"There is a dragon in the lobby. He's asking for you."

Just my luck; first vacation in 10 years and . . .

"What's he want?" I ask.

"He wants you." Click.

Leave the room. Mutter a lot. Elevator to lobby. Sure enough, dragon's waiting. Medium size, golden, winged drake; I cross to him.

"Mr. Gavin McQue?" he asks.

"That's me," I say, "And you are?"

A flutter of syllables, lotsa consonants; I stare. He shrugs: "Call me Harlan."

"O. K. Harlan. What do you want?"

"Someone stole our egg. We want you to find it."

Serious. Dragons lay about one egg a millennium.

"Why me?"

"Your name's on the guest list. You work out of the Seven Counties. Friends up there say you're discreet."

"Why discreet?"

"My wife doesn't know the egg is gone. If she finds out . . ."

I nod. Dragon eggs take 50 years to hatch. Momma and poppa dragon share hatching tasks. If Harlan's neglected his, he'll end up a pelt on momma's wall.

"Look, Harlan, I'm on vacation . . ."

"I'll fourple your fee."

And that's that; fourpled fees don't grow on trees. I shake Harlan's claw, get a contact number, and start Private Eyeing . . .

Next day I call the dragon. Arrange to meet. He's early. So am I.

"Ransom notes?" I ask.

"No. No phone calls either. Have you found anything? My wife comes back tomorrow . . . "

"Where's she been?"

"Does it matter?" "In cases like this, everything matters," sounds good; very Philip Marlowe.

"She went to visit her mom and sister. They went shopping."

A tickle.

"They knew about the egg?"

"Mercy no!" he says.

I'm shaking my head.

"Not: 'Did they know it was missing?' Did they know you two had an egg?"

"No," he replies. "Claudia just laid it a few years ago. We rarely see her relatives."

Tickle's stronger now.

"O.K.," I nod, "Got a few more things to check."

"But my wife . . ."

"Comes back tomorrow, I know. If everything works, I'll have an answer for you tonight."

"And if things don't work?"

"I guess I don't get my fourple fee . . . unless it's in your will."

He leaves. I leave. I make a couple calls and two short trips. Seven o'clock that night I'm in the dragon's home.

"Well, McQue," he sighs, "I guess you couldn't find the egg. My wife's gonna kill me."

"Wrong," I say. "I did find the egg and your wife isn't gonna kill you."

Ever watch a dragon change expression five times in one second? Not a pretty sight.

"You've found the egg! Wonderful! Give it to me!"

"Can't."

Another five changes of expression. I think: Barbara Streisand, "Funny Girl."

"You can't? What do you . . . I thought you . . . How can we . . ."

Dragon babble, yicchh.

"Didn't say I had the egg. Said I found the egg."

"If you don't have it, who . . ."

"Your wife."

Streisand again.

"But, but that's imposs . . ."

"Had to be her. You got no ransom demand. No one kidnaps a dragon's egg unless they ask for loot; lots of it. Everyone knows dragons are wealthy . . ."

"Well, I don't know about weal . . ."

"So I did some checking. Found out where mom and sis live. Drove out there. Followed them to the mall. Sure enough, grandma's carryin' an egg. I walk up casual and coo. Tell 'em what a nice lookin' egg it is."

"Enough," he says huffily. "My wife and her relatives are odd, but they'd never let any human within 50 feet of our egg."

"True," I reply. "I hired a wizard to disguise me as a dragon. That's on my expense report, next to the rental of the dragon-mobile I used to get to the mall. Anyway, I told 'em I was a spinster. Never had an egg or a hubby to take care of me. This got a big laugh."

"Hah, hah," he says, "But that doesn't explain how my wife got the egg."

"Sure it does. See, after they stopped laughin', your wife told me about how you didn't want to take care of the egg. About how you wanted to go to the Dragonball game . . ."

"Only the most important game of the seas . . ."

"And how she had to promise you some . . . very interesting favors if you agreed to do this for her."

He's shocked.

"She told you about . . ."

"Hubba hubba."

"That still doesn't explain . . ."

"I'm getting to that. You made the deal--who wouldn't?--and decided to watch the game on TV. When you went out for snacks and drinks, your wife snuck the egg into her handbag. She took it with her when she left."

"But she didn't tell . . ."

"Think back . . . She's leaving. She says something like: 'Enjoy the game, honey.' or 'Have a good time at the game, dumpling.'"

"I thought she was just being . . ."

"Sarcastic. I know. Misunderstandings happen all the time."

Harlan's impressed, flustered, excited, relieved, and happy. But before those expressions can appear on his face, I stand to leave.

"I don't know how to thank you . . . " he begins.

"I do. Send my fourple fee to my Treegreen office. Add my expenses and make sure you include payment for this." I hand him a video tape.

"What's this?"

"The Dragonball game: Your wife might ask you about it. Watch it." I start for the door.

"Gavin."

I stop. "What?"

"Nothing. I just figured out how to thank you. We'll name our baby Gavin."

I shake my head, take out a notebook, and start writing.

"What are you writing?"

"Your address. Like I said: your wife won't kill you. Name the baby Gavin, and the kid might."