An Evil Guest by Gene Wolfe

any. Just said that he asked for it back.”
    “A long black box . . . No further description?”
    Cassie signaled to the waitress, who brought them more coffee. When she had gone, Cassie said, “I told you it sounded like the box it was in when he gave it to me. If that’s right, it’s about this long and covered with black leather. It was lined with white silk, or something like that.”
    “You handled it?”
    “No,” Cassie said. “I mean yes. Yes, I did. He gave it to me and I took the ribbon off and opened it. Then I took the bracelet out and handed the box back to him. He must have put it in his pocket.”
    “Was it heavy?”
    “The bracelet or the box? The bracelet was as heavy as lead. I don’t know about the box.”
    “You handled it,” Gideon said, “even if it was only for a moment. Please try to remember. This is important.”
    “I’m trying. I remember how heavy it felt when he handed it to me. I couldn’t imagine what it was. Then the bracelet . . . You know, I think it was. I think the box was heavy, too. You shouldn’t smirk.”
    “Was I smirking? I apologize.” Gideon sipped his coffee. “He may give that bracelet back to you. I doubt it, but he may. If he does, don’t wear it more than you have to, and get in touch with me right away.”
    “Do you carry a cell phone? You must.”
    Gideon nodded.
    “I want the number. I was trying to get in touch with you last night, before you called me. I couldn’t reach you.”
    “You tend to be indiscreet on the telephone. That’s why I haven’t given you the number.”
    “I won’t be. Never again.” Cassie raised a hand. “Honest Injun. And I won’t pester you for dates.”
    Gideon grinned. “Pity.”
    “Oh, you want to be pestered? Then you will be. But I’ve got to have the number.”
    He took out a business card and wrote it on the back; his numerals, while somewhat stylized, were as neat and disciplined as print.
    “Thanks. You said you had more questions. All right, Dr. Chase, let fly.”
    “If you’re going to ask me for a date,” Gideon said, “you really should use my first name.”
    “Fine. I will. In a day or two, I’ll be calling you Giddy. What are the questions?”
    “I suppose I invited that. Very well. I don’t think you can possibly know the answer to the first one; but it’s by far the most important, and if you have speculations I’d like to hear them. Why did Reis give you a bracelet and take it back?”
    Cassie stared. “I have no idea. I was so happy to get rid of it that I didn’t even think about that.”
    “Do so now.”
    In the momentary silence that followed, the waitress laid a small blank book and a pen on the table in front of Cassie. “It’s not for me,” the waitress explained, “it’s for Ida. She collects them, only she’s not your waitress and she’s shy. Could you sign it for her? Best of luck, Ida? Something like that?”

SEVEN

STAY TUNED
    Much impeded by traffic, they drove from the House of Toast to Barclays Bank. When they had at last completed their business, Gideon took Cassie to her building on West Arbor, and at her insistence let her out at the curb. Parking places were hard to find at that hour; but he found one, walked four long blocks back to her building, and stationed himself across the street for a time.
    There he thought about a great many things, including (but far from limited to) a sculptor of ancient Greece and the beautiful woman George Bernard Shaw had called Galatea. “I could reverse it,” he told himself, “but time and chance will do that soon enough.” As soon as he spoke, he knew that for him no reversal would have the least effect.
    Returning to the brown convertible, he drove to his own Pine Crest Towers several miles away, where he parked in the space assigned to him. A doorman smiled, nodded, and touched his cap. “Professor Chase.”
    There seemed to be nothing wrong. Why then, he asked himself, did he feel so utterly certain that something