Dortmunder raised a brow in surprise. "You know too much," he said.

Eppick frowned at him. "Was that a threat, John?"

"No!" Startled, almost embarrassed, Dortmunder stuttered, "I only meant, you know so much, I don't know how you'd know all that much, I mean, whadaya wanna know all that much about me for, that's all. Not you know too much. So much. You know so much, uh, Mr. Eppick."

"That's okay, then," Eppick said.

At this point there was a slight interruption as the street door beside their booth opened and two guys walked in, bringing with them a touch of the outer nippiness of the air. Dortmunder sat facing that door, while Eppick faced the bar, but if Dortmunder recognized either of these new customers he made no sign. Nor did Eppick seem to notice that fresh blood was walking past his elbow.

The first of the fresh blood was a carrot-headed guy who walked in a dogged unrelenting manner, as though looking for a chip to put on his shoulder, while the other was a younger guy who managed to look both eager and cautious at the same time, as though looking forward to dinner but unsure what that sound was he'd just heard from the kitchen.

These two didn't become aware of Eppick until they'd already entered the place, the bar door closing behind them, and then they both faltered for just a frame or two before moving smoothly on, unhurried but covering ground, passing Andy Kelp with no recognition on either side and making their way without unseemly haste around the end of the bar and out of sight in the direction of Pointers and Setters and the phone booth and the back room.

Hoping Eppick had made nothing of this exit and entrance, and trying to ignore the army of butterflies now investigating the nooks and crannies of his stomach, Dortmunder tried to keep the conversation on track and his voice unbutterflied by saying, "I mean, that's a real question. Knowing all this stuff about me and having this picture and all this. What's the point in here?"