They had done a wonderful job on him in Mexico City, but why not? Their doctors, technicians, hospitals, painters, architects are as good as ours. Sometimes a little better. A Mexican cop invented the paraffin test for powder nitrates. They couldn't make Terry's face perfect, but they had done plenty. They had even changed his nose, taken out some bone and made it look flatter, less Nordic. They couldn't eliminate every trace of a scar, so they had put a couple on the other side of his face too. Knife scars are not uncommon in Latin countries. "They even did a nerve graft up here," he said, and touched what had been the bad side of his face. "How close did I come?" "Close enough. A few details wrong, but they are not important. It was a quick deal and some of it was improvised and I didn't know myself just what was going to happen. I was told to do certain things and to leave a clear trail. Mendy didn't like my writing to you, but I held out for that. He undersold you a little. He never noticed the bit about the mailbox." "You know who killed Sylvia?" He didn't answer me directly. "It's pretty tough to turn a woman in for murder—even if she never meant much to you." "It's a tough world. Was Harlan Potter in on all this?" He smiled again. "Would he be likely to let anyone know that? My guess is not. My guess is he thinks I am dead. Who would tell him otherwise—unless you did?" "What I'd tell him you could fold into a blade of grass. How's Mendy these days—or is he?" "He's doing all right. In Acapulco. He slipped by because of Randy. But the boys don't go for rough work on cops. Mendy's not as bad as you think. He has a heart." "So has a snake." "Well, what about that gimlet?" I got up without answering him and went to the safe. I spun the knob and got out the envelope with the portrait of Madison on it and the five C notes that smelled of coffee. I dumped the lot out on the desk and then picked up the five C notes. "These I keep. I spent almost all of it on expenses and research. The portrait of Madison I enjoyed playing with, It's all yours now." I spread it on the edge of the desk in front of him. He looked at it but didn't touch it. "It's yours to keep," he said. "I've got plenty. You could have let things lie." "I know. After she killed her husband and got away with it she might have gone on to better things. He was of no real importance, of course. Just a human being with blood and a brain and emotions. He knew what happened too and he tried pretty hard to live with it. He wrote books. You may have heard of him." "Look, I couldn't very well help what I did," he said slowly. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I wouldn't have had a dog's chance up here. A man can't figure every angle that quick. I was scared and I ran. What should I have done?" "I don't know." "She had a mad streak. She might have killed him anyway." "Yeah, she might." "Well, thaw out a little. Let's go have a drink somewhere where it's cool and quiet." "No time right now, Se.or Maioranos." "We were pretty good friends once," he said unhappily. "Were we? I forget. That was two other fellows, seems to me. You permanently in Mexico?" "Oh yes. I'm not here legally even. I never was. I told you I was born in Salt Lake City. I was born in MontreaL I'll be a Mexican national pretty soon now. All it takes is a good lawyer. I've always liked Mexico. It wouldn't be much risk going to Victor's for that gimlet." "Pick up your money, Se.or Maioranos. It has too much blood on it." "You're a poor man." "How would you know?" He picked the bill up and stretched it between his thin fingers and slipped it casually into an inside pocket. He bit his lip with the very white teeth you can have when you have a brown skin. "I couldn't tell............