Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

In his dream the figure came closer, until Rand could clearly see the icicle growing from the very center of his eye. Could tears freeze? They were salty, and the salt would keep them from freezing, wouldn’t it? His mind churned as the nightmare intensified.

He woke suddenly, remembering the dream and the eye.

In the morning he phoned Parkinson at his unlisted number. “Two questions — do you still have people watching Pryzic?”

“Of course, but I don’t know for how much longer. Last night he just hung around that bar, Seasons, where you drank with him.”

He’s waiting, Rand thought. “Second question — have you seen the autopsy report on Harold Sillabus?”

“Of course not! We’re hardly Scotland Yard. We don’t see autopsy reports except in highly unusual circumstances.”

“Get a copy of this one and call me back. I especially want to know if any ocular tissue or fluid was found in the wound.”

“What?”

“Get back to me,” Rand said and hung up.

It was an hour later when the phone rang. Rand scooped it up and heard Parkinson say, “Not a thing there. I spoke to the pathologist myself and he thought it very odd, considering the location of the wound. They’re doing a more detailed examination.”

“I’m coming in on the next train,” Rand decided. “Have someone meet me at Paddington Station.”

By a little after one, he’d joined Parkinson at the office. “What’s it all about, Rand?” the younger man asked.

“Can you tell me where Pryzic is right now?”

“At Seasons enjoying a pint.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. Garson Wolfe showed up at the Sillabus office about an hour ago, and he’s taken the Casey woman there for lunch. But they have a booth around the back, nowhere near Pryzic at the bar.”

Rand glanced at his watch, calculating the time it would take to reach Seasons. “Come on, Parkinson. I hope we’re not too late.”

“Too late for what? I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me what you’re up to.”

“Remember the binoculars at Sillabus’s office yesterday? He used them to look out the window in search of Pryzic. But I found that the left lens wasn’t in its proper position. No one could have used a pair of binoculars like that — except a one-eyed person.”

“What? What are you saying? Pryzic’s the man with one eye, not Sillabus!”

“Pryzic’s artificial eye is more noticeable simply because it was less skillfully made. The autopsy report confirmed what I already suspected. Sillabus was not stabbed through his left eye, because he didn’t have a left eye. He was stabbed through the empty socket after the eye was removed.”

“Rand, what are you saying? Two men with artificial eyes?”

“Of course. All those years of the Cold War, Sillabus managed to pass secrets to Pryzic without detection, even while under surveillance. Their trick was as simple as it was bizarre. They exchanged their artificial eyes.”

When they reached Seasons, Pryzic was still seated at the bar, wearing a tunic much like the one he’d been wearing two days earlier. Parkinson nodded slightly toward two middle-aged women at a nearby table — obviously today’s minders assigned to Pryzic — and then continued on to the rear room of the establishment. Janice Casey was just paying the bill at their booth. Across from her, Garson Wolfe seemed startled to see Rand again.

“Well,” he said, turning his gaze to Janice Casey. “Is this something you arranged?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you tell the police I’d threatened you?”

“I’m not police,” Rand told him. “I know nothing about any threats. Maybe I should.”

“He said he’d sue me if I went ahead with the Sillabus booklet on his softwear cipher.” She handed the payment to their waitress and waved her away. “You’ll have to excuse us now. I must get back to the office.”

Rand moved to her side, not certain what to do. Behind him, Wolfe was growing more disturbed. He’d seen Parkinson now, and was certain something was wrong.

As the four of them moved through the dining room and past the bar, Rand felt as if everything was coming together too quickly. The middle-aged women were leaving their table, Garson Wolfe was turning to stare at them—

And suddenly Janice Casey stepped to the bar and offered the barmaid a five-pound note. “Could you break this for me, please?”

“Yes, certainly.”

Janice Casey stood beside Pryzic while she waited for her change, but they didn’t speak. He lifted his glass and drained it as she accepted the five one-pound coins and turned away.

Rand moved quickly, catching Pryzic’s hand as it slid along the edge of the bar. In the doorway, Janice Casey saw what was happening and bolted into the street. “Get her, Parkinson!” Rand shouted.

His hands were busy with Pryzic, loosening his grip on the small wrapped object that had been stuck to the underside of the bar. He tore away the cloth and held it in the palm of his hand.

“That’s an eyeball!” Garson Wolfe said with a gasp.