``That important?'' Felix asked.

``That important.''

``Grubb,'' Felix whispered.

``Felix Grubb?'' Gibby asked, not bothering to whisper.

``Shh,'' Felix implored. ``I cann't see what would make it necessary for you to know. Nothing could make it necessary to proclaim it to the whole world.''

Obligingly Gibby lowered his voice. ``Felix Grubb?'' he repeated. ``No. Edmund, but not for years. For years it's been just Felix. First thing I did after my twenty-first birthday was go into court and have it officially changed, and this is something I don't tell everybody. That was almost forty years ago.''

Having volunteered that he was a man of about sixty, he bounded up the stairs and with each leap rendered the number less credible. This was a broth of a boy, our Felix, and nothing was more obvious than the joy he took in demonstrating how agile he was and how full of juice and spirit. We followed him up the stairs. The cops would gather up Connor and the foursome on the third floor and bring us those of them who would voluntarily submit to fingerprinting.

You may think we didn't need Nancy and Jean, but you always get what you can when you can, and we had no guarantee that a fingerprint record on them couldn't be useful before we were through with this case. Also, if we had excluded the ladies we would have to that extent let the whole world know at least that much of where we stood. The killer, if in our present group, would certainly be interested in knowing that much, and even though with the fingerprint evidence what it was I could see no way he could use this bit of information to improve on his situation, there might always be some way. If you can possibly avoid it, you don't hand out any extra chances.