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Ramsey was still arguing as the car pulled into the drive before Shepheard's.

"We will do everything society expects of us," Elliott said. "You have the rest of eternity to search for your lost Queen."

"But what puzzles me is this," Ramsey insisted. He opened the door carelessly, almost wrenching one of the hinges. "If her cousin is wanted for high crimes, how can Julie dance at a ball as if this thing is not happening?"

"Under English law, my friend, a man is innocent until proved guilty," Elliott explained, accepting Ramsey's helping hand. "And publicly we presume Henry is innocent; and we know nothing of these atrocities, so in private we have done our duty as citizens of the Crown."

"Yes, you definitely should have been an adviser to a King," Ramsey said.

"Good Lord, look at that."

"What?"

"Just my son driving off with a woman. At a time like this!"

"Ah, but perhaps he is doing what society expects of him!" Ramsey said contemptuously, leading the way up the steps.

"Lord Rutherford, excuse me--your son said to tell you that he would see you tonight, at the opera."

"Thank you," Elliott said, with a short ironic laugh.

Elliott wanted only to sleep as he entered the sitting room of his suite. Some drunk he was going to be; he was already thoroughly bored with being inebriated. He wanted a clear head, though he understood the dangers.

Ramsey helped him to a chair.

He suddenly realized that they were alone. Samir had gone on to his own room; and Walter for the moment was nowhere about.

Elliott sat there, trying to collect his strength.

"And what do you do now, my lord?" Ramsey asked. He stood in the center of the room, studying Elliott. "You go back home to England after your precious opera ball, as if none of this ever happened?"

"Your secret's safe. It always was. No one would believe what I've seen. And I wish only to forget it, though I never will."

"And the lust for immortality has burnt itself out?"

Elliott thought for a moment. Then he answered in unhurried fashion, rather relieved himself at the resignation in his voice.

"Perhaps in death, I'll find what I seek, rather than what I deserve. There's always the chance of that." He smiled up at Ramsey, who appeared completely surprised by the response. "Now and then," Elliott continued, "I picture heaven as a vast library, with unlimited volumes to read. And paintings and statues to examine galore. I picture it as a great doorway to learning. Do you think the hereafter could be like that? Rather than one great dull answer to all our questions?"

Ramsey gave him a sad wondering smile.

"A heaven of man-made things. Like our ancient Egyptian heaven."

"Yes, I suppose so. A great museum. And a failure of the imagination."

"I think not."

"Oh, there are so many things I wanted to discuss with you, so much I wanted to know."

Ramsey didn't answer him. The man just stood there, looking at him; and Elliott had the weirdest sense of being listened to, studied. It made him aware of how inattentive most human beings were in general.

"But it's too late for all that." Elliott sighed. "My son Alex is the only immortality that matters to me now."

"You're a wise man. I knew that when I first looked into your eyes. And by the way, you are bad at treachery. You told me where you were keeping Cleopatra when you told me she'd slain Henry and his mistress. It had to have been the belly dancer's house. I played out your game with you. I wanted to see how far you'd go with it. But you gave yourself away. You are not so good at such things."

"Well, my brief career at them is over. Unless you want me to remain here when the children go home. But I don't see how a crippled, prematurely old man can help you. Do you?"

Ramsey seemed perplexed. "Why weren't you afraid of her when you saw her in the museum?" he asked.