Danny Tapscott wiped his hands on the dirty rag and stuffed it in the back pocket of his coveralls as he walked out to the pump island to wait on the driver who had just pulled in. He offered a smile and opened the gas tank, unscrewed the cap and inserted the pump hose.

"Fill 'er?"

"Please, Danny. Takin' the family to the lake tomorrow, so might as well start out prepared."

"Bring me some fish this time," Danny teased. "Last time all I got was a five-inch rock bass."

"You still got Marion to cook it for you."

"She felt sorry for you."

"She still feelin' sorry for you?"

Danny topped up the tank and hung the hose back up, closing the lid and wiping the side of the fender where some gas had dripped down.

"Not a subject for discussion, Fred. That's twenty-six bucks."

Danny watched his customer drive off and ambled back to the garage office. The telephone rang just as he climbed under the car he was working on and he cursed, rolling back out from beneath and hurrying across to the phone.

"Danny? It's Marion. Have you got a minute?"

He lifted a haunch onto the desk and asked her what was up.

"I was wondering if you might be interested in some dinner... I ah- I want to talk to you about something."

"Gee, Marion, I don't think I'm ready to settle down yet."

"I'm serious, Danny."

He stood up, the smile drying on his face. "Sure. Is everything okay?"

"Seven good for you?"

"Seven's fine." He stared at the cluttered office wall. "See you then."

                                                         ><><><><

Danny worked the cork out of the wine bottle he brought as his contribution to the meal while Marion finished stirring the sauce for a veal dish.

"I have to say, Marion, accepting this meal is giving me a lot of trouble. I'm not sure just what I'm getting into here."

"I need a big favour, Danny, and you are the only person I know who might be able to help me."

"Oh... so this isn't...?" His voice held a tease.

She smiled shyly. "No, but don't think that it couldn't be. You're the only man I've really spoken to at any length since Ned left."

He took a couple of glasses from the rack on the counter and poured the wine, taking them to the table and sitting down. Marion grabbed her spatula and slid the veal onto the plates, covered it with the sauce from the pan, carried them to the table, then brought two bowls of vegetables. She took off her apron, checked the stove and sat down beside him.

"Help yourself. The rice is hot right now but it cools quickly."

They busied themselves filling their plates and tasting the food with comfortable pleasure.

"Delicious, Marion. The wine okay?"

"Fine." She sipped some as if to confirm her enthusiasm. "I- can we eat first and then have our talk over coffee?"

"This is your party." He took another mouthful of veal and chewed happily.

The meal lasted about twenty minutes and they left the dishes on the table and retired to the front porch with their coffee and a plate of biscuits.

"Okay, Marion, what's this favour?"

"First, I need to tell you a story."

                                                            ><><><><

The moon was dodging slivers of black cloud, and its path across the front yard to the porch came and went with irregularity. Danny held his coffee mug between two fingers, leaning on his thighs, and studied the wooden boards under his feet. Marion watched him with concern. He knew a great deal of information, and if he chose not to help—if she had misjudged—things could go terribly wrong.

"Have I made a mistake?"

He turned his face toward her and saw the moonlight bathe one half of hers, making her look both beautiful and mysterious.

"Your story aside, I'm blown away with the fact that you would remember that I had a cousin in that field. When did I tell you that? Ten years ago?"

"I remembered because I had just returned from the East Coast visiting my relatives, and you told me you had relatives out there as well and who they were. It just stuck... and it was only three years ago."

"No way!"

"I was in your garage for a set of tires. It was just a little over three years, Danny."

"Jesus, I could have sworn..."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't make a mistake, Marion, but I haven't spoken to her in years; I don't know if she'd even remember me."

"But that is her field, right?"

"It was." He sat back and puffed out a noisy breath. "Okay, I'll call her, but no promises."

"Thanks, Danny. I didn't know what else to do."

"I think I should have a copy of that letter to send her, and it might be a good idea to mention this Walter guy as well. I know you said he was sick but..."

"I don't know where he went."

"That'll be her problem if she should even pay attention to us. Hell, I don't know if she's even doing the same job any more."

"I'll bring a copy to the garage tomorrow." Marion took his mug and went inside, returning a few minutes later with a refill. She sat back down and smiled timidly. "I hope you don't have to leave right away... it's been nice... talking to someone like this."

"I'm in no hurry. I haven't had company myself for some time... and as for a good meal..." He sipped from his mug and cleared his throat. "I wish we could have done this a lot sooner."

She looked at her hands and pursed her lips. "It's been tough since Ned- I kind of shied away from men... from any relationship really."

"Well, if you find you're ready to try again, I'd be more than pleased for a chance."

"That's a statement you could possibly regret, Danny." She smiled warmly, and even the moonlight couldn't improve her lovely image.

                                                              ><><><><

The letter arrived at Congress headquarters and the secretary delivered it straight to her boss, Professor Chester Stilton. For just over fifty years, Professor Stilton had been in the employ of the Congress of International Antiquities, advancing to head of the North American division, and for the past eight years, battling pressure to retire. He turned from the window, his trademark pipe clenched in his teeth—no longer lit due to health concerns—and fingered the envelope she had placed on his desk.

His interest suddenly piqued, he set the introductory page aside and read the copy of Chad Kent's letter addressed to one, Ned Basker. When he finished reading, Chester opened his desk drawer, dug out a packet of tobacco and matches, and began building a smoke for his pipe. Well lit and giving off plumes of bluish cloud, he re-read the letter then buzzed his secretary and had her put through a call to the European division offices. There was a moment of suspicious scolding as he lied about lighting his pipe.