The Bernini Bust

'Lot of money. People have done more for less.'

'But she would have been so rich even if he'd gone ahead with the bigger museum.'

'Not if she'd been divorced for adultery. And you're likely to be a witness for that.'

'She been asked about that?'

Argyll nodded. 'She denies it. But Morelli's lot have been digging away. There's considerable evidence she's having an affair. His little posse of searchers has tracked her going away for weekends, staying in hotels with someone else under assumed names. But how did you find out?'

'Easy to work out. She's the sort, it was obvious she was having an affair, and her servant at the beach house hinted at it. And I heard she was remarkably well informed about the workings of the museum. My father never told her anything, so it had to be Barclay. Add it all up . . .'

'Ah. I see.'

'And it won't be just my word against hers?'

'Seems not.'

'Doesn't look good for her, then?'

'No. But there's nothing solid enough, I gather. I don't know what the rules and regulations are here, but Morelli seems to want something unchallengeable. Reckons he'll soon have it, too.'

Moresby's interest brightened. 'Oh? How's that?'

'Streeter is telling everybody he has just recovered a tape. From a bug hidden in Thanet's office.'

'Oh yeah? And has he?'

Argyll smirked significantly. 'OK, so it's not such a good story. But we think it might smoke out the murderer, if you see what I mean.'

'The tape, or the news of it?'

'There's going to be a little gathering chez Streeter, this evening. At about nine,' he said, ignoring the remark. 'To listen to the tape he's got there.'

Moresby nodded thoughtfully and stood up. 'Hey,' he said quietly. 'I brought you a little present.'

Argyll loved presents; always had. It was almost worth getting sick for. He had the fondest memory of measles and mumps and all those childhood diseases. He was halfway through thanking his visitor when there was another knock on the door.

'Oh, hell,' he said. 'Come in, then.'

A mousy grey little man came in and nodded nervously. 'Mr. Argyll, sir? Perhaps you don't remember me?'

He walked towards the bed, holding out a card.

'Well, I'd better leave you,' said Moresby reluctantly, downing the last of his beer in one great swig.

'You don't have to go. Wait a bit.'

'No, it's OK. See you.'

And he left, quite abruptly. Argyll turned his attention to the stranger standing expectantly before him. He was a little annoyed. Moresby had forgotten to give him his present.

'My name's Ansty, sir,' the man said, sitting himself down. 'We met at the hospital.'

Argyll looked at him blankly, then consulted the visiting card. Josiah Ansty, attorney-at-law. Then he remembered.

'Oh, right. You're the one who got into a fight with the car rental man.'

Ansty nodded. 'Pig,' he said. 'Aggressive pig. He attacked me.'

'Well, anyway. What can I do for you?'

'It's more what I can do for you. I gather that you have several legal problems hanging over your head . . .'

'No, I don't.'

'Oh, but you must.'

'I don't. And if any turn up, I shall get on the plane and go back to Italy. If anyone wants to sue me, they'll have to find me first.'

Ansty looked properly shocked at this cavalier approach to the law. How was a man expected to earn a living with clients like that?

'How did you find me, anyway?' Argyll went on. 'I never called you.'

'Well, I happened to be listening to the police broadcasts when the first report of your accident came in. And the hospital gave me your address. So I thought . . .'

'You're a bit of a ghoul, aren't you? Is this how you find all your clients?'

'Some of them. It's no good waiting for people to come to you these days. You've got to get out there. So many people could launch suits, but don't even think of it.'

'Well, I have, and I still don't want to. Go away.'

'Surely

'No.'

'But the car maintenance . . .'

'It had nothing to do with maintenance. Someone loosened the brake cable. It was attempted murder. Not an accident.'

Ansty looked grieved as he saw a lucrative piece of business slipping away forever.

'Still,' he said, clutching at straws, 'you could always add a civil suit for damages, parallel to any criminal charges.'

'There's no one been arrested, yet,' Argyll pointed out. 'Who am I meant to sue? Besides, the car rental place says the insurance is perfectly adequate. And I don't want to sue anybody. Not even Anne Moresby; assuming that she was behind it all.'

'Is that what the police think?'

'It seems to be their current theory, yes.'

'In that case, sir, as a professional I must advise you to start drawing up a suit against her immediately. Otherwise the opportunity will be lost.'

'What are you talking about?'

'If I remember correctly, Mrs. Moresby has no personal money of her own; I remember the stories in the papers when they got married. She comes from a modest family. Any money she has will come from her husband's estate.'

He looked up at Argyll who was gazing at him with an exasperated expression on his face, evidently not grasping the point he was driving at. This, Ansty told himself, is why people need lawyers. Sooner or later, professional expertise shows its true worth. And this was a classic example.

'Is that not true, sir?'

Argyll shook his head. 'Probably. For all I know. So what?'

'In that case the chances of you winning any damages will be slight unless you launch a suit against her prior to charges being preferred.'

'I'm not with you.'

The lawyer laid it out, logical step by logical step, as though instructing an infant; or at the very least a first- year student in law school.

'I assume that the prosecution case will be to argue that she killed Moresby . . .'

'She didn't. Conspiracy to commit, or some such. But let it pass.'

'. . . That she was involved in the murder of Moresby,' he said pedantically, 'to gain control of his fortune. If convicted she will automatically be debarred from inheriting his estate under the law that criminals cannot benefit from their crimes. I can quote you . . .'

'Please don't bother,' Argyll said. 'I'm still not interested in suing anyone.'

He leant back on his pillow and thought about it all, though. And suddenly had a very nasty idea. So unpleasant, in fact, that he broke out in a cold sweat merely thinking about it. If something he was supposed to know was putting a gigantic inheritance like that at risk, he could see the urgency of getting rid of him. Didn't help him work out what it was he'd heard or seen, but still . . .

'Hold on, there,' he said. 'Tell me, are you busy today?'

Ansty looked at him sadly as he prepared to go, and in a sudden fit of honesty confessed that he hadn't been