Sigismund decided he would explain to Renfrew what private eyes do. "A private eye is someone who investigates crimes, particularly murders. He visits the murder scene, looks for clues, and interviews anyone who might have had a motive for killing the victim."

A glimmer of understanding flickered in Renfrew's glass eyes. "You mean murders like the killing of Orly?"

"Yes, something like that." Orly had been Sigismund's old neighbor. Renfrew had somehow developed a knack for communicating with Orly's ghost. This talent had not been part of Sigismund's blueprint for Renfrew, but he went along with it because Orly and Renfrew had become such close friends. Had Orly really been murdered, though? The doctor's report had not mentioned foul play, just an unexpected fall after slipping on a rug. However, Orly's ghost insisted that it was murder.

"Maybe you and I and Orly could be a team of private eyes," Renfrew said. "Orly and I could investigate the crime scene. and you could piece the clues together."

Sigismund looked at his drink. The ice was half melted. It would be better to drink it now while it was still cold. He drained the glass in one gulp. "That sounds good," he had to admit, "but you'll need to be subtle. Androids who ask too many questions tend to attract attention."

Renfrew said nothing for a moment, as if listening to someone else. "Orly likes the idea too," he finally said. "He thinks we should begin investigating his murder."

"Wouldn't it be better for the police to handle this?" he cautioned.

Renfrew listened to his ethereal friend, then shook his head. "Orly needs to tell you in his own way. Let me transmit his voice to your computer."

A feeble sound began to emanate from the computer's speaker system. Renfrew turned up the volume so Sigismund could hear. "Siggy, I'm not making this up! I was just stepping out of the tub, when I heard someone or something in the room with me. I was drying my eyes, so I didn't see who it was, and the bathmat was yanked from under me. I was hit on the back of my head by something hard. I have no further memories."

"That's strange. I helped Orly's executor go through his belongings, and no bathmats showed up," Sigismund said, stroking his chin.

"My attacker must have taken the mat with him when he fled," Orly said.

"What kind of mat was it?"

"Don't laugh," Orly said. "It was a gift from Miss Marvel."

Paulh