The conversation never touched on Mildred’s possessions but ranged over Newport gossip, sports (Mildred was a big Red Sox fan) and jazz. Stone had little to say; he preferred listening on this occasion.

They talked over coffee until ten o’clock, when Mildred excused herself and retired.

“You must be very happy,” Stone said to Barton when she had gone.

“I’m stunned, frankly,” Barton replied. “I have been since I walked into this house. I’m going to have to sell or mortgage everything I own to make this deal work; that’s if I can sell my banker on a long-term investment.”

“She may outlive you, Barton.”

“That has occurred to me, I assure you.”

“You haven’t asked her about Charlie Crow. That transaction she mentioned must have been with him.”

“I’m afraid to bring it up,” Barton replied. “But after tomorrow, she’ll be protected from his like.”

“She doesn’t seem to need much in the way of protection,” Stone pointed out. “She’s very much in command of herself.”

“She certainly is,” Barton agreed.

They finished their brandy and went upstairs to bed.

The following morning they breakfasted at seven and went to work at seven-thirty, doing the library and the study. They broke for lunch, then went to work on the bedrooms.

At four o’clock they had finished their work and were summoned to tea.

“Well, Barton,” Mildred said, “make me your offer.”

Barton handed her his list and waited while she read it. When she had finished, he said, “Mildred, I will offer you eighteen million dollars for everything on the list, and payments of eight hundred thousand dollars a year.”

Without hesitating, Mildred said, “Make it twenty million and a million a year; I’m fond of round numbers. Shall I call my lawyer?”

“Done, Mildred. Call him.”

The man, apparently alerted, appeared ten minutes later, and Mildred introduced him as Creighton Adams. Stone gave him a copy of the proposed contract, with the blanks filled in, and Barton gave him the list.

“Mrs. Strong,” the man said when he had read everything, “I see no problems with the contract. Are you satisfied with the numbers in it?”

“I am,” she said. “Oh, I know Barton will make a lot of money on the deal – eventually – but I admire his patience and his fortitude to take such a leap. Type it up.”

“I’ll have everything done by nine tomorrow morning,” he said,

“including a codicil to your will, acknowledging the arrangement and instructing your executors.”

Mildred saw him to the door and returned. “I have a dinner invitation this evening,” she said. “Would you two like me to have something prepared for you here, or would you prefer to go out?”

“Thank you, Mildred. I think we’ll go out,” Barton said.

“Then I’ll see you at nine tomorrow morning. I will probably sleep through breakfast.” She excused herself and went upstairs.

“I’ll take you to dinner, Stone,” Barton said. “We’ll celebrate.”

They dined at the Black Pearl, in Newport, ordering steaks and, eventually, two bottles of Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame.

“This,” Stone said, tapping the bottle, “is Carla’s favorite, if you don’t already know.”

“I’m happy to have that information,” Barton said. “By the way, bill me for your time at your usual hourly rate; I know this work hasn’t been in your regular line, but you did it well.”

“It was instructive,” Stone said.

At nine o’clock the following morning Creighton Adams arrived with a notary and two associates for witnesses to the codicil. Both Mildred and Barton read the contract and the list, and both signed.

Barton took a checkbook from his pocket and wrote a check for a million dollars. “And another on this date each year,” he said, handing it to Mildred.

“Thank you, Barton, you have made this experience very pleasant.”

Her lawyer and his entourage rose to go, but Mildred waved them back to their seats. “Stay,” she said, “there’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”

Barton and Stone made their good-byes.

“You’ve been very kind to us,” Stone said, shaking her hand.

“I would like very much to see you again, Stone,” Mildred replied. “You were excellent company.”

As Stone drove back to New York, he reflected that he had never spoken so little in two days. He reckoned that was what had made him such good company.

But, he remembered, he and Barton still did not know why Charlie Crow had visited Mildred Strong and what had transpired at their meeting.

45

Stone was halfway home before he thought of it. He called Bob Cantor.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Stone. Can you still get into people’s bank accounts?”

“Most of the time; depends on which bank it is.”

“I don’t know its name, but it’s an independently owned bank in Bristol, Rhode Island.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Hang on while I look it up.” Cantor clicked some computer keys. “I’ve got the Bristol Trust, the only independent in town. What’s the name on the account?”

“Last name Strong; first name either Mildred or Mrs. Caleb.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know if any deposits were made yesterday or today.”

“Here we go. Only one deposit has been made this month, and that was yesterday, a check in the amount of half a million dollars. Nice deposit, but it’s still uncollected.”

“How long does it take a bank to collect on a deposit?”

“Depends on how hard they’re trying, I guess. I’d allow a week.”

“Any information on the account that the check was drawn on?”

“An account number at the Central Manhattan Bank.”

“Can you see who the account belongs to?”

“Hang on. I’ll have to bust into that bank’s accounts.” More typing. “Well, well, it’s drawn on the account of one Charles Crow.”

“Can you get into that account? I’d like to know of any large deposits this month and where they came from.”

“Gee, you want a lot, don’t you?”

“Always.”

More typing. “Here we are. Charlie deposited half a million bucks yesterday, and… Wow!”

“What?”

“Six and a half million dollars today.”

“From where?”

Much typing. Stone paid attention to not running into the huge truck ahead of him.

“It’s not from a bank; it’s wired from an account in a brokerage firm, Swensen-Styne, a big Internet firm.”

“In whose name?”

“That’s odd. The account name is encoded; all I can see is two series of asterisks with a space in between.”

“How many asterisks?”

“Five in the first group, six in the second.”

“Can you decode it?”

“The short answer is maybe, but it could take days or even longer. You want to pay for that kind of time?”

“No, I don’t,” Stone said. “I’d rather guess.”

“What’s your best guess?”

“Abner Kramer.”

“That fits the asterisks, but so would a lot of other names.”

“That’s the only name I care about, at the moment.”

“Whatever you say, Stone.”

“Bye-bye, Bob.”

“See ya.” Cantor hung up.

So did Stone. He checked his watch. Barton Cabot would still be on the road home. He called his cell phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s Stone.”

“Hi. You home already?”

“No. I’m still half an hour away.”

“What’s up?”

“I ran a check on Mildred’s bank account, and yesterday she deposited a check for half a million dollars from Charlie Crow.”

There was a long silence. “Interesting,” Barton said, finally.

“It gets even more interesting. I checked on Charlie’s account, too. Yesterday he deposited a check in his own account for half a million dollars, and – get this – today he received a wire transfer of six and a half million dollars.”

Barton was silent again.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”