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I regarded him steadily, resisted a glance at my watch, and said, “You have me at a loss, sir.”

His smile vanished. “I have a considerable private collection of Nepalese art. It includes, for instance, an ancient, wonderfully wrought kirtmukha cheppu. Someday I will have to find a home, a more permanent home for what I have.”

I nodded noncommittedly and dissembled a sudden wariness. It is true that museums and like institutions become cravenly acquisitive when there is some extraordinary piece or collection up for grabs. Especially if it comes with a generous endowment. But more often than not, people in my position are faced with a bereaved widow relating how, above all else, her late husband wanted his collection of Mexican dolls or Siamese elephant miniatures or genuine antique primitive African art to go to the musuem.

Or there are those gentlemen looking for a massive tax write-off for the Japanese swords or hand-sewn quilts they find in the attic that some “expert” has described as “priceless.”

Or there are those instances when the donor wants to supervise the care and display of his or her gift. Just last week I had to patch up yet another dispute between Feidhlimidh de Buitliér, the curator of our small but exquisite Greco-Roman Collection, and Heinrich von Grümh, the Honorary Curator of the Greco-Roman Coin Collection he donated. Von Grümh bullied and charmed me into naming him to that position, a decision I have regretted ever since.

So, when presented with well-intentioned individuals bearing gifts and expecting gratitude, my office in most cases is to explain, as tactfully as I can, that the MOM must move slowly on acquisitions given the limitations on storage space, display space, curatorial time, preservation, insurance, and the like.

When I began to make this clear to Mr. Bain, he failed to hide a flash of angry incredulity. “I can assure you, Mr. de Ratour, that I have collected the best there is on my journeys to that elevated nation.” Then he relented. “But that is in the future. I understand your position. You must play keeper of the goal.”

I said nothing. And when he responded with a like silence, I made a point of looking at my watch. He gave me a dismissive smile. He said, “You have quite an operation here, Mr. de Ratour. I mean the museum, of course, but also the laboratories and the Pavilion …” He paused. “I’m acquainted with Professor Chard. We have friends in common …”

“Indeed,” I said, bemused now.

“I understand he is on a trip somewhere in South America …”

“As a matter of fact, he’s up at the headwaters of the Rio Sangre, a tributory to the Amazon. I just had a communication from him.”

“Indeed. And he is well?”

“Well enough, I gather.”

“I understand it’s dangerous territory …”

I nodded. Was this the purpose of his visit? I wondered. “Yes, but he reports everything is going well. And let’s hope it stays that way …”

“Excellent. Excellent.” As he spoke his smile appeared like a change of masks. He stood up. “I won’t take any more of your time, Mr. Ratour.”

I rose and took his extended hand, which was large and powerful. “Not at all,” I said.

“And please, if you would oblige me by letting me know when you hear from Professor Chard again. We are all most concerned for his welfare.”

He left me musing. But I decided not to dwell on the man or his visit. Corny attracts all sorts of strange individuals, as, indeed, does the museum.

In fact I have had other matters on my mind. I have been frustrated in attempts to learn anything really pertinent about the parties involved in the date rape case that came up this afternoon at the hearing before the Subcommittee on Appropriateness. At the same time, details came to light that lead me to believe it has a bearing on the Ossmann-Woodley murders.

We met in one of those of those soul-less little rooms that honeycomb Grope Tower. A platter of donuts was set on the largish square table around which, with our coffees, we exchanged pleasantries awaiting what Izzy Landes has