“I’m sorry,” I said. “Thanks for pulling me through. Of course he’ll be back. We just scared the hell out of him. But how could he fail to return once he’s known you?”

She smiled. “Yes, you are like Corwin,” she said. “Crass, but perceptive.”

She rose and crossed to the closet, took out a lavender robe and donned it.

“What,” she said, belting it about her, “was that all about?”

“It’s a long story —”

“Then I’d better hear it over lunch. Are you hungry?” she asked.

I grinned.

“It figures. Come on.”

She led me out through a French Provincial living room and into a large country kitchen full of tiles and copper. I offered to help her, but she pointed at a chair beside the table and told me to sit.

As she was removing numerous goodies from the refrigerator, I said, “First —”

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

“San Francisco,” she replied.

“Why have you set up housekeeping here?”

“After I finished that business of Random’s I decided to stay on. The town looked good to me again.”

I snapped my fingers. I’d forgotten she’d been sent to determine the ownership of the warehouse where Victor Melman had had his apartment and studio, and where Brutus Storage had a supply of ammo that would Ere in Amber.

“So who owned the warehouse?” I asked.

“Brutus Storage,” she replied. “Melman rented from them.”

“And who owns Brutes Storage?”

“J. B. Rand, Inc.”

“Address?”

“An office in Sausalito. It was vacated a couple of months ago.”

“Did the people who owned the place have a home address for the renter?”

“Just a post office box. It’s been abandoned too.”

I nodded. “I’d a feeling it would be something like that,” I said. “Now tell me about Jasra. Obviously you know the lady.”

She sniffed. “No lady,” she said. “A royal whore is what she was when I knew her.”