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Berenice giggled。 〃You're cute when you're stern。 No 。 。 。 I guess not； but art； it seems to me； is supposed to be for everybody； not just for those critics you mentioned 。 。
I put down the spoon and wiped my lips on a paper napkin。 〃Whales are for everybody； too； sweetheart。 But not everybody studies whales as a lifetime occupation。 That's the big difference you don't seem to understand。〃
〃All right。〃 She shrugged。 〃I still think there's something you haven't told me about all this。〃
I grinned。 〃There is。 In return for Debierue's address I've got to do a favor for Mr。 Cassidy…〃
〃The lawyer who told you about Debierue？〃
〃Yeah。〃 I nodded。 〃And what I'm telling you is 'privileged information；' as Cassidy would put it。 It's between you and Mr。 Cassidy and these ice cream sodas。〃
〃You can trust me； James。〃 Her face softened。 〃You can trust me with your life。〃
〃I know。 And in a way it is my life。 Anyway； Mr。 Cassidy gave me privileged information…where Debierue is living… and all I have to do in return is to steal a picture for him。〃
〃Steal a picture？ Why can't he buy one？ He's rich enough。〃
〃Debierue doesn't sell his pictures。 I explained all that。 If Cassidy gets a picture； even one that's been stolen； he'll be the only collector in the world to have one； you see。〃
〃What good will it do him？ If it's a stolen picture； Debierue can get it back by calling the police。〃
〃Debierue won't know he has it； and neither will anyone else…until after Debierue's dead； anyway。 Then the picture will be even more valuable。〃
〃How're you going to steal a picture without Debierue knowing it was you？〃
〃I don't know yet。 I'm playing things by ear at the moment。 It might not be a picture。 If he's working with ceramics； I can slip a piece in my pocket while you distract him。 Maybe there are some drawings around。 Mr。 Cassidy would be satisfied with a drawing。 In fact he'd be delighted。 But until I find out what Debierue has been doing； I won't know what to do myself。〃
〃But you want me to help you？〃
〃If you want to； yes。 He can't watch both of us at the same time； and he's an old man。 So when a chance es； and it will； I'll give you the high sign and then I'll snatch something。〃
〃It's awfully haphazard； James； the way you say it。 Besides； as soon as we leave； he'll know that you're the one who stole it…whatever it is。〃
〃No。〃 I shook my head。 〃He won't know。 He'll suspect that I took it； but he won't be able to prove it。 I'll deny everything； if charged； and besides it'll never get that far。 Meanwhile； Mr。 Cassidy will have the painting； chunk of sculpture； drawing； or whatever； hidden away where Jesus Christ couldn't find it。 See？〃
〃Do you realize； James；〃 she said； rather primly； 〃that if you ever got caught stealing a painting from anybody that your career would be over？〃
〃Not really； and not； certainly； from Debierue。 His work； as you mentioned before about Van Gogh； belongs to the world…and if I were ever tried for something like that； which I wouldn't be…I'd have a defense fund from art lovers and art magazines that would make me look like a White Panther。 Anyway； that's the plan…in addition to somehow getting an interview； of course。〃
〃It isn't much of a plan。〃
〃True。 But now that you know what I have to do； you might get an idea once we're on the scene。 The important thing is this： don't take anything yourself。 I'll take it when the time is propitious。 I have to get the interview before anything else is done。〃
〃I understand。〃
The rain caught us before we reached Lake Worth。
There were torrents of it； and I could hardly see to drive。 Berenice； because of her suit； had to roll up her window； but it was too hot for me to roll up mine。 My left shoulder and arm got soaked； but with the humidity I would have been just as wet inside the car with the window rolled up。 The rain finally came down so hard I had to pull over to the curb in Lake Worth to wait for a letup。
Berenice was frowning。 〃How much；〃 she asked； 〃does a baby whale weigh when it's first born？〃
〃One ton。 And it's fourteen feet long。〃 I lit a cigarette and passed it to Berenice。 She shook her head and handed it back。 I took a long drag。 〃One ton；〃 I said solemnly； 〃is two thousand pounds。〃
〃I know how much a ton is！〃 she said angrily。 〃You… you…you damned intellectual； you！〃
I couldn't contain myself。 I had to laugh and ruin my joke。
2
I could have taken State Road Seven straight away by picking it up west of West Palm Beach； but because the old two…lane highway was used primarily by truck traffic barreling for Miami's back door； into Hialeah； I stayed on U。S。 1 all the way to Boynton Beach before searching for a through road to make the cutover。 I got lost for a few minutes and made several aimless circles where new blacktops had been crushed down for a subdivision called inappropriately Ocean Pine Terraces （miles from the ocean； no pines； no terraces）； but when I finally reached the state highway； it was freshly paved； and the truck traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected。
The rain； mercifully； had stopped。
My crude map was clear enough； but I had zipped past Debierue's turnoff to the Dixie Drive…in Movie Theater before I realized it。 The mixed dirt…and…gravel private road leading to Debierue's home…and…studio was clearly visible from the highway； and on the right of the highway about three hundred yards before the drive…in entrance； but I had failed to notice it。 I made a crimped circle in the deserted drive…in entrance and this time； from the other side of the highway； it was easy to spot the break。
Thick gama grass had reclaimed the deep wheel ruts of the road； and I crawled along in first gear。 The bumpy； rarely used trail straight…lined through a stand of secondgrowth slash pine for about a half mile and then made a sigmoid loop to circumvent two stinking stagnant ponds of black swamp water。 On the right of the road； abandoned chicken runs stretched into the jungly mass of greenery； and weeds had grown straight and tall along the sagging chicken…wire fences。 The unpainted wooden chickenhouses had weathered to an unpatterned dirty gray； and most of the roofs had caved in。 The narrow road petered out at an open peeled…pine gate。 I eased into the fenced area； with its untended； thickly grassed yard； which resembled a huge； brown bathmat； and pulled up in front of the screened porch of the house。
Paradoxically； I was awed by my first sight of the old painter。 I switched off the engine； and as it ticked heatedly away； I sat and stared。 I say 〃paradoxically〃 because Debierue in person was anything but awe inspiring。
He resembled any one of a thousand； no literally tens of thousands； of those tanned Florida retirees one sees on bridges fishing； on golf courses tottering； and on the shuffleboard courts of rest homes and public parks shuffling。 He even wore the uniform。 Green…billed khaki baseball cap； white denim Bermuda shorts； low…cut Zayre tennis shoes in pale blue canvas； and the standard white open…necked 〃polo〃 shirt with short sleeves。 The inevitable tiny green alligator was embroidered over the left pocket of the shirt； an emblem so mon in Florida that any Miami Beach edian could get a laugh by saying； 〃They caught an alligator in the Glades the other day； and he was wearing a shirt with a little man sewn over the pocket 。 。 。〃
But unlike those other thousands of old men who had retired to Florida in anticipation of a warm death； men who had earned their dubious retirement by running shoe stores； managing light…bulb plants in Amarillo； manufac turing condoms in Newark； hustling as harried sales managers in the ten western states； Debierue had served； and was still serving； the strictest master of them all…the selfdiscipline of the artist。
Debierue； apparently unperturbed by the arrival of a strange； beat…up convertible in his yard； sat limberly erect in a green…webbed； aluminum patio chair beside the porch door； soaking up late afternoon sun。 I was pleased to see that he was allowing his white beard to grow again （for several years he had been clean shaven）； but it was not as long and Melvillean as it had been in photos of the old artist taken in the twenties。
Physically； Debierue was asthenic。 Long…limbed； longbodied； slight； with knobby knees and elbows。 Advanced age had caused his thin shoulders to droop； of course； and there was a melony potbelly below his belt。 His sunbronzed skin； although it was wrinkled； gave the old man a healthy； almost robust appearance。 His keen blue eyes were alert and unclouded； and the great blade of his beaky French nose did not have those exposed； tiny red veins one usually associates with aged retirees in Florida。 His full； sensuous lips formed a fat grape…colored 〃O〃…a dark； plump circle encircled by white hair。 His blue stare； with which he returned mine； was incurious； polite； direct； and distant； but during the long unfortable moment we sat in silent confrontation； I detected an air of vigilance in his sharp old eyes。
As a critic I had learned early in the game how unwise it was to give too much weight or credence to first impressions； but under his steady； unwavering gaze I felt…I knew…that I was in the presence of a giant； which； in turn； made me feel like a violator； a criminal。 And if； in that first moment； he had pointed to the gate silently…without even saying 〃Get out！〃…I would have departed without uttering a word。
But such was not the case。
Berenice； her hands folded in her lap over her chamois drawstring handbag； sat quietly； and there she would sit until I got out of the car； walked around it； and opened the door on her side。
I was uninvited； an unexpected visitor； and it was up to me to break the frozen sea that divided us。 Apprehensively； and dangling the Land camera from its carrying strap on two fingers； I got out of the car and nodded politely。
〃Good afternoon； M。 Debierue；〃 I said in French； trying to keep my voice deep； like Jean Gabin； 〃at long last we meet！〃
Apparently he hadn't heard any French （and mine wasn't so bad） for a long time。 Debierue smiled…and what a wonderful； warmhearted smile he had！ His smile was so sweet； so sincere； so insinuating that my heart twisted with sudden pain。 It was a smile to shatter the world。 His ageruined mouth； purple lips and all； was beautiful when he smiled。 Several teeth were missing； both uppers and lowers； and those that remained gave a jack…o'…lantern effect to his generous mouth。 But the swift transformation from mournful resignation to rejuvenated； unrestrained happiness changed his entire appearance。 The grooved down…pointing lines in his face were twisted into swirling； upswept arabesques。 He rose stiffly from his chair as I approached； and shook a long forefinger at me in mock reproach。
〃Ah； M。 Figueras！ You have shaved your beard。 You must grow it back quickly！〃
His greeting me by name that way brought sudden moisture to my eyes。 He pumped my hand； the single up…anddown European handshake。 His long spatulate fingers were warm and dry。
〃You…you know me？〃 I said； in unfeigned astonishment。
He treated me to the first in a series of bona fide Gallic shrugs。 〃You； or another…〃 he said mysteriously； 〃and it is well that it is you。 I am familiar with your work； naturally； M。 Figueras。〃
I gulped like a tongue…tied teen…ager； abashed； not knowing what to say； and then noticed that he was looking past my shoulder toward Berenice。
〃Oh！〃 I said； running around the car； and helping Berenice out the door。 〃This is my friend； M。 Debierue； Mlle Hollis'
Berenice glared at me when I pronounced her name 〃Holee；〃 and said； 〃Hollis； Mr。 Debierue；〃 in English； 〃Berenice Hollis。 And it's a pleasure to meet you； sir。'；
Debierue kissed her hand； and I thought （I was probably oversensitive） he was a little uneasy； or put off by her presence。 He didn't know…and there was no unawkward way for me to enlighten him…whether she was truly just a friend； my mistress； my secretary； or a well…heeled art patron。 I decided to say nothing more。 He would be able to tell for himself by the way she looked at me and touched my arm from time to time that we were on