“As long as they don’t involve a breach of client confidentiality, I’m happy to help you,” Stone replied.

“Could you do this, then: Could you call your client and ask him for the name and address of his bank?”

“I could . . .” Stone began.

“And for his permission to tell us?”

“Now that is something I could do,” Stone said. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course.”

Stone walked to Joan’s office. “Will you please call Herbie Fisher and ask him for the name of his bank? Tell him the Secret Service would like to know.”

“You mean all that cash was counterfeit?”

“No, apparently only a single fifty-dollar bill was.”

“It was all in hundreds.”

“I told them that, but they were skeptical.”

Joan opened a desk drawer and pulled out a paper band. “There was one of these on each hundred-thousand-dollar bundle,” she said.

Stone took the band. “That will do nicely.” He returned to his office and handed the band to an agent. “There was one of these around each hundred-thousand-dollar bundle of hundreds,” he said. “The name of the bank is printed upon it. Will that do?”

“Yes, I believe it will,” the agent said, reading the name of the bank.

“Then I wish you well in your inquiries,” Stone said, rising and offering his hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Barrington,” the man said, then turned to go.

“I would certainly like to know how all this comes out,” Stone said. “If you have a moment to call.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t reveal information relating to a case,” he said, and then, with his companion, he left.

Stone buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“What was the exact amount of the deposit you made?”

“One million dollars.”

“Is that on the deposit receipt?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is the receipt stamped and dated?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you watch the teller count the money?”

“I watched her put it into a counting machine,” Joan said.

“And she didn’t mention an extra fifty dollars in the stack?”

“She did not.”

Stone hung up, baffled.

13

Stone was in his dressing room when Felicity walked in, holding her shoes in her hand. She offered him her lips, and he accepted. “Your feet are tired?” he asked.

“I no longer have feet,” she replied, going into the bedroom. “I’m walking on stumps.” She began shedding clothes. “What time is dinner?”

“Eight-thirty. We’re meeting Dino.”

“What a surprise! Wake me in an hour, please.”

STONE FINISHED DRESSING, read for a while, then woke her as requested.

“Is it morning?” she asked sleepily.

“Not yet. Another ten hours to go.”

She sat up. “A shower,” she said.

“Thataway,” he replied, pointing.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, she was as fresh as a bouquet of roses.

“How do you do that?” Stone asked.

“Do what?”

“Recover from exhaustion in half an hour?”

“I slept for an hour, remember?”

“Yes, but you still seemed exhausted.”

“Not exhausted, just sleepy. I’m quite well now. May we go to dinner? I’m starved.”