“Just as it was supposed to, I think.”
“Good.” Dino stretched. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”
“It’s jet lag,” Stone said.
“I never get jet lag.”
“Whatever you say. You want me to wake you up later?”
“Not unless it gets to be dinnertime. Do we have any plans?”
“Not yet; I’ll call Sarah later.”
Stone read the papers for ten minutes, then the doorbell rang. He let Carpenter and Mason into the house.
“Come and sit down,” she said. “We have a lot to ask you.”
They all went into the drawing room and took seats.
“Did you get everything?” Stone asked.
“We got almost nothing,” Carpenter replied.
Mason seemed uncharacteristically quiet; usually, he did the talking.
“Your brand-new bug didn’t work?”
Now Mason spoke. “There was something in the neighborhood interfering with it,” he said petulantly. “As soon as you left the restaurant, we could clearly hear the sound of your car; it was just in the restaurant that it didn’t work. Must have been something in the walls.”
“We lunched outdoors,” Stone said. “It sounds as if Lance Cabot is smarter than you gave him credit for.”
“What do you mean?” Mason demanded.
“He searched me for a wire,” Stone replied, “which means he was suspicious. My guess is he had something in his car that would interfere with any radio transmissions in the immediate vicinity.”
“Shit,” Mason said, with disgust.
“Don’t worry about it,” Carpenter said. “We have Stone to tell us.” She turned to him. “Tell us.”
“Someone who works in what sounds like the factory of a defense contractor has made a duplicate of the device he builds every day. He’s going to sell it to Lance for half a million dollars in cash, and Lance is going to resell it to an unknown party for two million, two.”
“What details did he give you about the device?”
“The device is something that requires exotic metallurgy and special machine tools to make. It’s made to extremely tight tolerances. Sounds as though it’s small enough to carry around.”
“What else did he tell you about this man?”
“He has worked in the same facility for nearly thirty years and is about to retire. Apparently, he’s frittered away his savings on the ponies, and he wants to sell the device to make his retirement comfortable.”
“Ponies?” Mason asked, baffled.
“Polo?”
“Horse racing,” Carpenter said to him sharply.
“This gives us nothing to go on,” Mason said. “There are factories and laboratories all over the country doing classified work. How are we going to find this man?”
“Lance said that the facility was very secret, and that it’s south and west of the restaurant, in Wiltshire,” Stone replied.