“Can you wait for us?” Lance asked the cabbie.

“As long as you like, mate,” the cabbie replied. He lowered his voice. “The other bloke knows you’re having his wife off, you know; I can’t wait to see what happens.”

Stone heard this and laughed.

“What is he talking about?” Lance asked as they turned toward the gallery.

“I had to tell him something,” Stone said. They went inside.

Monica Burroughs was sitting at a desk in the large gallery, talking to Sarah Buckminster, who was seated next to her, looking at some slides. “Oh, hello,” she said, as Stone and Lance approached.

“Is Erica here?” Lance asked.

“No, is she supposed to be?”

Lance went to the window and looked out into the street.

Sarah came around the desk and pecked Stone on the cheek. “What’s up? Lance looks worried.”

“There’s been a little trouble,” Stone said. “Lance asked Erica to meet him here.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Lance was pacing up and down, checking outside often. He came to where Stone and Sarah stood. “I’m going to go and get her,” he said.

“Wait a few minutes,” Stone replied. “She’s probably on her way; she wouldn’t be there when you got there.”

As if to prove his point, Erica came through the front door, breathless. “I’m sorry to take so long; I couldn’t get a cab in this rain. What’s happening?” she asked Lance.

“We have to move, and right away,” Lance replied.

“Why?”

“There’s been . . . some trouble; I don’t want to go into it right now, but our house isn’t safe at the moment. We can go back later and pick up some things.”

Erica looked at Stone. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s best if you just do as Lance says for the moment,” Stone replied. “Lance, do you have anywhere to go?”

“I’m thinking,” Lance said. “I suppose we could find a small hotel somewhere.”

“James’s house,” Sarah said suddenly.

“What?” Lance asked.

“James’s house; there’s no one there but the housekeeper; there’s plenty of room for, what, the four of you?” She nodded toward Ali and Sheila.

“Are you sure that will be all right, Sarah?” Lance asked.

“Of course.” She began rummaging in her large handbag. “I’ve got the key here somewhere.” She came up with it, handed it to Lance, and gave him the address, in Chester Street.

“Thank you, Sarah,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Come on, everybody, let’s move.”

Stone walked out with them and gave the cabbie a fifty-pound note. “Thanks for your help,” he said. “Forget about all this, especially where you’re taking these people.”

“What people?” the driver asked. “Thanks, guv; good luck.” He handed Stone a card. “There’s my cellphone number, if you need me again.”