Leaving the glass in the sink, Dortmunder went back to the living room and dialed Kelp's number again, and this time he didn't start talking until the machine was finished saying, "Hello, this is Andy Kelp. I'm not home right now, but you can leave a message on this recording machine and I'll call you back just as soon as I can. Leave your message right after you hear the beep. And do have a nice day." eeeepp

"Sorry you aren't there," Dortmunder said. "This is Dortmunder and I'm—"

But now the machine started talking again: "Hey!" it said. "Hello!"

Probably a malfunction in the announcement mechanism. Well, it wasn't Dortmunder's problem; he didn't have any goddam gizmo on his telephone. Doggedly ignoring the machine's irruptions, Dortmunder went on with his message: " — off on a little job. I thought you might come with me—"

"Hey, it's me! It's Andy!"

"— but I guess I can do it on my own. Talk to you later."

As Dortmunder hung up, the phone was saying, rather plaintively, "John? Hello!" Dortmunder went to the hall closet, put on his jacket with the burglar tools all tucked away in the hidden interior pockets, and left the apartment. Ten seconds later, in the empty living room, the phone rang. And rang. And rang…

2

Nestled on a deep soft background of black velvet, gleaming under the bright glare of the overhead fluorescent tubes, the Byzantine Fire shone a lustrous carmine, reflecting and refracting the light.