“Maybe I should take a stroll back.”
“Probably nothing. It’s a beautiful day. A lot of people do like to hike around here. Just thought that if we waited a few minutes he’d either show up or we’d know he’d gone somewhere else.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Nope. Caught only the barest glimpse. I don’t think it’s anything to get excited about. It’s just that thing about your story made me a little wary-or paranoid. I’m not sure which.”
I found my own pipe and packed it and lit it and we waited. For fifteen minutes or so we waited. But no one showed.
Finally, Bill rose and stretched. “False alarm,” he said. “I guess.”
He started walking again and I fell in step beside him. “Then that Jasra lady bothers me,” he said. “You say she seemed to trump in-and then she had that sting in her mouth that knocked you for a loop?”
“Right.”
“Ever encounter anyone like her before?”
“No.”
“Any guesses?” I shook my head.
“And why the Walpurgisnacht business? I can see a certain date having significance for a psycho, and I can see people in various primitive religions placing great importance on the turning of the seasons. But S seems almost too well organized to be a mental case. And as for the other-“
“Melman thought it was important.”
“Yes, but he was into that stuff. I’d be surprised if he didn’t come up with such a correspondence, whether it was intended or not. He admitted that his master had never told him that that was the case. It was his own idea. But you’re the one with the background in the area. Is there any special significance or any real Bower that you know of to be gained by slaying someone of your blood at this particular time of year.”
“None that I ever heard of. But of course there are a lot of things I don’t know about. I’m very young compared to most of the adepts. But which way are you trying to go on this? You say you don’t think it’s a nut, but you don’t buy the Walpurgis notion either.”
“I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. They both sound shaky to me, that’s all. For that matter, the French Foreign Legion gave everyone leave on April 30 to get drunk, and a couple of days after that to sober up. It’s the anniversary of the battle of Camerone, one of their bi, triumphs. But I doubt that figures in this either.”
“And why the sphinx?” he said suddenly. “Why a Trump that takes you someplace to trade dumb riddles or get your head bitten off ?”
“I’d a feeling it was more the latter that was intended.”
“I sort of think so, too. But it’s certainly bizarre. You know what?
I’ll bet they’re all that way-traps of some kind.”
“Could be.”
I put my hand in my pocket, reaching for them.
“Leave them,” he said. “Let’s not look for trouble. Maybe you should ditch them, at least for a while. I could put them in my safe, down at the office.”
I laughed.
“Safes aren’t all that safe. No thanks. I want them with me. There may be a way of checking them out without any risk.”
“You’re the expert. But tell me, could something sneak through from the scene on the card without you.”
“No. They don’t work that way. They require your attention to operate. More than a little of it.”
“That’s something, anyway. I-“
He looked back again. Someone was coming. I flexed my fingers, involuntarily.
Then I heard him let go a big breath.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know him. It’s George Hansen. He’s the son of the guy who owns the farm we’re behind. Hi, George!”
The approaching figure waved. He was of medium height and stocky build. Had sandy hair. He wore Levi’s and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, a pack of cigarettes twisted into its left sleeve. He looked to be in his twenties.
“Hi,” he answered, drawing near. “Swell day, huh?”
“Sure is,” Bill answered. “’That’s why we’re out walking in it, instead of sitting at home.”
George’s gaze shifted to me.