Dino was up and running at the door, clawing at the gun on his belt. He disappeared into the street.

People began cautiously to pick themselves up, look around and brush themselves off. Elaine sat two tables down, unmoving, looking unperturbed. The door opened, and a tall woman of Stone’s acquaintance, though not recent, walked in carrying a very feminine attaché case.

Her name was Felicity Devonshire, though she was not called that by anyone who worked with her. She was, in fact, a high official of British intelligence who had formerly been called Carpenter but more recently, after a big promotion, had been dubbed Architect. A man had preceded her into the restaurant, and another followed her. They stationed themselves at the end of the bar, near the door, and watched the room.

Stone got up from the floor, dusted himself off, spotted Felicity and waved her over. They embraced casually. He could feel her ample breasts through her coat and his.

“Stone,” she said, “what is going on? Dino is out in the street waving a gun around and shouting into a cell phone, and this place is a mess.”

“Just a little after-dinner entertainment,” Stone said, taking her coat and holding a chair for her, not missing the sight of her cleavage as she sat down. He took his seat, picked up the plastic bag with the million dollars in it and stuffed it into the hooker’s handbag. Shoving the bag at Herbie, he said, “Go away.”

Herbie began to protest, but Stone held up a hand like a traffic cop and then waved him back to his own table and the clutches of the perfidious Sheila.

Felicity watched him go. “Isn’t that the awful little twit who gave you so much trouble a couple of years ago?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What was in the carrier bag?”

“A million dollars in cash.”

“Oh.” There were sounds of the sweeping up of glass from the front of the room, and a waiter appeared.

“Would the lady like a drink?” he asked.

“Thank you,” Felicity said. “The lady would like a Rob Roy with ice.”

Dino came back through the front door, holstering his weapon. “Felicity!” he said. “I thought that was you getting out of the Rolls.”

“Hello, Dino,” Felicity said warmly, for a member of the British upper class. She allowed herself to be pecked on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Dino said. “Sorry about the excitement; somebody put a couple rounds through the front window.”

“Of course,” Felicity replied.

Elaine came and stood by the table. “So,” she said, “who’s paying for the window?”

Stone jerked a thumb toward the rear of the room. “Herbie Fisher, and he’s got the cash on him.”