The inner door opened, and the tall officer braced just inside. “This way,” he commanded.
Stone walked into a large office, and the officer stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Stone was quite alone in the room. A huge desk dominated the office; a single visitor’s chair sat before the desk. In a corner were a round conference table and eight chairs, and the walls were decorated with oils and watercolors, island scenes of a high quality. From somewhere came the muffled sound of a flushing toilet, then, a moment later, a door opened and Sir Winston Sutherland emerged, rubbing his hands briskly with a towel. He was dressed in white linen tro
users and a rather loud short-sleeved sport shirt. He discarded the towel and strode toward Stone.
“Ah, Mr. Barrington,” he said, extending a huge hand. “How good of you to come.”
Stone shook the hand. “It wasn’t good of me at all,” he said. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh, I hope the two officers were not officious,” Sir Winston said, sounding genuinely concerned.
“Am I under arrest?”
Sir Winston looked shocked. “Of course not, my dear fellow, of course not. This is merely a pretrial meeting between opposing counsel.” He walked to a set of French doors and opened them wide, revealing a large balcony that stretched across the rear of the building. “Please come outside, and let’s have some lunch.”
Stone followed the big man onto the balcony and found a table set quite elegantly for two. A uniformed waiter stood at a loose parade rest to one side.
“Let me get you some refreshment,” Sir Winston said, waving a hand at a bar.
“Nothing for me,” Stone said.
Sir Winston snapped his fingers, bringing the waiter to stiff attention. “Mr. Barrington and I will have some champagne.” He turned to Stone. “Surely I can tempt you with a glass?”
“Oh, all right,” Stone said. “Just a glass.”
Sir Winston indicated a chair at the table, and Stone took it. A moment later, the waiter was pouring Veuve Clicquot into two crystal flutes.
“Your health,” Stone said, sipping the wine. It was perfectly chilled. He looked out at the vista, which was over the better part of the town, with green hills beyond and the sea shining in the distance. “Lovely,” he said.
Sir Winston sat down opposite him. “Yes, we are fortunate on our island,” he said. “God has given us great beauty on all sides.”
Perhaps not on the side of town harboring the slums, Stone thought. “Oh, yes,” he said. The champagne was absolutely perfect.
“Bad crash—Chester’s airplane,” Stone said.
“Yes, a terrible thing,” Sir Winston said, not sounding too sad. “I suppose we’ll have to find someone else to start a ferry service to Antigua.”
“I suppose,” Stone said. “Have the police found any reason for the crash?”
“They’re looking into it,” Sir Winston said. “I trust you are enjoying your stay with us?”
“I would be enjoying it a great deal more if my original plan of cruising could have been implemented,” Stone said.
“Ah, yes, and perhaps the company of the young lady who was to have joined you.”
“Quite,” Stone replied, beginning to feel slightly British, or at least colonial, in the surroundings.
“I understand she was detained in New York by the unfortunate weather,” Sir Winston said sympathetically.
“That is correct,” Stone replied, “and then she had to go to Los Angeles on business.”
“Leaving you alone to deal with Mrs. Manning’s problems.”
“As it turned out.”
“Tell me, did you know Mrs. Manning prior to coming here?”
“No.”