Foul Play

Thirty-Eight

Kronk and his people stood around, checking their watches every two or three minutes. “I’ve got a feeling we’ve been had,” Kronk said. He walked over to the door, opened it, and sniffed the air. “You smell anything?” he asked Mueller.

“No, sir.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything to smell. There never was.”

“Then let’s get our guy up there and get that safe opened.” Mueller led the way up to his office, unlocked it, and walked in. There was a slip of paper on his desk. “What’s this?” he asked the safe man.

“It’s the combination to the safe,” the man replied, taking the paper, walking to the safe, and dialing in the combination. He operated the handle, and the door swung open. “There you are,” he said. “Anything else?”

Kronk switched on a desk lamp, illuminating the interior of the safe. “Empty,” he said. “Whatever there was is gone. Certainly the patent.”

“How do you know there is a patent?” Mueller asked.

Kronk took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to him.

Mueller read it out loud. “ ‘Dear Sirs: We wish to enter negotiations for the renewal of our license on the patents for the multilathe and several other pieces of equipment.’ ” He looked at Kronk. “Several other patents? What are those for?”

“Maybe our customers can tell us,” Kronk said. “Or Mr. Shepherd Troutman.”

Stone woke up the following morning, and he felt more tired than usual. Maybe that was because Brooke had felt energized by their excursion and had, the night before, made it plain. “We need to leave today,” he said to her. “Better get packed.” He made the necessary calls to Joan.

They had breakfast in bed, then went down to where everybody else sat around the kitchen table. “Brooke and Dino and I are headed back to New York this morning,” Stone said.

“You need a lift?” Doug asked.

“No, we’ve got the scooters,” Stone said. “About the patents, Shep: I think I should take them back to my office.”

“I suppose they would be more secure there,” Shep admitted.

“It’s not just that. I need to have patent attorneys read them, renew them where necessary, and assess their value. After that, well, I’ve got an Excelsior myself. They’ll be there when you need them.”

The M2 was waiting for them when they arrived at the FBO. They checked in the scooters, set their bags out for the pilot to stow, then boarded and buckled up.

“You think that’s the end of all this?” Dino asked.

“No,” Stone replied.

Stone, having dropped off Brooke, went home, changed into a suit, and went down to his office. He made a call to the head of the patents department at Woodman & Weld. “Can you send an armed guard over here for what I’ve got?” Stone asked.

“Sure. Are you expecting trouble?”

“Yes, I am. When you get this package you should photocopy the patents, then return the originals. Let me know what you think of them as soon as you’ve had a chance to read them.”

“Certainly.”

Stone hung up and handed the leather envelope to Joan. “Make us a copy of these, then the originals will be picked up by an armed messenger, copied there, and returned to us.”

Joan trotted off to do her work.

Stone was working his way through his phone messages when Joan came into his office. “There’s a man named Kronk— Is that a real name?”

“Yes, it is. What about him?”

“He’s here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Where are the copies you made of the patents?”

“In the Excelsior.”

“And the leather envelope?”

“That went with the originals to Woodman & Weld.”

“Good. You can show Mr. Kronk in, and don’t put any calls through while he’s here.”

Kronk entered looking dry-cleaned and well-pressed. “Good day, Mr. Barrington.”

“Good day, Mr. Kronk. I’m surprised to see you. Has your cruise ended?”

“It has.”

“I hope you enjoyed yourselves.”

“Moderately well,” Kronk replied.

“What can I do for you?”

“Where is Mr. Shepherd Troutman?”

“I’m afraid I still don’t know. I haven’t heard from him.”

“I would like you to contact him.”

“I’m afraid I have no means to do that.”

“His cell phone will do.”

“Mr. Troutman turned off his cell phone, on my advice, after he was assaulted, for the second time, in Central Park. I don’t believe he has turned it back on since that time.”

“You said you knew where to send your clients’ bills. Where do you send Mr. Troutman’s?”

“To a post office box in Lenox, Massachusetts.”

“I believe we nearly met there, this morning,” Kronk said.

“You and Mr. Troutman?”

“And you, as well.”

“I’ve been here all morning, since my return from the Vineyard.”

“By what means did you return?”

“Via a light jet, belonging to a business associate.”

“Did Mr. Troutman return with you?”

“Mr. Kronk, I’ve already told you, I am unaware of the whereabouts of Mr. Troutman. Our airplane was a small one; I’m sure if he had been aboard I would have noticed.”

“I dislike being lied to,” Kronk said.

“I dislike being called a liar,” Stone replied.

“Mr. Troutman is in possession of documents that should have been conveyed to me upon the sale of Troutman Industries.”

“I’ve read that sales contract,” Stone said, “and there was no reference therein to any documents being part of that transaction.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’ll ask my secretary to bring me the contract. Perhaps you can point out the reference to me.” Stone reached for his phone.

Kronk held up a staying hand. “Don’t bother. The inclusion of the documents in the sale was implied.”

“Neither do I recall any such implication, though such would hardly have been sufficient to transfer ownership of anything.”

“I am so advised by counsel.”

“Then perhaps you should obtain new counsel, one who didn’t fail the contracts class in law school.”

“Please deliver a message from me to Mr. Troutman,” Kronk said.

“I’d be happy to, if he should be in touch, which I doubt.”

“Tell him that, if I do not receive the documents posthaste, he is going to need new counsel, and a new head.”

“I note the threat in your request, Mr. Kronk.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” Kronk got up and walked out.