“That’s all right, Mr. Rebic—perfectly all right. He has a right to ask these questions, a right to understand. No, Mr. Stubb—Jim—I don’t know. Only Daddy knew, and he’s no longer with us.”
“I think you’d better explain,” Stubb told her.
“I’ll try to. Many years ago, when they were quite young men, my uncle chose to leave our family. To go off on his own, as it were. He was under something of a cloud, if you understand me.”
“They didn’t like him.”
“He had been wild, I suppose. He and my father were twins, Mr. Stubb. As happens so often, one twin sought attention through accomplishment, the other through rebellion. My great-grandfather was a Rockefeller partner, and our family is still very well off.”
Stubb nodded. “Yeah, I kind of thought it might be.”
“My uncle Benjamin—that was his real name, Benjamin Whitten—apparently announced that he meant to make his own fortune and tell the rest of them to go to Hades.”
“Good for him.”
“But when he had gone, they discovered that a certain extremely valuable article had disappeared. Please don’t ask what it was, because I don’t know. I wasn’t even born when all this happened; and by the time I was old enough to care, no one was left but Daddy, and he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Whatever it was,” Stubb said, “it’s probably long gone.”
The girl pursed her lips. “I don’t think so. You see, before he died, Daddy was conducting certain investigations of his own. He said that if Uncle Ben sold what he had, he would know. And that he hadn’t sold it yet, not in all those years.”
Cliff leaned forward, rubbing his hand. “That means it just about has to be a piece of art or a rock, Jim.”
“If he was sharp enough, maybe willing to go to Amsterdam and take in a partner, he could get a rock cut up without anybody knowing.”
“He might, okay, but it would be tough. Anyhow, my first guess is art. If it had been a rock, it would probably have been in a safe or a safety deposit box someplace, and they wouldn’t have let a wild kid get at it. Art you’ve got hanging on the wall, even if there’s a lot of insurance. He could just take it down and stick it under his coat. A nice little Rembrandt, maybe.”
Stubb cocked an eyebrow at the girl. “What about insurance, Kip? Your folks collect any back then?”
She shook her head. “We—I, now that Daddy’s gone—do own certain valuable paintings, Mr.—Jim. The same company has insured them ever since I can remember, and at Mr. Rebic’s urging I called them. We’ve never had a large claim. Ever.”
Cliff said, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? To collect, they’d have had to say Ben stole it, and they didn’t want to. Hell, he was old General Buck’s brother. They kept their traps shut, hoping he’d come home. Then the rest died, and Buck started looking for him, only he didn’t find him.”
“Then the General died himself,” Stubb finished for him. “And Kip learned—someway—that Uncle Ben had been murdered. I’d like to hear about that, Kip.”
The blond girl suddenly looked a little tired, though her back was as straight as ever. “I didn’t learn that Uncle Benjamin was murdered, Mr. Stubb. I saw him on TV and went to look for him.”
“Sure. You spotted him right off, even though he had left the family before you were born.”
“But I
Stubb nodded, half to himself. “Last night two women came to talk to a woman named Mrs. Baker, looking for Ben Free. Were you one of them?”
“I had a right to search for my uncle!”
“Sure. Did you? Was one of them you?”
Kip nodded.
“Who was the other one? Some girl working for Cliff?”
“No. I—I hadn’t engaged him then. A friend.”
“Not an investigator?”
“No.”
Cliff said, “Then she hired us, and we got on it right away.”
“Not quick enough to save him,” Stubb said softly.
“Hell, Jim, we couldn’t have. He was already dead by then. But we found him and took the picture you saw.”
“Yeah. You call the cops too?”
“We had to. Anyway, Ms. Whitten didn’t want to leave him lying there. He was her uncle, for Christ’s sake.”
“For Christ’s sake, I hope he was. What time?”
There was a discreet tap at the door.
Stubb opened it, and the Agatha Christie fan pushed in a cart redolent of beef.
