Joan came in with the mail. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. This afternoon, probably around three o’clock, a van is going to arrive and deliver twenty boxes. If I’m not here, I want you to secure them.”

“How big are the boxes?”

“They each hold about ten books.”

“There won’t be room enough in your safe for that many.”

“Then lock them in the wine cellar.” The wine cellar had a steel door in a steel frame, and the lock operated four bolts on each of the three sides.

“Okay. This is all very peculiar,” Joan said.

“You are quite right.”

“It will be done.” She went back to her office.

Stone riffled through the mail and found an envelope from a law office in Virginia; that struck him as odd, and he opened the letter inside.

Dear Mr. Barrington,

I am an attorney with offices in Virginia. One of my clients is Edward Rawls. I assume you will receive this letter on Tuesday; I will be in New York that day, and I would like to see you on an urgent matter as early in the day as possible. I will phone for an appointment.

Carson Rutledge
Rutledge & Rutledge

Stone buzzed Joan, and she answered. “I’m expecting a call from a Mr. Carson Rutledge, and—”

“He’s on the other line and wants an appointment.”

“Invite him to come as soon as he can.”

She went back to her call, then buzzed. “He’s on the way over here now—be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you.”

—

CARSON RUTLEDGE WAS a tall, slender man in a well-tailored, chalk-striped suit, with a head of thick gray hair. Stone offered him a chair and coffee. He declined the coffee, and Stone thought that a good thing, since he seemed to be pretty wired already.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said.

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Rutledge. What can I do for you?”

“Ed Rawls has asked me to deliver this package to you by hand,” he said, opening his briefcase and handing Stone a padded envelope. “It contains two copies of a book Mr. Rawls wrote and the originals of some documents that are reprinted in the book.”

Stone accepted the package and put it on the coffee table. “Is this a book that Ed has recently written?”

“It is, and I must tell you, I’m glad to have that material off my hands. I suggest that you keep it in a safe, or at least under lock and key.”

“I shall do so.”

Rutledge heaved a deep sigh. “I feel greatly relieved,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“Because during the time those things have been in my possession, I have come to fear for my life, and that is not an emotion I am accustomed to.”

“And now that you have given them to me, should I fear for my life?”