This he did not mind.

Now, as he stood beneath the oak on his twenty-first birthday, he put the quarter back in his pocket and removed a second object. It was a crudely whittled soldier, weather-beaten and oil-stained, found near an abandoned well.

The well was a disposal well, used to hold oil-contaminated water and sludge pumped from other wells. It was about sixteen inches in diameter; too narrow for an adult, perhaps too narrow even for a schoolboy, but not too narrow for the body of a small child. He had known that it would be useless to look down it for Charlie’s remains; the well would be too deep.

Andrew had never been able to picture Phil and Jack planning to endure a child’s company while waiting for ransom; if they had left Charlie with someone else while they robbed houses, that person would have long ago claimed his father’s reward money. No genuine claimant had stepped forward.

Fourteen years had passed since Charlie disappeared, and the pretenders were growing fewer, but before the end of his father’s life, Andrew’s count of them would reach two hundred eighty-six. On this day, he did not yet know that number, but he did know what had happened to his brother. On this day, he simply rested in that knowledge, and took his revenge in his silence.

“Thank you for the birthday present, Charlie,” he said, tucking away the second-and only other one-he had received since the day he turned seven.

Anthony Award Nominee

A Man of My Stature

You are no doubt surprised to receive word from me, my dear Augustus, but although I have been poorly served by my obedience to impulse, in this case I think it best to give in to my compulsion to communicate with you now. If I have already tried you beyond all patience and forbearance, you cannot be blamed, but I hope that your curiosity-upon receiving a letter from a man you believe to be dead-will be strong enough to lead you to continue.

I have written a letter to Emma, denying, of course, that I had anything at all to do with the death of Louis Fontesque, and telling her that she must not believe what will soon be said of her husband. I will leave that brief note to her here, to be found tomorrow in these rooms I have taken at the Linworth Hotel. But tonight, after darkness falls, I will venture from this establishment one last time; I will make the short journey to the letter box on the corner, not trusting the desk clerk to mail this to you. He is an honest enough lad, I’m sure, but after all, he now believes me to be Fontesque, and when the hunt for Fontesque’s killer inevitably leads law enforcement officers here, the young man’s memory may prove too sharp by half. I would not bring trouble to your door Augustus.

I think it best to give you some explanation of events. There are too many who, out of envy, would be pleased to see a man of my stature in the community fall as far as I have-and in my absence, I fear Emma will become the target of their ridicule. I will have more to say on that score in a moment.

But first, old friend-I hope I may yet count you my friend-let me offer a sincere apology to one who once refused a very different opportunity. Because of your refusal, you alone among my friends are safe from the repercussions of my downfall. You alone never supported my notion of creating a new formula for synthetic silk, you alone thought me bound for failure.

I was baffled by your reticence, having been so certain you would be eager to invest in Hardwick Chemical and Supply’s latest venture. I knew your objections were not of a technical nature, for although you have great business acumen, you are no chemist. Of course I made no acknowledgment of your professional abilities to our friends, but I was rather quick to point out (in my subtle way) your lack of scientific expertise. I took pains not to be the one who belittled you before them; still I planted seeds of doubt here and there, and made the most of any other man’s critical remark. For your wisdom, for your foresight-I punished you.

I might now excuse myself by saying that my company had done well for its investors in the past, or that I desperately needed not only their cash but their faith, or that I was myself wounded by your criticism of my dreams. But even before the formula failed, I saw that I had wronged you, Gussie, and was never more burdened by regret than when I realized that I had done so.

In those early days I was heedless, and imperiled not only my own fortune, but those of my family and friends. But as I sit here in a small hotel in an unfamiliar city, possessed of little more than a stranger’s traveling case and my own thoughts, I do not miss my standing in the community, or my wealth, or much of anything, save Emma and my friendship with you. And so it is to you Gussie, that I entrust my final confidence.

What happened to me? I seized an opportunity, Augustus, and no serpent ever turned and bit a man more sharply.

My world began to fall apart a few days ago, when my shop foreman-have you met Higgins, Gussie? A good man, Higgins. Trusted me. Just as all one hundred of my employees trusted me.

Higgins came into my office that morning and told me that one batch of material had been sent through a partially completed section of the silk manufacturing line, to test the machinery. Rolling the brim of his cap in his hands, he muttered his concerns; there seemed to be some sort problem with the process. “Maybe I just ain’t seein’ it as it oughta be, Mr. Hardwick,” he said, “but a’fore we go any further, you’d best take a look.”

I was not yet uneasy. Why should I have been? As I followed him out of the office, I could not help but feel a sense of pride. We walked through the older portion of the factory, where most of the workers were busy with our usual line of products. Men smiled and nodded, or called out greetings as I passed. Higgins was talking to me about the problem, which still had not seemed significant. We reached the new section, the place where several large crates of equipment stood unopened. Higgins was going on, blaming the suppliers, of course, certain the trouble was with the raw ingredients and not the product itself.

I listened to him with half an ear as I studied the machinery and the failed batch and-I saw it then, Gussie, though how I kept my face from betraying the horror I was feeling, I’ll never know. The process-my process, useless. A small flaw I could not detect in the laboratory, now magnified on the floor of the factory-after so many thousands of dollars had been spent on the equipment.

Higgins was looking to me for an answer, as were a dozen or so of the men working near that section of the line. Looking at me, some with anxious hope, others with unwavering faith in my abilities. I kept my features schooled in what I prayed would pass for concentration on the problem.

“Well, Higgins,” I said, “this will simply require a minor adjustment in the formulation. I expected that some little changes might be needed-no cause for alarm. You and your men have done a fine job here, it’s nothing to do with you. Go on with installing the equipment, and I’ll work on a new formula.”

I heard audible sighs of relief. I told Higgins that I had some business outside the office that morning, and left the building.

I walked aimlessly for several hours, thinking the darkest thoughts imaginable. The humiliation, the financial ruin-if it had only been me, and not so many others who would suffer, I might have borne it. And there was Emma to think of.

I am sure that if you place yourself in my shoes, you will understand how terrible it was to contemplate any suffering on Emma’s part. If I am not mistaken, you have a special fondness for her, Augustus. I am not suggesting that you have ever behaved in any other than an exemplary fashion, my friend. On the contrary, you have been all that is polite and respectful. But I know your affections for her will let you see what others may not, and hope that you not blame me for contemplating the fact that I was worth more to Emma dead than alive.