So they were being recorded. “Very well, indeed, Dame Felicity, and may I congratulate you on your honor?”

She blushed a little. “Thank you,” she said. “It comes with the job.”

“And what job is that?” Stone asked mischievously.

“Civil service,” she replied, making a face. They were not being photographed. Then there was another knock at the door.

“Come!” Dame Felicity said.

The door opened, and a slight, gray-haired man in a very good but not new suit entered. “Good morning, Dame Felicity,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said, rising and shaking his hand. “May I present Mr. Barrington?”

The man turned and shook Stone’s hand. “Smith,” he said.

“How do you do, Mr. Smith?” Stone asked.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Please sit, gentlemen,” Felicity said.

They sat.

“Mr. Barrington, Mr. Smith is in possession of more knowledge of Stanley Whitestone than I, being his contemporary. I thought it might be useful for the two of you to meet.”

“I hope so,” Stone replied.

“Mr. Barrington,” Smith said, “what questions do you have regarding Mr. Whitestone?”

“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Stone said. “Please tell me in as much detail as possible of the first time you met Stanley Whitestone.”

Smith looked at Felicity and got a nod from her, then turned back to Stone and began.

17

Smith gazed at the ceiling for a moment. “We were nine years old,” he said, “and we were at Eton. He impressed me immediately.”

“How so?” Stone asked.

“He was very bright and quick and had an acerbic wit, especially for a nine-year-old.”

“Go on.”

“He excelled in his studies and on the playing field, both without seeming to try very hard.”

Stone knew that, among the British, not seeming to try very hard was admirable. “What sports did he play?”

“Cricket, track-he was a sprinter-and he was good on horse-back. I believe he had grown up with his own horse.”

“Anything else from the Eton years that might be of help in identifying him?”

Smith thought for a moment. “He suffered a fall from a horse and acquired a cut on his forehead,” he said, pointing to a spot high over his right eyebrow. “Needed stitches. Left a thin line of a scar about two inches long.”

Stone took the photograph of Whitestone from his pocket, looked at it and handed it to Smith. “Do you see it here?”

Smith checked. “No,” he said.

“He had it removed, then?”

Tags: Stuart Woods Stone Barrington Mystery
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