"Very well." She gave him the number of one of her message drops, and the two parted ways, both quite tired. Hunter stashed his costume, checked to make sure he looked suitably disheveled, and sauntered into the hotel, where no one gave him a second thought. Lydia returned to her Beacon Hill townhouse and the comforts of her own bed.
    
    The next morning Augustus Madison rose relatively early and visited Old Ironsides, continuing to enjoy a tourist's carefree existence. Lydia slept late, secure in the knowledge that her organization was seeing to the search. Michael Hunter got a few hours of sleep and soon after waking discovered that the thirteenth floor of his hotel was home to a ghost that needed seeing to. At noon he went to a public library and called the number Argus had given him, left a message to the effect that it might be worthwhile to keep an eye on the police department and see if a riddle was delivered.
    Intrigued by the message, she checked in with her people. Many of them were hard at work,, among other things making sure that no one moved to break Leveler out of jail, and also looking into the harbor records, only to find that someone had gotten there first. Whoever it was had been very thorough and had a bit of a sense of humor; every single yacht in the harbor had an entry date of January 1, 1937.
    "Fascinating," Argus judged, somewhat miffed.
    A call from one of her Eyes in the police department interrupted her thoughts. "You had mentioned something about a possible riddle delivery? Something just appeared in the chief's office."
    "Just appeared?"
    "The secretary came in, dropped off the mail for him, he went through the mail, a playbill was in the middle of it. When the chief questioned her about it, she said it wasn't there when she'd gone through the mail."
    "A playbill?"
    "Text as follows: Act II, in which our heroes arm themselves for the siege ahead. Arms and the man I sing who, forced by fate—that's one line—O muse! the causes and crimes relate. That's the second. Then it goes into a riddle verse. Great protections relied upon in defense of my home, where do I come from before forced to Rome?" He spelled Rome for her.
    "I see. Is that all?"
    "It's signed with a—you know the comedy and tragedy masks? Imprint."
    The first verse was the first line of the Aeniad, she knew that much. As for the rest... perhaps it would be useful to bring the others into this. Captain Vanguard she could contact directly, and did so.
    "What's up?"
    "I've just received word from one my contacts that we seem to have some costumed criminal sorts in town; a clue was just delivered to the police department."
    "Really. Hate clues, myself. What did it say?"
    She repeated the verses to him. "Does this mean anything to you?"
    "Not in the vaguest. It's from the Bible, right? Sounds kind of from the Bible."
    Argus made a note in one of her books. "Um, no. I'm afraid it's actually from the Aeniad."
    "Right. Right. That was my second guess. Do you think you know what this means?"
    "Not yet, but I intend to. In the meantime, if you could simply remain alert for anything out of the ordinary...."
    "Will do."
    "Our other chance companion of the previous evening is going to be meeting me later today to discuss something that may very well be related to this; perhaps you would like to join us?"
    "I think I would do that. Whereabouts?"
    She gave him the location on the docks. "Seven-thirty. See you then."
    
    Under the guise of looking for something to do that night, Hunter asked the hotel concierge to collect playbills from the theaters to see if the types or layouts matched that delivered in Philadelphia. The production of Oedipus Rex at the Pilgrim Theater provided an exact match.
    Further wandering on the waterfront found no yachts with names reflective or pride, hubris, or anyone in Oedipus Rex.
    
    Shortly after sunset the three rendezvoused on the dock. Captain Vanguard—unmistakable in his red and yellow costume—was waiting when the other two arrived, separately, from the shadows of nearby alleys, Argus taking advantage of the tunnels that ran beneath the city, and which she had a major hand in constructing. They allowed a woman on a motorcycle to get places people wouldn't think she could get to, more quickly than anyone would expect. They saw a small boy tug at his mother's arm and point at the Californian.
    "It's Captain Vanguard! Can I get his autograph?" With her reluctant consent, the two approached the hero and tendered their request.
    He signed cheerfully. "Eat your oranges, son."
    "Gee, thanks!"
    "Is something dangerous going to happen here, Captain?" the mother asked nervously.
    "Not while I'm around," he winked. Feeling safe, mother and child walked on. Vanguard's radar showed the two waiting for him in the shadows. "Good evening," he greeted them. "White Rose, Captain Vanguard, nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
    "As you surmised," Argus said to the Rose, "a riddle was delivered to the police today; this is the text of it." She repeated the lines.
    "Fellows, I'll be blunt, I'm no good with these. Never have been," Captain Vanguard confessed.
    "Fair enough."
    "But I'd love to help, if I can anyway."
    "Well, if we can track them down before their nefarious deeds can become reality...."
    Some of her agents were talking to each other at the same time; this happened more or less constantly.
    "There he is again," one of them said.
    "Someone's moving into position, mistress, nothing to worry about," Nigel told her.
    

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