buzzer ring in another room. A moment later, the door opened and the two thugs entered.
“John Bartholomew?” the smooth voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell us.”
“Mr. Bartholomew visited me in New York and asked me to come to London to persuade his niece to return with me to the United States.”
“What is the name of his niece?”
“Erica Burroughs.”
“And why did he want her returned to America?”
“He said he was concerned that her boyfriend might involve her in illegal activities.”
“What sort of activities?”
“Drug smuggling.”
Stone heard a low laugh. “What is the real name of John Bartholomew?”
Stone tried to sound puzzled. “Real name? I know him only by that name.”
“Are you still in his employ?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I discovered that Miss Burroughs is not his niece, and that he seemed to have other motives for hiring me.”
“What motives?”
“He seemed to have some animus for Mr. Cabot.”
“For what reason?”
“He did not confide that to me. When I discovered he was lying to me, I resigned from his employ.”
“Have you seen him since that time?”
“No.”
There was a scraping noise from the table in front of him, and Stone realized that the contents of his pockets were on the table. A hand picked up the satellite telephone and held it in the light for Stone to see.
“What is this?”
“It’s a telephone.”
“What kind of telephone?”
“A cellphone, like any other.” Stone heard beeps as a number was tapped into the phone. A moment later, a phone rang in another room. The phone was returned to the table.
“Describe John Bartholomew.”
“Six feet three or four, heavyset, dark hair going gray, sixtyish.”
“Nationality?”
“American, as far as I know.”
“Why do you carry a false passport?” A hand held it in the light.
“If it’s false, then they’re handing out false documents at the passport office in the London embassy of the United States of America. If you’ll check the date of issue, you’ll see I got it last week.”
There was some whispering among the three men, then the smooth voice spoke again. If you have left Mr. Bartholomew’s employ, why do you remain in Britain?”
“Tourism.”
“Mr. Barrington, you are trying my patience again.”
“A woman, as well.”
“What woman?”
“Sarah Buckminster. Don’t you read the papers?”
“You are interested in her?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
“Miss Buckminster and I lived together in New York. We have renewed our acquaintance.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, ah.”
“Miss Buckminster has recently become very rich.”
“Ah, you do read the papers.”
“Are you interested in her money?”
“What do you think?”
“Ah.”
“If you say so.”
“Mr. Barrington, I can’t say that I like your attitude.”
“I can’t say that I like being abducted on a public street, imprisoned, and interrogated by a group of people who have read too many bad novels.”
“Mr. Barrington, this is your final opportunity to tell us what we want to know.”
“Have I denied you anything so far? I have no idea what you want to know.”
“According to your papers, you were once a policeman.”
“That’s correct.”
“Surely you conducted interrogations.”
“Many times.”
“Didn’t you always find out what you wanted to know?”
“No, I didn’t; unlike you, I was constrained by the law.”
“We are constrained by nothing.”
“No kidding.”
The man made a motion with his hand; one of the two thugs stepped forward, swept Stone’s belongings into a paper bag, and stepped back.
“Get rid of him,” the smooth voice said.
Stone did not like the sound of that. Before he could move, the two men were on him, one at each arm, dragging him back down the series of hallways, outside, and into the car. Once again, he was facedown on the floor of the limousine, with a foot on his neck.
The car drove away, turning this way and that. Stone lay still, knowing that he had no chance until the car stopped and they took him out. Then he would give them the fight of their lives.
Twenty minutes later, the car came to a halt; Stone was picked up and bodily tossed into the gutter. As he started to rise, the paper bag with his belongings hit him in the back of the head. By the time he got to his feet, the car had turned a corner and was gone. People looked at him oddly as he dusted himself off and returned his belongings to his pockets. He looked around. The Hayward shop was across the street; he was back where he had been abducted.
He walked across the street and into Hayward’s. Doug Hayward rose from a leather sofa, and a small dog began to bark at Stone.
“Shut up, Bert,” Hayward said. “Come on back, Stone; we’re ready for you.”
Stone silently followed Hayward to the rear of the shop and the dressing room, where he removed his jacket.
“Stone,” Hayward said, “are you aware that you have a footprint on the back of your shirt collar?”
Chapter 29
