The desk clerk had recognized Ben as well, even through a week-old beard. He took a step backward; the look on his face, not surprisingly, was one of abject terror.

"Wait!" Ben crossed the lobby more quickly than he would have thought possible. "I ain't one o' the bad guys. Really! I'm sorry 'bout what happened. I only came back to see if you're OK."

The older man - fiftyish, Ben took him to be - paused, considering that. He must have decided Ben had an honest look. His voice shook only slightly when he said, "I'm all right. Had a mild heart attack, but I'm fine now. You don't look so OK yourself, though."

They were alone in the seedy lobby, so Ben didn't hesitate to reply. "Got in a fight with a bigger guy."

That got the man's attention. "The one who was here? I figured out that he wasn't a cop, and he was the one who wanted to hurt Scudder."

"Not a fight with him. With the even tougher guy he works for." Works or worked. I wonder if anyone's knocked Stroud off yet?

"Shit. What's become of Scudder?"

The less said on that subject, Ben decided, the better. "I don't know where he is now."

The desk clerk nodded. "I won't pry. Scudder had secrets he didn't want anyone to know, and I respect that. But can you tell me how you fit in? I've heard that you and Scudder left together. That it looked like he was going with you of his own free will. And" - here the man was shaking his head in disbelief - "that his face had been restored. Can that possibly be true?"

"Uh, yeah," Ben said uncomfortably. "But the explanation's part o' the stuff he wouldn't want you to know."

"And you? Who are you? What was your interest in Scudder?"

"Tell me yours first."

The man smiled for the first time, in admiration of Ben's caution. "I just knew him as a quiet, harmless soul who wouldn't hurt a fly, but had enemies out to kill him. I had no idea why. When he thought he was in such a desperate spot that he needed to burn his face off, I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. That's all it was."

"Was he really doin' some kind o' work for you in that office, or just hidin' there an' posin'?"

"Working," the man said immediately. "I found work he could do, and let him live in there, secretly, after he got out of the room where he'd burned himself." He extended a hand in greeting. "Name's Samuel Hyland, by the way."

Shaking warmly, Ben said, "Mine's Harry Clayton." That was the alias he was using, to honor his father and the presumed-dead Clayton Jones, and it was just too damn bad if anyone recognized it as almost the same one he'd used in New Canaan.

"Harry," Samuel Hyland repeated thoughtfully, lingering on the syllables. "A nickname for Henry. That's some coincidence, isn't it?"

Ben was discovering he liked this man. With one of his rare grins, he admitted, "Ain't no coincidence at all, it's an alias."

"And you are -? Really?"

"Scudder's son." He figured Hyland had guessed it already. "Ben Hawkins."

"Hmm." Hyland thought that over for a few seconds, then said quietly, "Scudder told me his son might show up here someday, when he was dead and gone. He said I'd recognize him, because his son would, of course, know his own name. I'd like to believe you're his son, but that name isn't the one he told me."

Ben had a sudden, tingling sensation that this mattered. But he had given Hyland his true name!

Might Hack have expected his son to introduce himself as Ben Scudder? That didn't seem likely. It wasn't his legal name, and his father was aware he never used it.

Then inspiration struck. "I know what you mean. My name is Ben Krohn Hawkins. That middle name is spelled K-R-O-H-N." Ben was sure it was Emma Scudder's maiden name. Hack must have been the one who wanted it included in his legal name, so it was understandable he would have viewed it as important.

But Hyland was shaking his head. "Sorry. I want to believe you're Scudder's son, but I can't do it unless you give me that son's full name."

Full?

And suddenly, he got it. "Shit." Now he was shaking his own head, making a face. "You mean the name I hate, the one I ain't used in so many years I damn near forgot about it. I'm Benedict Krohn Hawkins!"

Hyland broke into a wide smile. "That's it! Hack said no one would be likely to guess it, because Benjamin is so much more common than Benedict."

"Yeah, an' it ain't no secret why. All the kids in school razzed me 'bout bein' named for the traitor Benedict Arnold. I shucked the name soon's I could, but the razzin' didn't let up for years."

That, he recalled, had been one of his many grievances against his absent father. His mother had told him his father had insisted their child be given that name, for no better reason than that it had "come to him in a dream before you were born." I s'pose he might o' dreamed somethin' worse, but the only worse name I can think of is freakin' Judas.

Hyland leaned across the desk and gripped Ben's arm. The look on his face now suggested that the youth's full name was a magic phrase like Open Sesame. "Come in the back office with me, son. It'll only take me a minute to find someone to cover the desk. Your pa left things here - probably had to, when the two of you needed to get away fast. But I know he wanted you to have those things."

Ben hesitated, but decided there was no reason to think he'd be walking into danger. Hyland took him into the office, then showed his trust by leaving him alone there while he rounded up a substitute desk clerk.

Ben saw the marks of Stroud's ax still on the door, and shivered.

But unpleasant associations were forgotten when Hyland came back in, locked the door, and hauled a beat-up suitcase out of the closet. Ben sensed at once that it contained something more interesting than his father's soiled laundry.

"All yours," Hyland announced. "You can stay in here as long as you like to go through it - and, of course, take it with you when you leave. If you decide to leave."

Ben looked up. "Huh? 'If'? What do you mean?"

"Ah, if you don't mind my saying so, Ben, you look as if you've been down on your luck lately. And came out of that fight in bad shape, though I hope the bad guy came out worse." Hyland smiled, then continued kindly, "I haven't been able to hire anyone else to do the light clerical work Hack was doing, and it really was important. The job is just as much yours as the suitcase, if you want it. Plus the room for sleeping. It's not much, but it was good enough for your pa, and his enemies aren't likely to come back to the same place. The pay isn't much either, but I'm sure we could come to terms."

Ben was struck speechless. The only person who'd ever taken the initiative in offering him a job was Samson, and he'd been prompted by Belyakov, who had an ulterior motive.

At last he mumbled, "Thank you. But I don't think I could do no clerical work."

"I'm sure you could," Hyland told him. "It's not hard, and I'd teach you myself."

Ben's eyes felt suspiciously moist. So my pa finally did run into one man who's good an' decent. His friends warn't all like Evander Geddes.

"Thank you," he said again, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. "I'll think about it." He already knew he couldn't desert Ruthie, or support her and Gabe on what he'd earn here. But what a blessing it would have been to have a safe, quiet job for a while, in a place where he was respected and didn't have to demean himself day in and day out!

"Yes, think it over." Something in Hyland's eyes told Ben he'd already read him well enough to know what the answer would be. "But first, take all the time you need to explore that suitcase!"