“It will look larger as we approach,” Stone replied, “and the airplane is very good at short field work. Now, excuse me, I have to concentrate on landing.”

His checklist called for a final approach speed of 88 knots, and he concentrated on reaching and holding that speed while extending the flaps and landing gear. He put the airplane exactly where he wanted it and right on the speed number, then applied the brakes.

“Very good brakes,” Adele said. “I didn’t think we’d be able to stop so quickly.”

“There’s Seth Hotchkiss,” Stone said, pointing at the restored 1938 Ford station wagon parked beside the runway. “He and his wife, Mary, take care of the place.”

“How long have you owned the house?” Adele asked.

“I don’t own it. It was built by my first cousin Dick Stone, who died a while back. He left me lifetime use of the house, and on my death it will go to a foundation he set up.”

“That was very nice of him,” she said.

“It was indeed,” Stone agreed.

Seth greeted them and put their bags into the back of the wagon, while Stone installed the engine plugs and pilot covers and disconnected the battery. Then they drove away.

“Are you having a quiet winter, Seth?” Stone asked.

“Quiet as usual,” Seth replied. “We got some snow last week.”

“It’s very pretty,” Adele commented as they drove through the village.

At the house, Mary greeted them, and Seth took their luggage upstairs.

“I’ve got some clam chowder on the stove,” Mary said. “Would you like some?”

They agreed and had a good lunch in the kitchen, then moved to the living room.

“What’s that sound?” Adele asked.

Stone listened. “Phone,” he said. He took his house key and opened the locked door that concealed Dick Stone’s study. Dick had been about to be promoted to the job now held by Lance Cabot at the CIA when he, his wife, and daughter had been murdered, but Stone didn’t want to tell Adele that they had been killed in the house.

Stone picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Stone.”

“How on earth did you know I was here, Lance?”

“Stone, are you forgetting where I work? I always know everything. I thought you knew that.”

“I keep forgetting,” Stone replied. He had told his secretary where he was going, but she wouldn’t have told Lance.

“A bit chilly up there, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Stone replied.

“You don’t sound very happy to hear from me,” Lance said.

“Why should I be happy to hear from you, Lance? It’s a weekend, and I’m away from my office.”

“Ah, yes; I forgot that you are a nine-to-five office worker.”

“What do you want, Lance?”

“Well, Stone, first of all I want to tell you how unhappy I was with your performance in my meeting with Mike Freeman.”

“Performance? What the hell does that mean?”

“I expected you to take the Agency’s position in our conversation.”