Stone knew he was thinking about the nineteen million dollars he needed to close the deal, and that he didn’t have.
“Barton,” he said, “perhaps you should ask for a down payment and accept the tax consequences.” He was sure Barton knew exactly what he meant.
“No, Stone. Peter is right. We’ll close on the full amount in a year.”
Stone nodded, but he had to wonder where Barton was going to come up with the nineteen million by Tuesday.
“Now, Barton,” Cavanaugh said, “the number?”
“Seventy million dollars, but I will make a donation to the Metropolitan of five million, upon close of the sale. And in any publicity, interviews or conversations about the sale, you will state that the secretary accounted for twenty-five million of the seventy million dollars you paid.”
Cavanaugh looked at Barton appraisingly for a long moment, then he said, “Agreed, upon the condition of inspection of the secretary by Julian and me.”
“When?”
“Julian and I are both coming to a dinner party at Abner Kramer’s house on Saturday night. I understand that you live nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Then we could inspect the piece that afternoon?”
“Yes, that’s agreeable. Stone and I will be at that dinner, too, and I would be very pleased if you and Julian and your wives or companions, if they are coming, would be my guests overnight or for the weekend, if you like.”
“Thank you, Barton, that would be most agreeable.”
“Then, Peter,” Barton said, “let’s fill in the blanks in that agreement in your pocket and get it signed.”
And they did so.
58
Stone and Barton stood on the sidewalk outside Mildred Strong’s house and watched the two men from the Met drive away.
“That was quite a performance,” Stone said.
“The performance of my life,” Barton said, mopping his brow. “I’m still sweating.”
“You can retire after this one,” Stone said.
“Oh, no. I’m going to copy a few of Mildred’s pieces while I still own them, and selling them should keep me busy for a few years.”
“Have you figured out what sort of deal Charlie Crow and Mildred made?”
“I think so, but we’ll know for sure on Saturday night.”
“Why is Ab Kramer collecting you, Cavanaugh and Whately at the same dinner party?”
“I think because he has something he wants to show us,” Barton said.
Before Stone could ask what, or how he was going to come up with nineteen million dollars, Barton shook his hand and drove away.
Stone arrived home, garaged his car and entered his office the back way. Joan immediately came into the office.
“There’s a Mr. Henry Kennerly to see you,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I believe that’s the gentleman who is accusing you of adultery with his wife?”