Bill Eggers came in, followed by Joan Robertson, who had earlier offered to help with Stone’s secretarial work. She greeted him cheerfully, as if he had not nearly gotten her involved in his current dangerous mess.

“Why don’t we order lunch now, and then we can close while they’re preparing it?” Stone suggested. “Joan, will you join us?”

“Thanks, but I have a lunch date; my mother is in town.”

They found a menu, and Stone and Eggers ordered, then they got down to business. Eggers handed Stone a series of documents, Stone signed them, and Joan notarized them. The whole business took three-quarters of an hour. Finally, Eggers handed Stone a completed document. “Here’s your deed; you want us to file it for you?”

“Please, and put it in your safety deposit box for the time being,” Stone replied.

“Congratulations, you now own a house in the country. I’ll get the completed documents and the check to the seller this afternoon.”

The doorbell rang, and a waiter wheeled in a cart bearing their lunch.

“I must run,” Joan said. “I’ll deliver the documents to the seller’s law firm on the way to lunch, if you like.”

“Thank you, Joan,” Stone said, “and when all this is over, I’ll take you up on your offer of help.”

She left, and Stone and Eggers sat down to lunch. “I want her, Bill,” Stone said.

“Don’t you have enough women?”

“I want her for a secretary; I’m giving you fair warning.”

“Then you’ll have to make her an offer she can’t refuse.”

“I’ll do that. By the way, I hear you have a client who makes offers like that, from time to time.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You never told me you represented Eduardo Bianchi.”

Eggers stopped buttering his bread. “And where did you hear that?”

“From the horse’s mouth.”

“Which horse?”

“Bianchi, himself.”

“You know Bianchi?”

“I know lots of people.”

“You know Bianchi, personally?”

“I had dinner with him the night before last.” Stone was enjoying this.

“Bianchi doesn’t go out since his wife died.”

“I had dinner at his home.”

“Let’s get this straight; we do not represent Eduardo Bianchi; we represent his charitable foundation.”

“Ah, that keeps the hands clean, does it?”

“It’s perfectly legal. We do it pro bono.”

“Let me get this straight,” Stone said, slipping the needle in a little deeper. “You represent a Mafia chieftain pro bono?”

“It’s not only legal, it’s downright noble.”

Stone laughed aloud.

“And how did you come to be acquainted with Bianchi?” Eggers asked.

“Why? Have you never met him?”