Frank called the number, and the man who answered agreed to come to the airport. Forty minutes later he arrived, in an elderly Plymouth, and they got in.

“Where you want to go?” Ernie asked.

“Uh, to Mr. Stone Barrington’s house.”

Ernie gave the two men another look. They were dressed in suits, one of them double-breasted. In Ernie’s experience only tax collectors and private detectives came to the island dressed like that. “Don’t know anybody by that name,” he replied.

“Then just take us to Dark Harbor,” Frank said.

Ernie nodded and put the car in gear, which was an occasion for a grinding noise, then drove away. Ten minutes later he drew to a halt in front of a general store. “Here y’go,” he said. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

“There’s no meter on this thing,” Charlie pointed out.

“That’s okay,” Ernie said, “I know how much the fare is. It’s ten dollars, unless you want to go somewhere else.”

“How much for you to wait while we ask directions?” Frank asked.

“Ten dollars.”

Frank sighed, and he and Charlie got out of the Plymouth and climbed the stairs into the store.

“Hey, they got ice cream,” Charlie said, and ordered a cone. “You want one, too?”

“Strawberry,” Frank said. “Excuse me, miss,” he said to the girl who was scooping the ice cream. “Do you know where we can find a Mr. Stone Barrington?”

The scooper, whose name was Gladys, checked out the two men. They were wearing suits, and worse, hats. They had to be either cops or bill collectors. “Nope,” she said, handing them the two cones. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

Frank paid for the cones. “Do you have a phone book?” he asked.

“Right over there by the phone,” Gladys replied, pointing helpfully.

Frank went over to the phone, licking the cone to keep if from dripping, and flipped through the thin volume with his free hand. “No listing,” he said. “C’mon, Charlie.” They went back to the car and got in. “The girl inside doesn’t know Mr. Stone Barrington,” he said.

“Well,” Ernie replied, “if she don’t know him and I don’t know him, he ain’t worth knowin’.”

Frank looked at Charlie questioningly.

“I’m stumped,” Charlie said.

“Let’s just drive around for a while,” Frank said to Ernie. “Maybe we’ll see him.”

“You know what he looks like?” Ernie asked.

“Yeah.”

“How long you want to drive around?”

“I don’t know, let’s cover the island.”

“The whole island?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fifty dollars,” Ernie said, “and don’t get that ice cream on my seats, or I’ll have to charge you for cleaning.” He put the car in gear again and gave them a tour of the island, carefully avoiding the Stone house, which was what the locals called the Barrington house. They ended back at the store. “Did you see him?” Ernie asked.