“I don’t like people getting the whole picture on me. I’m an inventor. Inventors are secretive in order to prevent some swine from stealing their inventions. More than the money, I want sole credit for my ideas. I am not by nature a collaborator.”

“Yes, sir. Inventors are temperamentally similar to artists. They don’t want someone else to sign their paintings.”

“Excellent! Diana insisted that you were bright.”

“Thank you.”

Rabun looked at him with amazement, then both chuckled at the gaff. Warlock was beginning to admire the man. Rabun suddenly beeped at a fledgling bird sitting on his hood ornament, then smiled cynically.

“Best the little bugger learn about technology…. So my problem is this. I make a great deal of money and I have diversified my holdings through the usual assortment of middlemen, CPA’s, lawyers, bank officers, investment counselors, realtors. I’m a little eccentric and these feebleminded middle management types like to swindle people like myself. They think I’m otherworldly, missing the point that I’m the one that made the dough. My wife is in Florida on a semipermanent basis and is obviously supporting a gaggle of leeches. My son’s down there and is probably a homosexual though I haven’t confirmed this. I have reason to suspect he’s being swindled.” Rabun buried his face in his hands and sighed.

“I’m sorry that things are going badly, sir.” He felt poignantly the sorrow of the old man, and was reminded of the beleaguered Gauguin in Tahiti.

“Thank you. The point is that something can be done about the whole thing.” Rabun stared at him darkly then reached over into the back seat and withdrew a large briefcase. “Guard this with your life. Read its contents. I must swear you to total secrecy. For instance I have extensive landholdings in the Upper Peninsula. I’m sure the local dolts are stealing my timber. It doesn’t amount to a great deal of money but I don’t like to be cheated. We’ll meet on Tuesday for lunch. Read it closely, give me some ideas.”

“I don’t quite understand my place in this whole thing.” Warlock felt himself gradually merging with a larger scheme of affairs.

“I need a troubleshooter, an undercover man, a sort of glorified private detective with your kind of background. Don’t give me your answer now.” Rabun raised his hand to quell Warlock’s eagerness. “Absolute secrecy. Not even your wife, kind soul that she is. Swear it.”

“I swear it, sir.”

Chapter 17