pulled up over himself. Enter Ju-an, in a frenzy of jealous passion as aforesaid. It's just got dark, but he doesn't turn the light on, because he wants to creep up on Giullia without her knowing. He's a simple-minded sort of guy, the way these executives mostly are, and he thinks whoever's in Giullia's bed must be Giullia -- and if it was dark it would look like the right color hair anyway. So he stabs the guy from the IRS. Exit Ju-an. Giullia comes out of the shower, still singing, I expect, and goes to the bed with a view toward burbling a few affectionate words at the IRS guy -- "How about a swift drink?" or something. And after a bit she notices there's a lot of blood about the place and the guy seems to be dead. She screams -- well, she makes a sort of gargling noise, the way she does with bombs -- and goes out into the hall. Where shortly afterwards someone finds her pootling up and down saying "I say, there seems to be a corpse in my bed." Enter the pigs and arrest her. And that could all happen in a lot less than ten minutes, so there'd be plenty of time for the agency guy to have it on the wire by quarter past eight Eastern time.'

    We considered this Jacobean sequence. Akuma-chan relaxed her usual pressure on the accelerator and surrendered to a taxi her position in the fast lane.

    'I was under the impression, Karasu-san,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'that you regarded Bruce as the principal suspect -- the man Sadra was talking about.'

    'Yes,' said Karasu, 'but I didn't know then that Giullia'd been found in a compromising situation with the Chinese chick. My money's on Ju-an now -- I don't mind an each-way saver on the Bruce character. Who are you backing, Hotohori?'

    'I am not addicted,' said Hotohori, 'to the vice of gambling. But it seems to me that this mistaken identity idea is an unnecessary complication. I would have thought the girl herself was a more likely suspect.'

    'The Chinese chick?' said Karasu. 'Why?'

    'Let us by all means accept,' said Hotohori, 'that Giullia's relationship with this girl was one of pellucid innocence. From Giullia's point of view. It will not have escaped your notice, however, that the chain of events which led to Giullia being in a state of deshabille on Kaen's bed, with Kaen's head on her shoulder -- and our knowledge of anatomy, assisted, in Karasu's case, by personal recollection, reminds us, in this connection, that Giullia's shoulder is an area closely adjacent to Giullia's admirable bosom -- that each of that chain of events was initiated by Kaen?'

    'She only offered to mend Giullia's skirt,' said Karasu.

    'Oh, quite so,' said Hotohori. 'There is a perfectly innocent explanation for everything she did and it is of course our duty, as Karasu so rightly points out, to assume, if we possibly can, that it is the correct one. Were we, however, briefly to be dispensed from that charitable obligation -- ' Hotohori leant back and gazed up at the roof of the car with a very spiritual expression, probably wasted on it.

    'Let us grant ourselves,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'a hypothetical dispensation.'

    'Ah well, in that case, as I have already suggested, one might see what she did in a rather different light. And it would then be material to note that Giullia's own behavior, as described by herself, could have been construed as not wholly discouraging. She had paid the girl compliments. She had kissed her on the nose outside the Casa Rezzonico. She had talked to her about the Renaissance and the Chancery Bar. There had been, in short, nothing in Giullia's manner to suggest that she would recoil from an advance with loathing and abhorrence. If, indeed, that is what she would have done.'

    'If you mean,' said Akuma-chan, stepping rather severely on the accelerator and overtaking the taxi again, 'that Giullia is not the sort of woman who would wantonly wound anyone's feelings, particularly those of a girl who had been kind to her and was alone and friendless in a strange country -- '

    'Of course,' said Hotohori, 'that is exactly what I mean.'

    'So the way you see it,' said Karasu, 'this Chinese chick got a lech for Giullia and fancied her chances?'

    'I would not have expressed it,' said Hotohori, 'with quite such felicity. But that is the essence of what I am suggesting. And if Kaen is a romantic sort of girl, who might take such an attachment seriously, then it seems not impossible, if she discovered Giullia's interest in the man from the IRS, that she might make use of her dressmaking scissors to dispose of her rival.'

    'Doesn't work,' said Karasu. 'Because whoever did in the guy from the IRS left things set up so that Giullia got clobbered for it. I mean, either they wanted her to get clobbered or they didn't mind her getting clobbered. If the Chinese chick was hot for Giullia, she wouldn't have done that.'

    'Oh?' said Hotohori, looking at Karasu in great surprise. 'Oh, don't you think so? I cannot pretend, of course, to your worldly experience; but I would rather have thought it was precisely what she might do.'
 

    The tedium of securing a parking space at Detroit-Wayne Metro and of the check-in procedure I have fortunately no need to share with my readers. When it was done with, we managed to secure five seats in a row in the large waiting area into which passengers from Venice would emerge to find transport.

    'Akuma-chan,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'what was it you were saying last night about Gel Sadra?'

    'Oh,' said Akuma-chan, casually, 'there were one or two things about Gel Sadra which I thought quite interesting. The first was the excellence of her tax arrangements. She has taken, it appears, every step Giullia can think of to minimize the claims of the IRS on her personal income -- every step, that is, save marriage to an impecunious husband. One may perhaps find it a little surprising -- or one may not, I leave it entirely to you -- ' Akuma-chan spread one hand in a gesture illustrating the liberality with which she offered us this choice -- 'that a woman so admirably advised should allow such a defect in her arrangements to go unremedied. Then there's the matter of the argument with Jaganshi Hiei. The sort of argument, as Giullia rather perceptively remarks, which usually occurs only between persons on some terms of mutual intimacy. One gathers,' she added, as offhandedly as an Abyssinian cat not noticing the cream, 'that Hiei is an artist. It is, of course, a notoriously unremunerative profession.'

    'Nanda,' said Karasu, 'are you suggesting that Gel Sadra and this Jaganshi guy are married to each other?'

    'My dear Karasu, I am suggesting nothing. I am merely drawing attention to one or two matters of possible interest. If they seem to you to be pointing to any particular conclusion -- ' she spread both hands, in a gesture of even greater generosity.

    'But if they were married,' said Karasu, 'why were they pretending they'd only just met?'

    'I don't think they were,' said Akuma-chan. 'Giullia assumed they didn't know each other because they weren't sitting together on the plane. Everything after that suggests at least an acquaintance. A marriage, if one of mere fiscal convenience, they might well choose not to publicize; but that's another matter.'

    'Even if you were right,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'would it get us anywhere?'

    'No,' said Akuma-chan, absentmindedly, 'no, I suppose not. But one can't help thinking, can one, about that conversation between Hiei and Sadra, when he seems to have been insisting on carrying on with some plan of his against her wishes. Some plan involving a friend of his. And at the Lido, Kurama says that Hiei has plans to make both their fortunes. It rather sounds, doesn't it, as if Hiei were engaged in some kind of commercial enterprise which he expected to be profitable -- and in which, for some reason, Kurama was an essential participant. Of course,' said Akuma-chan, in a manner so casual as to suggest that she had almost lost interest in the subject, 'if Sadra had married Hiei for reasons of fiscal advantage and he were then, after all, to earn a large sum of money, the effect on her tax position would be quite catastrophic.'

    The suggestion that Gel Sadra had done away with Kurama in order to safeguard the marginal tax advantage of a hypothetical marriage to Jaganshi Hiei may seem to my readers, seeing it in the coldness of print, too fanciful to be entertained for a moment. My readers, however, have not been exposed to the oblique seductiveness of Akuma-chan's advocacy.

    'My dear Akuma-chan,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'it is a most attractive and ingenious hypothesis. It might even, I suppose, be right. But would you care to estimate my chances of persuading the Italian police that it is probable? No, Akuma-chan, it won't do. Remember, we don't have to find out who did the murder -- all that matters as far as we're concerned is satisfying the police that Giullia didn't. But if I do have to start suggesting alternative suspects, I'd rather it be someone reasonably obvious.'

    'By all means,' said Akuma-chan. 'But there isn't anyone obvious.'

    'Oh, surely,' said Kiyoshi-dono. 'Statistics show, I gather, that if one is going to be murdered it will probably be by one's spouse or lover. Presumably there's no doubt, in Kurama's case, that that means Jaganshi Hiei? It's difficult to imagine any other reason why two such dissimilar young men should be traveling together.'

    The possibility that Hiei had committed the crime had long since occurred to me. But I had misgivings: Venice is a sophisticated and cosmopolitan city -- her police force, I felt, would not take a less than worldly view of Kurama's connection with Hiei, nor would they be unfamiliar with the criminal statistics. I feared, if they did not regard Hiei as the obvious suspect, that they must have some excellent reason not to suspect him at all.

    The public address system announced the arrival of the flight from Venice. We began to give closer attention to the stream of returning passengers.

    'They won't be out for ages,' said Karasu. 'They'll have to wait for their baggage to come through on that spinny thing.'

    But it was only a few minutes later that we caught sight of a rather subdued little group which seemed to correspond to Giullia's description of the Art Lovers: a handsome, relatively young but strapping blonde, fitted in appearance to play Brunnhilde and in voice to play Vera Charles; a muscular youth, somber of feature in an angular eldritch way who gave the impression of a certain aggressiveness towards the rest of the world; a pretty girl with dark red hair; and, close beside her, another young man, square-shouldered, who looked as if the sole purpose of the world were to play a colossal practical joke on him.

    'Hora,' said Karasu, 'do you think that's them?'

    'Certainly,' said Akuma-chan. 'Those labels on their carry-on baggage -- they're the same kind as the travel agency gave Giullia. But where's the Major?'

    'I think,' said Kiyoshi-dono, 'that the Major must have undertaken to act as porter. If he's collecting all their suitcases from the conveyor belt, that would explain how the rest of them have gotten through Customs so quickly. It looks as if they're coming over here to wait for him.'

    The Art Lovers came over near where we were and turned down the aisle two down from us. At our first unobstructed view of the Chinese girl, Hotohori gave what sounded almost like a whistle. We regarded him with surprise: Hotohori is notoriously unsusceptible.

    'The dress,' said Hotohori, 'is Yves St. Laurent. The shoes and handbag are Gucci. The scarf is Hermés. And if that young woman,' said Hotohori, admiration for her elegance contending with puritan disapproval of its cost, 'is wearing a penny less than twelve hundred and fifty dollars on her back, I'll be -- I shall be very much surprised.'

    The Art Lovers sat several rows away, too far for us to hear any conversation between them. Not that it would have been informative; aside from telling Ju-an what they would like from the snack bar -- at any rate, he went off there and returned with a tray of overpriced goodies -- they hardly exchanged a word: it was plainly not a festive gathering. Akuma-chan retrieved the bag of Zingerman's sandwiches and began distributing them among us.

    Better placed than they for this purpose, we perceived before they did the arrival through the Customs gateway of a tall man pushing a loaded baggage cart: he was deeply suntanned; he had a white mustache; he was wearing Bermuda shorts.

    'Aa,' said Karasu, 'there's the Major.'

    The scholar must miss no occasion for acquiring knowledge, no matter how suddenly and briefly it arises. 'Quick, Karasu,' I said, 'please get over there before them and see if you can get their addresses from the luggage labels. Pretend you think your suitcase might be on the Major's cart.'

    For any enterprise savoring of the illicit, Karasu is the man. He did not pause to argue the proprieties. By the time the Major's waving hand had attracted the attention of his fellow Art Lovers, Karasu, slipping like a needle through the crowd, was already crouched beside the cart.

    The Major said something. Karasu said something. Watching, we followed without difficulty the gist of their remarks: the Major was telling Karasu that his suitcase was not on the cart; Karasu, with a nicely judged impression of imperfect sobriety, was insisting on making sure.

    The first of the Art Lovers to join them was Jaganshi Hiei, who showed a perfect indifference to their argument. He took the suitcase offered him by the Major and walked rather slowly away. He was a powerfully built young man; and the suitcase not unduly large; the weight of it, I thought, unless filled with granite, could not alone account for his dragging step and the weariness of his movements. But whether it were grief alone or some yet greater burden that weighed so heavily on the weaver's muscular shoulders -- that was a question beyond Scholarship to determine.

    The next to reach the cart was Gel Sadra. Again, though we could not hear the words said, Gel Sadra's opinion of drunken young men who had mislaid their luggage, and apparently could not even remember whether it were a pigskin suitcase or a nylon duffel bag, was entirely (and audibly) clear to us. Karasu, looking apologetic, persisted in his search.

    Eventually, though glancing back suspiciously, the Major lifted two suitcases from the cart and escorted Gel Sadra to the taxi rank. Karasu, completing his researches, sensibly continued to wander in apparent search for his baggage. He was scribbling surreptitiously on the cuff of his shirt -- a sacrifice on the part of the homme bien soigne which might not, I think, have been made by Hotohori.

    The return of the Major from the taxi rank coincided with the Chinese's arrival beside the cart. Ju-an was already carrying a valise, presumably containing his wife's Venetian acquisitions, but he lifted, without apparent difficulty, two large pigskin cases and carried them to the exit. Kaen lingered to say something, no doubt a few words of thanks and farewell, to the Major. Then she followed her husband. The only luggage remaining on the cart was a large, rather battered suitcase and a small nylon duffel bag: the Major, after a few moments, picked them up and walked briskly away. Karasu returned to the bar.

    'Did you get all the addresses?' I asked anxiously.

    'Yes,' said Karasu. 'And I saw something pretty funny, too. Bet you can't guess.'

    'Don't let us guess,' said Akuma-chan. 'Tell us.'

    'You know that duffel bag the Major went off with? Well, it's not his. It belongs to the IRS guy.'

    'How very odd,' said Akuma-chan. 'Are you sure?'

    'Of course I'm sure. It had his name on the label. Minamino Shuuichi, with the same address as the weaver guy. And what I think is,' said Karasu, striking an uncharacteristic note of high morality, 'when a guy's been knocked off, it's a bit much for some other guy to start snarfing his baggage.'