Desperation and Decision by Sophronia Belle Lyon Page A

near-sighted blue eyes. His beard
and hair were cornsilk yellow, somewhat darker than Trevor's, but
his tall frame and that familiar coloring created an odd attraction
in me for the stranger. He juggled a very fine old amber and
rosewood pipe and almost compounded the small crack in the bowl as
it spurted out of his long fingers onto my counter. Happily I
caught it and prevented further damage.
    "I can easily mend this, sir, but are you
certain you would not prefer a new one?" I waved at the good
assortment I had on display. He followed my hand motion a little
absent-mindedly but then snapped back to look straight into my
eyes.
    "Just got this one broke in," he said
laconically and gave me a lopsided grin, adjusting a pair of thick
gold-rimmed spectacles into place and peering at me for a long
moment. "You like my pipe and you want it for yourself, don't
you?"
    It was my turn to smile. "It is a very fine
pipe," I admitted. "I have not seen finer. I have a small personal
collection. I have not before today found a rosewood and amber I so
much desired to add to it. What will you take for it?"
    "I wouldn't take gold for that pipe," the
fellow retorted, and I would have thought him rude if I had not
already begun to like him so well. "You see this crooked tooth?" He
proceeded to show me and I politely pretended to look. "I just got
the pipe worn to the point where it fits that spot just so. Not for
ready money would I part with that pipe. How long will it take you
to repair it?"
    "I can have it ready by three o'clock today,"
I responded.
    "Good. I must endure a whole evening's
singing by a dear friend of my wife's tonight. I'll need a pipe
badly when the Phoebe-Bird's done tweeting and I can go quietly
back to the hotel."
    "The Phoebe-Bird?"
    He looked as if he meant to leap across the
counter and hug me. I took a step backward and he laughed, a great
honest laugh that made me laugh as well.
    "So you've never heard of Phoebe Moore? Never
knew she's ending a concert series just down the street
tonight?"
    "I confess I have not the means to attend
live concerts, sir," I admitted. Any money I earned went straight
into stock or the club fittings.
    "She could sell recordings, now couldn't
she?" The man mused in his eccentric way. "Wonder why Archie hasn't
thought of that one?" He gave me a narrow look. "Then I s'pose
you've not heard of the celebrated composer and poet Alexander
Mackenzie Campbell either, who is condemned to appear at that same
closing concert? He must sit through the entire evening because he
was fool enough to write one idiotic song she insists on closing
every show with."
    I suppressed a smile. "I cannot say that I
have, sir," I responded soberly, though I was beginning to think
that, just perhaps, I now had heard of that longsuffering poet.
    "God bless you for that, sir. I shall return
for my pipe at three promptly, and in the meantime shall miss it
sorely." He gave it a last fond caress and shambled out of the
shop. I caught a glimpse of an enchanting lady, tiny and clad in
royal blue. She was golden-haired and led three small children up
to the gawky American outside the shop. She stretched up on tiptoe
with clear blue eyes fixed on the homely giant as he leaned down.
In front of all London she unashamedly kissed him.

    I was just closing up the shop for the
evening, only a little disappointed that a servant had come to pick
up and pay for the rosewood and amber pipe. As I checked the lock
on the front door an old-fashioned mail coach pulled up in front.
Something struck me as very odd about it, though I couldn't at
first say what. London was a noisy city, but I realized this great
coach and six had come up behind me without a sound. The driver
hopped down from the box. He was a slim, wiry fellow with flaming
red hair sticking out at all angles beneath a small scuffed brown
bowler. His face was narrow and came almost to a point with his
turned-up nose. Black, beady eyes swept over me and he slapped a
whip trailing