“Because Peter is bringing his witness, and I want one, too, so that I can hold him to account for anything he says tomorrow. Also, I would not be surprised if, after he has satisfied himself about the quality of the collection, he will have something for me to sign, and if so, I want you there to read it.”
&nb
sp; “All right.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten-thirty, and don’t be late.”
“I’ll be there,” Stone said. “But Barton, there’s something you’d better be prepared for.”
“What’s that?”
“I noticed that you included a photograph of your remaining mahogany secretary in your prospectus, but it’s not listed in the inventory we prepared and that you and Mildred signed.”
“Don’t be concerned about that. If it comes up, just follow my lead.”
“I do have a very important concern, Barton.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve told me that you don’t know whether the stolen secretary is the original or the copy. I am not going to be a party to defrauding the Metropolitan Museum, so you must do nothing to put me in that position. If you do, I’ll have to do whatever is necessary to protect myself.”
“I understand, and you need not be concerned. If I sell the Met the secretary, it will be the original, I assure you. By the time this is over, you will understand fully.”
“Thank you, Barton. I’ll see you at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Good-bye.” Barton hung up.
Stone was up early the following morning and on the road by eight-thirty. On the way he called Creighton Adams and arranged for them to be let into the house.
He arrived in Bristol five minutes early and found Barton already in the house. He gave the guard his name and walked in.
Barton was pacing around the living room with the housekeeper, making minute adjustments to the positions of things in the room while she was putting coffee and cups on the sideboard. When he was finished there, he visited both the library and the dining room, then went upstairs to the bedrooms while Stone had coffee.
Barton came down looking happy, and the housekeeper returned to her work. “We’re ready,” he said, then he was immediately on his feet, looking out the window. “They’re here early.”
The housekeeper answered the door and brought the two men into the living room, accompanied by a photographer and his assistant, who was laden with equipment.
Barton introduced Stone, and Cavanaugh introduced Julian Whately, his curator of American furniture. The two men were craning and turning their heads like a pair of exotic birds as they took in the room’s contents; they were clearly excited.
“Would you like some coffee?” Barton asked.
“Perhaps later,” Cavanaugh said. “Let’s get started.”
“Stone and I will sit quietly while you and Julian examine the pieces,” Barton said. “When you’re done here, I’ll take you through the other rooms.”
Armed with their copy of Barton’s prospectus, the two men began their tour of the living room, piece by piece, while the photographer started taking pictures of the room and the individual pieces.
Barton drank coffee while Stone read the Times. He was about to start on the crossword when Cavanaugh finally spoke to them.
“May we see the library and the dining room now, please?” he said.
“Of course,” Barton replied. “Right this way.” He led them out of the living room, and Stone started on the crossword. Half an hour later the three men came out of the library and took the elevator upstairs.
Stone had finished the crossword and was looking idly about the living room when they returned.
“Now I’d like some coffee,” Cavanaugh said.
Barton filled their cups from the heated urn, and they all sat down.