With all my purchases in the big paper bag I had requested for the fly swatters, I wasn't much encumbered when I entered the Continental Cafй at a quarter past noon, sent my eyes around, spotted an attractive female in an olive-green shirt and dark green slacks at a table in the rear, and headed for her. When I got there and pulled a chair back she said, "Either you're pretty fast or you didn't finish your list."

"Got everything." I sat and put the bag on the floor. "I may not be fast but I'm lucky." I tipped my head at her martini glass. "Carson's?"

"No. They haven't got any. You can't tell me gins are all alike. There's split-pea soup."

That was good news because his split-pea soup was the one dish the Continental cook had a right to be proud of. A waitress came and took our order for two double bowls of soup, plenty of crackers, one milk, and one coffee, and while we were waiting for it I fished in the bag for the belt and the magnifying glass to show Lily that Timberburg was as good as New York when you needed things.

The soup was up to expectations. When our bowls were nearly empty and the crackers low I said, "I not only finished up my list, I dug up some facts. At the library in Who's Who. Philip Brodell's father's father's name was Amos. His father is a member of three clubs, and his father's wife's maiden name was Mitchell. That's a break. Real progress."

"Congratulations." She took a cracker. "Let's go and tell Jessup. You're the doctor, but how could Who's Who possibly have helped?"

"It couldn't. But when you're up a stump you always try things that can't help and about once a year one does." I swallowed the last spoonful of soup. "I've got to say something."

"Good. Like?"

"Like it is.