“She wasn’t afraid Sylvia might have inherited them?”
“I’m not sure, but I have the impression Andy knew that under Italian law children of the deceased have to inherit at least a third of the estate. Have I got that right? I’m sure Sylvia had no idea of that. Knowledge of the law could have motivated either one of them to steal the paintings—from the other.”
“Angela wanted the whole collection.”
“I guess so. She doesn’t expect much sense of family from Sylvia. People like Ria and Pep are very important to Andy.”
“But how did she do it? A little girl, like that?”
“It took me a while to make the connection. I knew Andy had been to school in this country. I hadn’t realized her school was here in Boston, or Cambridge, which is just across the river. I knew her school was Radcliffe. I didn’t realize that Radcliffe is joined with Harvard. Radcliffe women now receive Harvard degrees. Horan, the Boston art dealer, was Andy’s professor at Harvard.”
“I see. But I think it would be difficult to get your professor to commit a grand, international robbery for you because you didn’t like your father marrying again, no?”
“One would think so. However, Horan, who had gotten used to a very expensive way of life, was going broke.”
“You know he was broke?”
“Yes. Five years ago he sold his wife’s famous jewel, the Star of Hunan jade, to an Iranian. I knew that before I came here.”
“Still&helllip;such a distinguished man.”
“He’s also a handsome, sophisticated man, Menti. An older man. For years, Andy had been wanting a certain kind of attention from you…”
Menti’s eyes were dull as they gazed at Fletch. “You believe their relationship was more intimate than is usual between a student and teacher?”
“I suspect so. For one purpose or another.”
“I see.” Menti sipped his coffee. “It happens. So, Fletcher, it was Horan who actually arranged for the paintings to be stolen.”
“Yes. You showed me the catalogues from the Horan Gallery. Two of the de Grassi paintings were being sold, or, in fact, had been sold. We made our plan. We left copies of the catalogues for each of the ladies to find.
“Andy was enraged,” Fletch said. “She knew Horan had the paintings, of course. She was enraged that he was selling them without her. Did Sylvia react at all?”
Menti said, “She never looked in the catalogues. I couldn’t get her to.” Menti chuckled lightly and shook his head. “When you called from Cagna, saying you were driving down with an upset Angela, it was too late. I could wait no longer for Sylvia to notice, I had to go forward with our plan and get kidnapped.”
“I don’t know what Andy was really thinking on that drive to Livorno. She was certainly going to you, maybe to confess. More likely, she didn’t know what she was doing.”
“My disappearance helped clarify things,” Menti said.
“Yes. Essentially, Andy sent me here to find the paintings so she could steal them back from Horan. She probably wouldn’t have played her own hand out, unless she thought you were dead.” Fletch swallowed coffee. “This morning Horan was arrested. Exit Andy. Exit Sylvia.”
“Enter Menti.”
The buzzer to the downstairs door sounded.
“We’re taking the paintings to a dealer in New York. A man I trust implicitly.” Fletch stood up to answer the door. “His name is Kasnar. On East 66th Street.”
In the foyer, he shouted into the mouthpiece “Who is it?”
The answering voice was so soft it took Fletch a moment to assimilate what it said.
“Francis Flynn, Mister Fletcher.”
“Oh! Inspector?”
“The same.”
Fletch pressed the button that would release the lock on the door downstairs.
Quickly, he grabbed Menti’s coat from the closet.
Then be went into the den and took the truck keys from a drawer of the desk.
In the living room, he handed the coat and keys to Menti.
“Hurry up,” he said. “Put on your coat. The man who is coming up is a policeman.”
Moving gracefully, with speed, Menti stood up and put on the coat Fletch held for him.
“I won’t be able to drive to New York with you, Menti. Can you make the trip alone?”
“Of course.”
“Here are the keys. It’s a black caravan truck, a Chevrolet, parked at the curb outside the apartment house, I think, to the right as you leave the building. The license plate on it is R99420. Have you got it?”
“In general, yes.”
“Kasner’s address is 20 East 66th Street, New York.”
“I can remember.”
“He’s expecting you this afternoon. Come into the foyer with me, as if you were leaving anyway.”
The doorbell rang.
“Good morning, Inspector.”
“Good morning, Mister Fletcher.”
The little face on top of the huge body was bright and shining from a recent close shave. The green eyes were beaming like a cat’s.
Fletch brought Menti forward by the elbow.
“I’d lake you to meet a friend, from Italy, who just stopped by. Inspector Flynn, this is Giuseppe Grochola.”
Flynn’s eyes went to Menti. He put out his hand.
“Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is it?”
Menti hesitated not at all before shaking hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Inspector.”
Flynn said to Fletch, “I never forget a thing I’ve heard. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“It’s marvelous, Flynn.”
“And such a great cop I am, too. Didn’t I hear someone say that?”
“You did, Inspector.”
“Now why do you suppose this man who’s supposed be dead, this Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is standing here in your front hall?”
“I’m on my way to the airport, Inspector.”
Fletch said “He’s been found, Flynn. Isn’t that great?”
“It’s a wonder he was lost at all.”
“A narrow escape,” said Fletch.
“It’s a confusion,” said Menti. “I came here to see my wife and daughter. They, hearing I was found alive, rushed off to Rome, not knowing I was coming here.”
“I see,” said Flynn. “And how was it, to be dead?”
Menti said, “I’m trying to catch them at the airport, Inspector.”
Flynn stood away from the door.
“I’d never come between a man and his family,” he said. “Have a joyful reunion.
Fletch opened the door.
“There’s some coffee in the living room, Inspector.”
He opened the elevator door for Menti.
Flynn had wandered into the living room.
Fletch whispered, “Send me back the license plates. By mail.”
From inside the elevator, Menti whispered, “What do I do with the truck?”
