studs, too, a nice selection.'
'What did the box look like?'
'It was about a foot long by, I guess, eight inches wide, and mabe three or four inches deep. Deep enough to have the watches on mounts that displayed them when you opened the box. It was made out of brown alligator skin.'
'The safe is pretty shallow,' Stone said.
'The box would just fit into it, lying flat on the shelf, there. The pistol was at the bottom, along with the box of bullets.'
Stone took one more look around. 'Thank you, Manolo, that's all I need. Where is Mr. Calder's study? I'd like to make some phone calls.'
'The main door is off the living room,' Manolo said, 'but you can get there this way, too.' He walked to a double rack of suits, took hold of the wooden frame, and pulled. The rack swung outward. Then he pressed on the wall, and a door swung open, offering entry to the study.
Stone followed the butler into the study, then watched as he swung the door shut. Closed, it was a bookcase like the others in the room.
'Mr. Calder liked little secret things like that,' Manolo said, smiling. 'What time would you like dinner, Mr. Barrington?'
'Seven o'clock would be fine.'
'And how do you like your beef cooked?'
'Medium, please.'
'Would you like it served in the dining room or in the guest house?'
'In the guest house, I think.'
'We'll see you at seven, then,' Manolo said, and left the room.
Stone turned to examine Vance Calder's study.
Chapter 11
Three Academy Awards gazed at Stone from the mantel of the small fireplace in the room. Stone knew that Vance had been nominated seven times and had won three. The room was paneled in antique pine that radiated a soft glow where the light struck it; there were some good pictures and many books. The room was extremely neat, as if it were about to photographed for
Stone sat down at Calder's desk, and as he did, the phone rang. He checked the line buttons and saw that it was the third line, the most secret number. He picked it up. 'Hello?'
There was a brief silence. 'Who is this?' a woman's voice asked.
'Who's calling?'
'Stone?'
'Dolce?'
'I've been trying to reach you; the Bel-Air said you had checked out.'
'I did, an hour ago. I'm staying in the Calders' guest house.'
'With Arrington?'
'In the guest house. Arrington is in a hospital.'
'What's wrong with her?'
'I don't think I should go into that on the phone; the press, as you can imagine, is taking an intense interest in all this. I wouldn't put it past some of the yellower journals to tap the phones.'
'So you can't give me any information?'
'Not about Vance and Arrington, but I'm fine; I'm sure you wanted to know that.'
'I don't like any of this, Stone.'
'Neither do I; I'd much rather be in Venice with you.'
'Sicily.'
'What?'
'I was going to take you to Sicily, to show you where my family came from. I'm there now, on our honeymoon.'
'I'm sorry to miss it; can I have a rainchec
'We'll see,' she said, and there was petulance in her voice.
'Dolce, in Venice, you encouraged me to come here and help; that's what I'm doing.'
'I had Papa and the cardinal to deal with. And exactly how are you helping?'
'I can't go into that, for the reasons I've just explained. Perhaps I can call you tomorrow from another number.'
'Yes, do that.' She gave him her number and the dialing codes for Sicily.
'How are you feeling?' he asked.
'Randy, actually. There's a rather interesting looking goatherd on the property; I was thinking of inviting him in for a drink.'
'I can sympathize with your feelings,' he replied. 'I'd rather not be sleeping alone, myself.'
'Then don't,' she said. 'I don't plan to.'
'I meant that I'd rather be sleeping with you.'
'You'd be my first choice, too,' she said, 'but you're not here, are you?'
Stone hardly knew what to say to that. Dolce had been mildly difficult, at times, but she had never behaved like this. He was shocked.
'No answer?'
'What can I say?'
'Say good night,' she said, then hung up.
'Well,' Stone said aloud, 'that was very peculiar.' He turned his attention back to the desk and began opening drawers. The contents were pretty much the same as in his own desk, but they were much more neatly arranged. He had never seen anything quite like it, in fact; it was as if a servant had come in and arranged the contents of the desk every day. He looked around for filing cabinets, but there were none. Apparently, all business was done from Vance's studio office.
Stone opened the center drawer, and, to his surprise, it pulled right out of the desk, into his lap. The drawer was lacking at least eight inches in what he had expected to be its depth. But why? He examined the bottom and sides of the drawer, which seemed perfectly normal, then he looked at the back. At the bottom of the rear of the drawer were two small brass hooks. Then he noticed that the drawer was slightly shallower than it might have been expected to be. He set the drawer on the desktop and looked at it for a minute. There was no apparent reason for the drawer to have hooks at its back. Unless… He took hold of the two drawer pulls and twisted, first to the left, then to the right. They moved clockwise for, perhaps, thirty degrees. He looked at the hooks on the back of the drawer; instead of lying flat, they were now positioned vertically.
He turned the knobs counterclockwise, and the hooks returned to their horizontal position. He reinserted the drawer all the way into the desk, turned the drawer pulls clockwise again, then opened the drawer all the way. The hooks had engaged another, smaller drawer that accounted for the missing depth, and in that drawer were some sealed envelopes, which he began opening.
The envelopes contained a copy of Vance's will, a note to Arring-ton, with instructions in the event of his death, and two insurance policies, with a value of five million dollars each, payable to Vance's estate.
He placed the will on the desk and read it. There was a long list of bequests, most of them for a hundred thousand dollars or more. Two, to universities, were for a million dollars, for the establishment of chairs in the theatrical arts, and one was personal, in the same amount, to his secretary, Betty Southard. Arrington and Lou Regenstein had been appointed executors. The will was dated less than a month before. If everything else in Vance's estate was as well organized as his will, Stone reflected, then his affairs were as neatly arranged as his desk drawers. Stone made a note of the law firm that had drawn the will, then he replaced the documents in the secret
