Shakeup

49

Stone sat down to dinner with Felicity and the Bacchettis.

“How are you feeling?” Viv asked.

“Normal,” Stone said, “and I’ve remembered something: two names, Alfie and Eddie. They were spoken when I was out, or nearly so.”

“Spoken by whom?” Felicity asked.

“A man’s voice. British, I think.”

“Eddie is probably the guy the feds are looking for,” Dino said.

“What’s his last name?”

“Craft.” He turned to Felicity. “He’s somebody who may know something about a crime in the States.”

“I can have him looked up,” Felicity said. “Excuse me for a moment.” She left the room.

“That’s not much to go on,” Stone said.

“You came here expecting a burglar,” Dino said, “and one found you. You were also looking for a burglar named Eddie. Sounds like a good lead to me.”

Felicity returned and took her seat. “Mr. and Mrs. Craft arrived the day before yesterday,” she said, “and immediately went to ground. They’re not registered at any hotel in the U.K.”

“That was my information,” Stone said.

“We’ve also taken note — in the dim past — of a burglar named Alfie Bernstein,” she said. “He disappeared nearly twenty years ago after completing a prison sentence.”

“If he disappeared, he would have changed his name,” Viv said.

“No doubt, but we’ve no idea of that name,” Felicity said. Her phone rang. “I’ll just take this here, if that’s all right,” she said. “Yes?” she listened carefully, then hung up. “A new Mercedes was registered yesterday to an Edward Craft, at an address in Belgrave Square,” she said. “The leaseholder’s name is Alfred Bing, who has no record with the police or anybody else, except...”

“Except what?” Stone asked.

“Except that Mr. Bing and Mrs. Bing were murdered in that same flat this morning, while breakfasting.”

Stone blinked. “And where were Mr. and Mrs. Craft at the time of the murder?”

“They left the country on the seven AM Chunnel this morning,” Felicity said. “So, they’re somewhere in Europe in their new Mercedes. I’ve noted the registration number.”

“Then they must have left London very early this morning — certainly no later than five-thirty,” Stone said.

“Just so,” Felicity replied. “They are not suspects in the deaths of the Bings.”

Dinner arrived, and they gave it their attention. When they were on coffee, Stone said, “I should phone in this information to the FBI.” His turn to leave the room. He called Maren Gustav and filled her in.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “How would you like to become an FBI special agent?”

“Less than almost anything in the world,” Stone replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I still have dinner guests to attend to.” He hung up and returned to the library.

Felicity was on the phone again, listening intently. Finally, she hung up. “My people have had a word with the New Scotland Yard,” she said. “The Bing flat in Belgrave Square was stuffed with objets d’art and paintings. More than a dozen pieces and pictures have been identified as stolen — and that’s just for a start. They have another forty or so to check out.”

Stone stared at his mother’s four pictures on the wall. “I mentioned this before, but now I’m sure. Those pictures are in a different order than they were when we got here.”

“Yes,” Felicity said, “you did mention that, but you had recently been rendered unconscious, so I dismissed the thought.”

“Let me get some tools,” Stone said, and left the room with a sinking feeling in his heart. He was already thinking about how to recover those pictures.

At that moment, Eddie and Shelley were dining at the Hôtel Ritz, in Paris. They were occupants of a handsome suite, and their new Mercedes was tucked away in the hotel’s garage.

“Eddie,” Shelley said. “Aren’t we a little exposed here?”

“No, because I checked in under the name of Charles Gwynne. I happened to have a spare passport in that name. So do you, but I haven’t given it to you yet. You’re Claire Gwynne. We’ll have to get you a wedding ring tomorrow. We’ll need to lift a license plate from a similar Mercedes, as well.”

Stone unfastened the fourth picture and set it on the floor beside the others. He freed one from its frame and examined it closely, then he turned it over and inspected the back of the painting. He set that down and inspected the other three in the same way. “I must say, I thought I had this figured out, but I don’t.”

“Explain, please,” Felicity said.

“Well, I was — due to circumstances beyond my control — alone in a room for some time with two professional thieves, who had, presumably, come here to steal something. And yet, I can’t demonstrate that they stole anything. I thought they had, perhaps, replaced my mother’s paintings with copies, but all four of these are genuine. Believe me, I know my mother’s work.” He fastened the paintings to the wall, this time in the correct order, then joined the others for cognac.

“Well,” Dino said, “your thieves must have already begun their work, when you arrived on the scene, because they put the pictures back on the wall in the wrong order.”

“I suppose that must be so,” Stone admitted.

“You discovered them at their work,” Viv said, “and that must have discombobulated them considerably. I mean, the sudden appearance of a naked man with a gun would rattle anybody.”

Felicity clapped her hands. “They were so discombobulated, they put the originals back and left with the forgeries!”

“What forgeries?” Viv asked.

“The ones they intended would replace Stone’s mother’s works. Stone, do you remember anything you saw when you entered the room? Think about it.”

Stone closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself entering the library. Finally, he spoke. “The pictures were not on the wall,” he said. “There was just a blank space! Then the lights went out.”

“The pictures were probably on the floor,” Felicity said. “They had to put something on the wall, or you would have known the next morning that all four had been stolen. But in their rattled state, they put back the originals and left the premises with the forgeries!”

“That seems highly improbable,” Stone said.

“Then think of another scenario,” Felicity said. She waited for a moment. “Anyone? Anything at all?”

“Felicity is right,” Dino said. “What is Occam’s razor?”

“The simplest solution is usually the correct one,” Viv said. “If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.”

“And in this case, Felicity’s solution is not just the simplest solution, it’s the only one,” Dino said.

“Also,” Stone said, feeling enlightened, “it solves two crimes. This one and the murder of Alfred Bing and his wife.”

“How so?” Felicity asked.

“Bing must have had an order for the paintings — a dishonest collector, no doubt, since they couldn’t have been sold publicly. So, the client paid for the paintings, then had them checked out and discovered they were forgeries. Then he went back to Bing’s flat — or, more likely, dispatched someone else — with orders to get back his money. The police said the flat had been ransacked, so maybe he got it back. Then the dispatched guy dispatched the Bings!”

“I love it!” Felicity said, laughing.

“But,” Dino interjected, “if he got his money back, he only got half of it, because Bing must have already paid off Eddie Craft. I mean, he bought a very expensive car, then left the country in the dead of night.”

Everybody laughed, then they had another cognac.