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slumming with the academics。 He quickened his pace。 Now the buildings were less elegant； plainer； but still neat and trim。 He was getting into the Columbia University neighborhood； with its students and their baggy clothes； a kid shouting down from a window to some other kid on the sidewalk； tossing down a book。 D'Agosta wondered what his life would have been like if he'd e from a family that had sent him to college。 He might be a big…time writer by now。 Maybe the critics would have liked his books more。 You made a lot of contacts in the right college； and a hell of a lot of thoseNew York Times critics seemed to e from Columbia。 And they all reviewed each other's books。 The damnTimes Book Review was like a private club。
He shook his head。 As his old Italian grandfather used to say； it wasacqua passata。
He paused at 122nd Street to catch his breath。 He had reached the northern fringe of Columbia。 Ahead was International House； standing like the last outpost on the edge of the frontier。 Beyond was no…man's…land。
And the numbers were only up to 550。
Shit。He checked his watch。 Ten past eight。 He'd hiked a mile。 He'd done his duty for the day。 He still had plenty of time； but he was no longer enjoying himself。 And this far uptown； there was zero chance of getting a cab。 There were still one or two students in view； but there were also crowds of kids loitering on stoops； watching him pass； sometimes giving a little hiss or muttering something。 He now realized that 891 Riverside would be somewhere around 135th Street； if not a little farther。 He could make it in another ten minutes…and he would still be early…but it meant walking into the heart of Harlem。
Once again he pulled the card from his pocket。 There was the address； in Pendergast's elegant script。 It seemed impossible。 But there could be no mistake。
He left the bright oasis of International House behind； neither hurrying nor loitering。 There was no reason for him to be nervous： not in uniform and packing his Glock 9mm。
As he walked on； the neighborhood changed abruptly。 Gone now were the students； the bustle of activity。 The streetlights were broken； the apartment facades dim。 It became quiet； almost deserted。 At 130th Street； D'Agosta passed an empty mansion； one of the really old ones： the tin ripped off the empty window frames； the very frame of the building exhaling a smell of mold and urine into the street。 A junkie palace。 The next block contained a single…room…occupancy 〃hotel；〃 the inhabitants sitting on the stoop and drinking beer。 They fell silent and watched him go by with bleary eyes。 A dog barked incessantly。
Though plenty of antiquated cars lined the curb…battered； windowless； sometimes even wheelless…there were fewer cars on the road now。 An ancient； microscopic Honda Accord CVCC passed by； so rusted its original color was impossible to discern。 A minute or so later it was followed by a gold Impala with smoked windows。 It seemed to D'Agosta that it slowed as it went past。 He watched as it took the next right。
A gold Impala。 There must be a million of them in the city。 Hell； he was starting to get paranoid。 All that soft living in Southampton 。 。 。
He continued steadily on； passing rows of abandoned buildings； old mansions broken into apartments and SROs。 Dogshit littered the sidewalk now； along with garbage and broken bottles。 Most of the streetlights were out…shooting at them was a favorite gang pastime…and with the city's general neglect of this area； it took forever to get them repaired。
He was now approaching the hard…core center of western Harlem。 It seemed incredible that Pendergast had a place here： the guy was eccentric； but notthat eccentric。 The next block； 132nd； was pletely dark； every streetlight out； the two remaining buildings on the block abandoned and boarded up。 Even the lights on the park side had been blown away。 It was a perfect muggers' block…except no one in his right mind would ever walk there at night。
D'Agosta reminded himself he was packing； in full uniform； with a radio。 He shook his head。 What a wimp he'd bee。 He strode resolutely forward； down the dark block。
That was when he noticed a car behind him； moving slowly。 Waytoo slowly。 As it passed under the last streetlight； D'Agosta saw the gleam of gold…the same Chevy Impala that had nearly taken off his toes on West 61st Street。
D'Agosta may have forgotten the street address formula； but his NYPD cop radar remained in perfect working order； and now it went off loudly。 The car was moving at precisely the speed that would bring it next to D'Agosta at the middle of the dark block。
It was an ambush。
D'Agosta made an instant decision。 Breaking into a sudden run； he cut left and sprinted across the street in front of the approaching car。 He heard the screeching acceleration of the tires； but he had moved too quickly and was already heading into Riverside Park by the time the car squealed to a stop along the curb。
As he sprinted into the darkness of the trees； he saw both doors open simultaneously。
13
The door to the tenth…floor suite at the Sherry NetherlandHotel was opened by an English butler so impeccably outfitted he seemed to have stepped from the pages of a Wodehouse novel。 He bowed to Pendergast； standing to one side。 The man's double…breasted Prince Albert frock coat was immaculately brushed； and when he moved； his starched white shirtfront rustled faintly。 One white…gloved hand took Pendergast's coat； the other held out a silver tray。 Without hesitation； Pendergast reached into his pocket； removed a slim gold card case； and placed his card on the tray。
〃If the gentleman would kindly wait。〃 The butler gave another slight bow and disappeared into a long hallway； carrying the tray before him。 There was the soft opening of a door； the faint sound of clicking and hammering。 Another； farther door was opened。 Minutes later the butler returned。
〃If the gentleman will follow me；〃 he said。
Pendergast followed the butler into a wood…paneled sitting room； where he was greeted by a birch fire； flickering merrily within a large fireplace。
〃The gentleman is wele to seat himself where he pleases；〃 the butler said。
Pendergast； always attracted to heat； chose the red leather chair nearest the fire。
〃The count will be available momentarily。 Would the gentleman care for amontillado？〃
〃Thank you。〃
The butler retreated noiselessly and reappeared less than thirty seconds later； bearing a tray on which reposed a single crystal glass half filled with a pale amber liquid。 He set it on the nearby table and； just as noiselessly； was gone。
Pendergast sipped the dry； delicate liquid and gazed about the room with growing interest。 It had been furnished in exquisite and yet understated taste； managing to be both fortable and beautiful at the same time。 The floor was covered with a rare Safavid carpet of Shah Abbassid design。 The fireplace was old； carved from gray Florentinepietra serena ； and it bore the crest of an ancient and noble family。 The table that held his glass also bore an interesting array of items： several pieces of old silver； an antique gasogene； some lovely Roman glass perfume b