30

I set the teakettle on my desk and examined it from every angle. No secret compartments that I could see.

I pulled out my pocket knife, flipped out the heavy blade, and scraped away a layer of metal. All I got for my trouble was more metal. No gold underneath here, not unless some medieval alchemist had found a way to turn it back to lead. I scraped a few bumps off the handle, but they were just that, bumps, not jewels.

I leaned back in my chair and considered the possibilities. Maybe this wasn’t the actual teakettle. Maybe somebody had substituted this worthless piece of junk for the real thing. Or maybe the teakettle had some other significance. Maybe it was the key to some illicit drug-smuggling ring. Maybe it had come into the country loaded with opium.

I picked it up and turned it over. On the bottom I discovered what appeared to be more Persian writing. I had a hunch it probably said “Made in Japan,” but I copied the inscription into my notebook anyway.

Just then the phone rang. It was Roger, so excited I had to hold the phone away from my ear to keep his word balloons from stinging my earlobes when they came zipping out. “It worked just the way you said it would,” he bellowed. “I positioned myself just outside Little Rock’s gallery. I could see Little Rock through the gallery window. You had been gone maybe an hour when he got a phone call. He talked a few moments and hung up, quite upset. He rushed out and got into his car. You’ll never guess who he went to see.”

I knew perfectly well, but I let Roger surprise me anyway. “I can’t imagine.”

“Sid Sleaze!” Roger exclaimed. “He stayed in there with Sleaze for the better part of an hour.”

“Did he have something with him when he came out?” I asked. “A small box, or maybe an envelope?”

I could tell from Roger’s silence I had just impressed the fuzzy socks off him. “As a matter of fact, he did,” Roger said reverentially. “It was a large envelope. He took it with him to his house. I’m calling from a phone booth nearby. What do you want me to do?”

I got the address. “Wait for me there,” I said. I’ll be right over. And, Roger, one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“It’s all downhill, now.”

On the way to Little Rock’s, I stopped first at the Persian deli. I bought a falafel sandwich and gave Abou Ben a copy of the writing on the bottom of the teakettle. He promised to have his uncle translate it for me that evening.

Next I stopped by to see a scientist friend of mine. I gave him the teakettle and asked him to analyze the composition of its metal and any residue it might contain. The scientist informed me a thorough examination would take a couple of days. I told him I didn’t have a couple of days. Or rather, Roger’s doppel didn’t have a couple of days. I wanted to have this case wrapped up airtight before that little guy expired. I owed him that.

The scientist told me he’d do what he could.