“God, I hope you’re right.” The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Bill; I’ve got you a guy, but…has this client of yours got any money?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe won’t do it. This guy’s fee is a retainer of two hundred thousand pounds sterling against an hourly fee of two hundred pounds an hour, and travel time counts; he wants the retainer in his bank account before he even makes an airline reservation.”

“That’s a fee of more than three hundred fifty thousand dollars plus more than three hundred fifty dollars an hour. He must be an absolutely fucking wonderful lawyer,” Stone said.

“That’s what he tells me; what do you want me to tell him?”

“If I had my druthers I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but I guess I’d better ask my client first.”

“The fee is not out of line, Stone. After all, you’re asking a top-flight barrister to fly halfway across the world on short notice and to stay indefinitely. A top New York man would cost at least that. Oh, by the way, he’ll want to bring a clerk with him; that’s seventy-five pounds an hour.”

“And he’ll want to fly first class, too, I suppose.”

“Of course.”

“Tell him you’ll get back to him after I’ve talked to my client.”

“Okay. When will you want him?”

“We’ll probably get a trial date set today, and it could be soon; things move quickly here.”

“I’ll tell him. See you.” Eggers hung up.

Stone turned to Thomas. “Well, I hope her husband turns out to have had a hell of a lot of money.”

Thomas Hardy pulled into the Government House parking lot simultaneously with Sir Leslie Hewitt, who was driving an ancient Morris Minor station wagon festooned with rotting wood paneling.

“Good morning, Leslie,” Stone said, getting out of Thomas’s car.

“Good morning, Stone, Thomas,” Sir Leslie called back. He reached into the rear of the little car and removed a long plastic garment bag and a small suitcase, then led the way into the building.

They signed in to the jail, were searched for weapons, then were led to a small cell that held a table and four chairs.

A moment later Allison Manning was led into the cell by a black matron. She was pale and rumpled and seemed to have had little sleep. She went to Stone and put her head on his shoulder. “I am so glad to see you,” she whimpered.

Stone patted her back awkwardly, then introduced her to Sir Leslie. “Sir Leslie is going to represent you at the hearing and apply for bail,” he said.

She shook the barrister’s hand. “Thank you so much for being here, Sir Leslie,” she said.