As if to prove his point, Erica came through the front door, brea
thless. “I’m sorry to take so long; I couldn’t get a cab in this rain. What’s happening?” she asked Lance.
“We have to move, and right away,” Lance replied.
“Why?”
“There’s been . . . some trouble; I don’t want to go into it right now, but our house isn’t safe at the moment. We can go back later and pick up some things.”
Erica looked at Stone. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s best if you just do as Lance says for the moment,” Stone replied. “Lance, do you have anywhere to go?”
“I’m thinking,” Lance said. “I suppose we could find a small hotel somewhere.”
“James’s house,” Sarah said suddenly.
“What?” Lance asked.
“James’s house; there’s no one there but the housekeeper; there’s plenty of room for, what, the four of you?” She nodded toward Ali and Sheila.
“Are you sure that will be all right, Sarah?” Lance asked.
“Of course.” She began rummaging in her large handbag. “I’ve got the key here somewhere.” She came up with it, handed it to Lance, and gave him the address, in Chester Street.
“Thank you, Sarah,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Come on, everybody, let’s move.”
Stone walked out with them and gave the cabbie a fifty-pound note. “Thanks for your help,” he said. “Forget about all this, especially where you’re taking these people.”
“What people?” the driver asked. “Thanks, guv; good luck.” He handed Stone a card. “There’s my cellphone number, if you need me again.”
Lance slammed the door, and the cab took off. Stone went back inside the gallery.
“Now, will you tell me what happened?” Sarah asked.
“Lance’s friends Ali and Sheila have—had an antique shop in a market in the King’s Road. It was bombed a few minutes ago, and he’s concerned for their safety, and his own and Erica’s.”
Monica spoke up. “What has Lance gotten Erica into?”
“I don’t know the details,” Stone said. “I expect we’ll hear about it in due course, but they’ll be safe at James’s house, I’m sure.”
“Will the police be coming ’round?” Monica asked.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s all I need, to have a lot of policemen crawling all over my gallery.”
“Monica, you are unconnected with all this,” Stone said. “In the extremely unlikely event that a policeman should drop by, just tell him everything you know, up to, but not including, the past ten minutes. You don’t know where Erica is, all right?”
“All right,” Monica said uncertainly.
“More likely than the police is that someone more . . . unofficial . . . might ask Erica’s and Lance’s whereabouts, and your answer should be the same. That’s very important.”
“All right,” Monica said. “And who would these unofficial people be?”
“Whoever bombed Ali and Sheila’s shop. And by the way, you’ve never heard of either of them.”
“That suits me just fine,” she replied. “I didn’t like the look of them. And Lance didn’t even introduce them.”