“My service has always preferred nondescript types,” Felicity replied. “Perhaps that is why I haven’t married.”
“Are you required to marry someone in your service?”
“No, but that is the preferred arrangement. It makes security so much simpler if both spouses are employed; then they can tell the same lies about their work to their acquaintances.”
“How old is this photograph?” Stone asked.
“Twelve years,” she said.
“So he could look quite different now?”
“I would be very surprised if he didn’t,” she said. “It was one of his gifts to look different when required.”
“And what did Mr. Whitestone do to make you willing to pay a hundred thousand pounds to get your hands on him?”
“Quite simply, he betrayed us,” she said. “Oh, not to the Soviet Union or the People’s Republic of China but to Mammon.”
“So he liked money. What else is new?”
“What’s new is that he did not retire from our service to make a fortune in the City,” she said, referring to London’s financial district. “Instead he remained in the service for years while selling information that made him very wealthy.”
“To whom?”
“To whomever would pay him for it, presumably.”
“I see. And why didn’t you have him arrested and tried?”
“He vanished a moment before we knew what he had done,” she said, “and, in any case, a trial would have been out of the question.”
“A great embarrassment?”
“A great humiliation,” she replied. “He had risen to near the top. A public recounting of his sins might have destroyed the service.”
“Destroyed it? How could that happen?”
“Believe me, it could have happened. Actually, it still could.”
“What other information do you have about this man?” Stone asked.
“He has been seen twice only a few blocks from here: in the lobby of the Seagram Building, at Park Avenue and Fifty-second Street,” she said.
Stone was well acquainted with the building, since the law firm for which he was of counsel was housed there, as was one of his favorite restaurants, the Four Seasons.
“What does he do there?” Stone asked.
“I’ve no idea,” she said. “He could work there, he could have been visiting someone who worked there-we just don’t know.”
“Who saw him?”
“A member of Parliament who once worked for our service.”
“And what description did he give you?”
“None,” she replied.
“I don’t understand. If he saw the man, why didn’t he describe him?”
“He called our firm and reported the sighting but didn’t wish to discuss it on the phone. He made an appointment to meet with a member of my service who works in our UN delegation, but he didn’t keep it.”
“You make that sound sinister,” Stone said.
“It is sinister,” she replied. “The MP has not been seen again by anyone.”
“You’re right,” Stone said. “That is sinister.”
“I am happy you perceive it as such,” Felicity said, “because I am fond of you, and I would not wish you to suffer for a lack of caution.”
“So, let’s summarize,” Stone said. “Stanley Whitestone is smart, wily, nondescript in appearance and inclined to kill rather than be discovered.”
“That is correct.”
“Surely there is something else you can tell me about him,” Stone said.
Felicity looked thoughtful. “He is fond of women, fine dining and most of the arts-the opera in particular.”
“Is there anyone in your service in New York who might recognize him on sight?”
“I might; I knew him as a young agent. He had a peculiar way of walking, as if he had had some childhood disease that slightly crippled him.”
“A limp. That could help.”
“Not a limp, exactly, just an odd gait. He could walk normally for short periods, if he concentrated, but he always reverted to the gait.”
“I’ll add an odd gait to his list of traits,” Stone said. “You haven’t told me what to do with him if I find him.”
“Invite him to this house,” she said, “then sit on him until I can get here.”
“In this country, we call that kidnapping.”
“Well, yeessss,” Felicity drawled, “there is that. Try not to get caught doing it, or I will have to deny all knowledge of your activities.”
“I see,” Stone replied, and he did.
4
Felicity dressed and departed in her borrowed Rolls, and Stone dressed and went down to his office. There was little on his desk to demand his attention. He began thinking about where he might borrow a couple of hundred thousand dollars to square his more pressing debts.
The law firm of Woodman & Weld, which employed him to handle cases they did not wish to be seen to handle, came to mind, but Bill Eggers, his law school friend and the managing partner of the firm, was not a ready lender, and it would be humiliating for Stone to beg.
His banker liked him, but Stone had already, with great reluctance, taken out a large loan secured by his house. He could pay some of the bills with his credit cards, but that would buy him less than a month.
There was a knock at the door, and Joan stood there, smiling. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully.
Stone looked at her suspiciously. “What’s so good about it? I read your note.”
“You’ll be happy to know that the money arrived, and I’ve paid all the bills, including the loan on the house.”
Stone stared at her, stupefied. “Have you started drinking in the mornings?”
“Of course not, silly.”
“What money are you talking about?”
“The money you were expecting.”
“Have I started drinking in the mornings?”
“Well, I don’t know. Have you?”
“Joan, I am completely baffled. Please explain this to me.”
She looked at him as if he were simple. “That nice young man said that he had retained you, and he handed me a million dollars in cash. I couldn’t get to the bank fast enough.”
“Was that nice young man named Herbie Fisher?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“You give that money back immediately,” Stone said sternly. “I have no wish to have anything to do with Herbie Fisher.”
“Get it back? Are you insane? This is a gift from God.”
“It’s a gift from hell,” Stone said. “Send it back to him.”
“Stone, this is how it works,” Joan said, as if to a child. “I get money, I deposit it in your bank account, I send a check to the IRS for the taxes, I pay off the bank loan, I write checks to everyone we owe, and I mail them
