“Perfect,” she replied. “I’ll get them checked in the morning.”
They went upstairs and undressed for bed. “Well,” he asked, “what did you think about Hackett?”
“I was mesmerized,” she said.
“Was there anything about him that reminded you of Stanley Whitestone?”
“Everything and nothing. First I would think that I had detected some word or movement that was Whitestone, then it would be gone, submerged in Hackett’s personality. He gave a bravura performance.”
“So you think it was a performance?”
“At least to the extent that everyone performs at a good dinner party, and, by the way, it was a good dinner party. You’re an excellent host.”
“I suppose your people will be checking out this Tim Timmons?”
“Oh, certainly,” she said, “and I expect we’ll find that the facts will jibe with Hackett’s account of them.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because everyone makes mistakes, even James Hackett, and when he does, I want to be on top of things.”
“I have to tell you that I’m convinced Hackett is who he says he is.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody could so completely morph his identity into that of another. I mean, you knew Whitestone, and Hackett had no hesitation in talking to you all evening.”
“You know the films of Laurence Olivier, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s what Olivier did-submerge himself into character-and I think that’s what Hackett has done. I think Hackett is the Olivier of liars.”
“What is Whitestone’s background?”
“You’ve heard some of it: Eton and Cambridge, recruited there.”
“Who was his father?”
“The bastard son of a marquess who was sent into the church and served out his years as a small-parish vicar.”
“Has all that been substantiated?”
“Of course. When one is at both Eton and Cambridge, one leaves indelible footprints that anyone can follow.”
“Hackett says that when Whitestone met him, seeking employment, he said he was Harrow and Sandhurst, son of an army colonel.”
“A person with such a background would leave equally indelible footprints and if he lied would easily be found out. It is impossible to believe that Whitestone would have invented such an easily penetrated legend.”
“What about Hackett’s ‘legend,’ as you put it?”
“More difficult, at least his early years. The Paratroop Regiment is another thing, though. After all, they keep records.”
“And you’ve already read them?”
“It’s being looked into,” Felicity said.
Stone reflected that he would not enjoy Felicity looking into some lie of his own.