THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE

BY

ROBERT LUDLUM

Bantam Books by Robert Ludlum

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THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE

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    THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE

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Copyright 0 1971 by Robert Ludlam.

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For all those reasons she must know so well "Above all, there was Mary."

THE

SCARLATTI

INHERITANCE

    PART 0

    CHAPTER I

    October 10, 1944-Washington, DX.

The brigadier general sat stiffly on the deacon's bench, preferring the hard

surface of the pine to the soft leather of the armchairs. It was nine twenty

in the morning and he had not slept well, no more than an hour.

    As each half hour had been marked by the single chime of the small mantel

    clock, he had found himself, to his surprise, wanting the time to pass more

    swiftly. Because nine thirty had to come, he wanted to reckon with iL

    At nine thirty he was to appear before the secretary of state, Cordell S.

    Hull.

    As he sat in the secretalys outer office, facing the large black door with

    its gleaming brass hardware, he fingered the white folder, which he had

    taken out of his affach6 case. When the time came for him to produce it, he

    did not want an awkward moment of silence while he opened the case to

    extract the folder. He wanted to be able to thrust it, if necessary, into

    the hands of the secretary of state with assurance.

    On the other hand, Hun might not ask for it. He might demand only a verbal

    explanation and then proceed to use the authority of his office to term the

    spoken words unacceptable If such was the case the brigadier could do no

    more than protest Mildly, to be sure. The information in the folder did not

    constitute proof, only data that could or could not bolster the conjectures

    he had made.

    The brigadier general looked at his watch. It was nine twenty-four and he

    wondered if HuIrs reputation for

    3

punctuality would apply to his appointment. He had reached his own office at

seven thirty, approximately half an hour before his normal arrival time.

Normal, that was, except for periods of crisis when he often stayed through

the night awaiting the latest development of critical information. These

past three days were not unlike those periods of crisis. In a different way.

    His memorandum to the secretary, the memorandum that had resulted in his

    appointment this morning, might put him to the test. Ways could be found to

    place him out of communication, far from any center of influence. He might

    well be made to appear a total incompetent. But be knew he was right.

    He bent the top of the folder back, just enough to read the typed title

    page: "Canfield, Matthew. Major, United States Army Reserve. Department of

    Military Intelligence."

    Canfield, Matthew. . . . Matthew Canfield. He was the proof.

    A buzzer rang on the intercom on the desk of a middle-aged receptionist.

    "Brigadier General Ellis?" She barely looked up from tb~, paper

    Right here.-

"Ibe secretary will see you now."

Ellis looked at his wristwatch. It was nine thirty-two.

    He rose, walked toward the ominous black-enameled door, and opened it.

    "Youll forgive me, General Ellis. I felt that the nature of your memorandum

    required the presence of a third party. May I introduce Undersecretary

    Brayduck?"

    The brigadier was startled. He had not anticipated a third party; he had

    specifically requested that the audience be between the secretary and

    himself alone.

    Undersecretary Brayduck stood about ton feet to the right of Hull's desk.

    He obviously was one of those White House.-State Department university men

    so prevalent in the Roosevelt administration. Even his clothes-the light

    gray flannels and the wide herringbone jacket-were casway emphasized m the

    silent counterpoint to the creased uniform of the brigadier.

    "Certainly, Mr. Secretary. Mr. Brayduck." 71be

brigadier nodded.

Cordell S. Hull sat behind the wide desk. His familiar

    4

features-the very light skin, almost white, the thinning white hair, the

steel-rimmed pince-nez in front of his blue-green eyes-all seemed larger

than life because they were an everyday image. The newspapers and the motion

picture newsreels were rarely without photographs of him. Even the more

inclusive election posters-ponderously asking, Do you want to change horses

in the middle of the stream?-had his reassuring, intelligent face

prominently displayed beneath Roosevelt's; sometimes more prominently than

the unknown Harry Truman's.

    Brayduck took a tobacco pouch out of his pocket and began stuffing his

    pipe. Hull arranged several papers on his desk and slowly opened a folder,

    identical to the one in the brigadier's hand, and looked down at it. Ellis

    recognized it. It was the confidential memorandum he had had hand-delivered

    to the secretary of state.

    Brayduck lit his pipe and the odor of the tobacco caused Ellis to look at

    the man once again. That smell belonged to one of those strange mixtures

    considered so original by the university people but generally offensive to

    anyone else in the room. Brigadier Ellis would be re.lieved when the war

    was over. Roosevelt would then be out and so would the so-called

    intellectuals and their badsmelling tobaccos.

The Brain Trust. Pinks, every one of them.

But first the war.

    Hull looked up at the brigadier. "Needless to say, General, your memorandum

    is very disturbing."

    "The. information was disturbing to me, Mr. Secretary.*#

    "No doubt. No doubt. The question would appear to be, Is there any

    foundation for your conclusions? I mean, anything concrete?"

"I believe so, sir.'.'

    "How many others in Intelligence know about this, Eliisr' Brayduck

    interrupted and the absence of the word "General" was not lost on the

    brigadier.

    "rve spoken to no one. I didn't think rd be speaking to anyone but the

    secretary this morning, to be perfectly frank with you."

    "Mr. Brayduck has my confidence, General Ellis. He's here at my request. My

    orders, if you like."

"I understand."

cordeli Hull leaned back in his chair. "Withotit of-

    5

fense, I wonder if you do. . . . 'You send a classified memorandum,

delivered under the highest priority to this office-to my own person, to be

exact-and the substance of what you say is nothing short of incredible."

    "A preposterous charge you admit you can't prove," interjected Brayduck,

    sucking on his pipe as he approached the desk.

    "Thafs precisely why we're here." Hull had requested Brayduck's presence

    but he was not going to suffer undue interference, much less insolence.

    Brayduck, however, was not to be put off. "Mr. Secretary, Army

    Intelligent:e is hardly without its inaccuracies. We've learned that at

    great cost. My only concern is to prevent another inaccuracy, a misinformed

    speculation, from becoming ammunition for this administration's political

    opponents. There's an election less than four weeks awayl"

    Hun shifted his large head no more than several inches. He did not look at

    Brayduck as he spoke. "You don't have to remind me of such pragmatic

    considerations. . . . However, I may have to remind you that we have other

    responsibilities.... Other than those to practical politics. Do I make

    myself clear?"

"Of course." Brayduck stopped in his tracks.

    Hull continued. "As I understand -your memorandum, General Ellis, you

    submit that an influential member of the German High Command is an American

    citizen operating under the assumed name-and a name wellknown to us--of

    Heinrich Kroeger."

    "I do, sir. Except that I qualified my statement by saying he ndght be."

    "You also imply that Heinrich Kroeger is associated with, or connected to,

    a number of large corporations in this country. industries involved with

    government contracts, armaments appropriations."

    "Yes, Mr. Secretary. Except, again, I stated that he was, not -necessarily

    is."

    "Tenses have ways of becoming bluffed with such accusations." Cordell Hull

    took off his steel-rimmed spectacles and placed them beside the folder.

    "Especially in time of war."

    Undersecretary Brayduck struck a match and spoke between puffs on his pipe.

    "You also state quite clearly that you have no specific proof."

    6

    "I have what I believe would be termed circumstantial evidence. Of such a

    nature I felt I'd be derelict in my duty if I didn't bring it to the

    secretary's attention." The brigadier took a deep breath before continuing.

    He knew that once he began he was committed.

    "I'd like to point out a few salient facts about Heinrich Kroeger. . . . To

    begin with, the dossier on ' him is incomplete. He's received no party

    recognition as most of the others have. And yet when others have come and

    gone, be's remained at the center. Obviously he has a great deal of

    influence with Hitler."

    "We know this." Hull did not like restatements of known information simply

    to bolster an argumenL

    "The -name itself, Mr. Secretary. Heinrich is as common as William or John,

    and Kroeger no more unusual than Smith or Jones in our own country."

    "Oh, come, General." Brayduck's pipe was curling smoke. "Such an inference

    would make half our field commanders suspect."

    Ellis turned and gave Brayduck the full benefit of his military scorn. "I

    believe the fact is relevant, Mr. Undersecretary."

    Hull began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to have Brayduck

    preseuL "There's no point in being hostile, gentlemem"

    "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Secretary.- Brayduck again would not

    accept a rebuke. "I believe my function here this morning is that of the

    devil's advocate. None of us, least of all you, Mr. Secretary, have the

    time to waste

    Hull looked over at the undersecretary, moving his swivel chair as he did

    so. "Let's make the time. Please continue, General."

    "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. A month ago word was relayed through Lisbon that

    Kroeger wanted to make contact with us. Channels were arranged and we

    expected the normal procedures to be followed. . . . Instead Kroeger

    rejected these procedures-refused any contact with British or French

    units-insisted on direct communication with Washington."

    "If I may?" Brayduck's tone was courteous. "I don't think thaVs an abnormal

    decision. We're the predominant factor, after all."

"It was abnormal, Mr. Brayduck, insofar as Kroeger

    7

would communicate with no one other than a Major Canfield... Major Matthew

Canfield who is, or was, an efficient minor officer in Army Intelligence

stationed in Washington."

    Brayduck held his pipe motionless and looked at the brigadier general.

    Cordell Hull leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the desk.

"There's no mention of this in your memorandum."

    "I realize that, sir. I omitted it in the conceivable event that the

    memorandum might be read by someone other than yourself."

    "You have my apologies, General." Brayduck was sincere.

Ellis smiled at the victory.

    Hull leaned back in his chair. "A ranking member of the Nazi High Command

    insists upon communicating only with an obscure major in Army Intelligence.

    Most unusuall" ,

    "Unusual, but not unheard of. . . . We've all known German nationals; we

    merely assumed that Major Canfield had met Kroeger before the war. In

    Germany."

    Brayduck stepped forward toward the brigadier. "Yet you tell us that

    Kroeger may not be a German. Therefore between Kroeger's request from

    Lisbon and your memorandum to the secretary something changed your minct.

    What was it? Canfield?"

    "Major Canfield is a competent, at times excellent Intelligence officer. An

    experienced man. However, since the channel between him and Kroeger was

    opened, hes displayed marked tendencies of being under emotional strain.

    He's become extremely nervous and hasn!t functioned in the manner of an

    officer with his background and experience.... He has also, Mr. Secretary,

    instructed me to make a most unusual request of the president of the United

    States."

"Which is?"

    "That a classified file from the archives of the State Department be

    delivered to him with the seals unbroken, before be makes contact with

    Heinrich Kroeger."

    Brayduck took his pipe from his mouth, about to object.

    "Just one minute, Mr. Brayduck." Brayduck may be brilliant, thought Hull,

    but did he have any idea of what it meant to a career officer such as Ellis

    to face the two

    8

of them and make a statement? For his statement was an undisguised petition

for the White House and the State Department to seriously consider granting

Canfield's request. Many officers would have rejected the illegal prop-

osition rather than allow themselves to be placed in such a position. That

was the army way. "Am I correct in assuming that you recommended the release

of this file to Major Canfield?"

    "That judgment would have to be yours. I only point out that Heinrich

    Kroeger has been instrumental in every important decision made by the Nazi

    hierarchy since its inception."

    "Could the defection of Heinrich Kroeger shorten the war?"

    "I don't know. The possibility brought me to your office."

    "What is the file this Major Canfield demands?" Brayduck was annoyed.

    "I know cuily the number and the classification stated by the archives

    section of the State Department."

    "What are they?" Cordell Hull again leaned forward on his desk.

    Ellis hesitated. It would be inviting personal as well as professional

    embarrassment to state the terms of the file without giving Hull the data

    on Canfield. He would have been able to do that had Brayduck not been

    there. Goddamn college boys. Ellis was always uncomfortable with the fast

    talkers. Dskmnl he thought. He'd be direct with Hull.

    "Before I answer you, may I take the opportunity to fill in some background

    material I believe is most relevant.... Not only relevant, air, but

    intrinsic to the file itself."

    "By all means." Hull wasn't sum whether he was irritated or fascinated.

    "The final communication from Heinrich Kroeger to Major Canfield demands a

    preliminary meeting with someone identified only as . . . April Red. This

    meeting is to take place in Bem, Switzerland, prior to any negotiations

    between Kroeger and Canfield."

    'Who is April Red, General? I gather from the tone of your voice that you

    have an idea who he may be." Very little was lost on Undersecretary

    Brayduck, and Brigadier Ellis was painfully aware of the fact.

    9

    "We or more specifically . . . I think I do." Ellis opened the white folder

    in his hands and flipped the top page over the cardboard. "If I may have

    the secretar3es permission, I have extracted the following from Major

    Canfield's security check."

"Of course., General,"

    "Matthew Canfield-entered government service, De

partment of the Interior, in March, nineteen seventeen.

Education --- one year University of Oklahoma, one and

one-half years night school extension courses, Washing

ton, D.C. Employed as a junior accountant government

frauds section of interior. Promoted to field accountant

in nineteen eighteen. Attached to Group Twenty division,

which, as you know . . "

    Cordell Hull interrupted quietly. -A small, highly trained unit assigned to

    conflicts of interests, misappropnations, et cetera, during the First World

    War. Very effective too... Until. as most such units, it became overly

    impressed with itself. Disbanded in. twenty-nine or thirty, I believe."

    "In nineteen thirty-two, Mr. Secretary." General Ellis was pleased that he

    had the facts at his command. He nipped a second page over the top of the

    folder and continued to read.

    '~Canfield remained with Interior for a period of ten years, rising four

    pay grades. Superior performance. Excellent rating. In May of nineteen

    twenty-seven he resigned from gove ment service to enter employment with

    the Scarlatti Industries."

    At the mention of the name ScarlattL both Hull and Brayduck reacted as if

    stung.

doWhich Of the S=latd companlesr,

    -Executive Officezi, five twenty-five Fifth Avenue. New York."

    Cordell Hull toyed with the thin black cord of his pince~nez. "Quite a jimp

    for our Mr. Canfield. From night scliodl in Washington to the executive

    offices of smiatti." He glanced downward, taking his eyes off the generaL

    "is Scarlatti one of the corporations you referred to in your memorandum?"

    Brayduck was impatient

    Before the brigadier could answer, Cordell Hull rose from his chair. Hull

    was tall and imposin& Much larger

    10

than the other two. "General Ellis, I instruct you not to answer any further

questionsi"

    Brayduck looked as though he'd been slapped. He stared at Hull, confused

    and startled by the secretary's order to the brigadier. Hull returned his

    gaze and spoke softly.

    "My apologies, Mr. Brayduck. I cannot guarantee it, but I hope to have an

    explanation for you later in the day. Until then, will you be so kind as to

    leave us alone?"

    "Of course." Brayduck knew that this good and honest old man had his

    reasons. "No explanation is necessary, sir."

"However, one is deserved."

    "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. You may be assured of my confidence regarding

    this meeting."

    Hull's eyes followed Brayduck until the door was closed. He then returned

    to the brigadier general, who stood quietly, not comprehending.

    "Undersecretary Brayduck is an extraordinary public servant. My dismissing

    him is not to be construed as a reflection on either his character or his

    work."

"Yes, sir."

    Hull slowly and in some pain sat down once more in bis chair. "I asked Mr.

    Brayduck to leave because I believe I may know something of what you're

    about to discuss. If I'm right~ ifs best we be alone."

    The brigadier general was unsettled. He did not think it possible for Hull

    to know.

    "Don't be alarmed, General. rm no mind reader. . . . I was in the House of

    Representatives during the period you speak of. Your words evoked a memory.

    An almost forgotten memory of a very warm afternoon in the House. . . . But

    perhaps I'm in error. Please continue where you left off. I believe our

    Major Canfield had entered employment with the Scarlatti Industries. . . .

    A most unusual step, I think you'll agree."

    "There is a logical explanation. Canfield married the widow of Ulster

    Stewart Scarlett six months after Scarlett's death in Zurich, Switzerland,

    in nineteen twentysix. Scarlett was the youngest of two surviving sons of

    Giovanni and Elizabeth ScarlattL founders of the Scarlatti Industries."

Cordell Hull briefly closed his eyes. "Go on."

    'VIster Scarlett and his wife Janet Saxon Scarlett had a son, Andrew

    Roland, subsequently adopted by Matthew Canfield after his marriage to

    Scarlett's widow. Adopted but not separated from the Scarlatti estates....

    Canfield continued in'the employ of Scarlatti until. August, nineteen

    forty, when he returned to government service and was commissioned in Army

    Intelligence."

    General Ellis paused and looked over the folder at Cordell Hull. He

    wondered if Hull was beginning to understand, but the secretary's facer

    betrayed no expression.

    "You spoke of the file Canfield has requested from the archives. What is

    it?"

    "That was my next consideration, Mr. Secretary." Ellis folded over another

    page. "The file is only a number to us, but the number gives us the year of

    its entry.... It's nineteen twenty-six, the fourth quarter of twenty-six to

    be mall

"And what are the terms of classification?"

    "Maximum. It can be released only by an executive order signed by the

    president for reasons of national security.19

    "I presume that one of the signators-witnesses to the file-was a man then

    employed by the Department of the Interior by the name of Matthew

    Canfield."

    The brigadier was visibly upset but continued to hold the white folder

    firmly between his thtLmb and forefinger. "That is correct."

    "And now he wants it back or he refuses to make contact with Kroeger."

"Yes, sir."

    "I trust you have pointed out to him the illegality of his position?"

    "I have personally threatened him with a court-martial. . His only reply

    was that its our choice to refuse bim.99

"And then no contact Is made with Kroeger?"

    "Yes' sir. . . . Ifs my opinion that Major Canfield would rather face

    spending the rest of his life in a military prison thin alter his

    p9sition."

    Cordell Hull rose from his chak and faced the general. 'Vould you care to

    summarizer,

    "It is my belief that the April Red referred to by Hq' rich Kroeger is the

    boy, Andrew Roland. I think he's Kroegees son. The initials are the same.

    The boy was

    12

bom in April, nineteen twenty-six. I believe that Heinrich Kroner is Ulster

ScsrletL"

"He died in Zurich." Hull watched the general closely.

    "The circumstances are suspecL There is on record only a death certificate

    from an obscure court in a small village. thirty miles outside of Zurich

    and untraceable affidavits of witnesses never heard of before or since."

    Hull stared coolly into the general's eyes. "You realize what you're

    saying? Scarlatti is one of the corporate giants.s.

    "I do, sir. I contend further that Major Canfield is aware of Kroner's

    identity and intends to destroy the file."

    "Do you believe that it's a conspiracy? A conspiracy to conceal the

    identity of Kroner2"

    "I don't know. . . . I'm not very good at putting into words another

    persQn*s motives. But Major Canfield's reactions seem so intensely private

    that I'm inclined to believe that it's a highly personal matter."

    Hull smiled. "I think you're very good with words.... However, you do

    believe that the truth is in the file? And if it is, why would Canfield

    bring it to our attention? Certainly he knows that if we can get it for

    him, we certainly can get it for ourselves. We might never have been aware

    of it, had he kept silenL"

    "As I said, CanflelWs an experienced man. rni sure he's acting on the

    premise that we soon will be aware of

"How?"

    "Through Kroner. . . . And Canfield has set the condition that the file's

    seals be intact. He's an expert, sir. He'd know if they were tampered

    with."

    Cordell Hull walked around his desk past the brigadier with his hands

    clasped behind his back. His gait was stM his health obviously failing.

    Brayduck had been right, thought the secretary of state. If even the

    specter of a relationship between the powerful American industrialists and

    the German High Command became known, regardless of how remote or haw long

    in the past, it could tear the country apart. Especially during a national

    election.

    "In your judgment if we delivered the file to Major Canfield, would he

    produce . April Red . . . for this meeting with Kroegerr,

"I believe he would."

    13

    "Why? lies a cruel thing to do to an eighteen-year-old toy."

    The general hesitated. 'Tm not sure he has an alternative. Theres nothing

    to prevent Kroeger from making other arrangements."

    Huff stopped pacing and looked at the brigadier general. He had made up his

    mind. "I shall have the president sign an executive order for the file.

    However, and frankly I place this as a condition for his signature, your

    suppositions are to remain between thetwo of us."

'The two Of usrI

    "I shall brief President Roosevelt on the substance of our conversation,

    but I will not burden him with conjectures which may prove to be unfounded.

    Your 'theory may be nothing more than a series of recorded coincidences

    easily explained."

"I understandLff

    "But if you are correct, Heinrich Kroeger could trigger an internal

    collapse in Berlin. Germany's in a death struggle. . . . As you've pointed

    out, he's had extraordinary staying power. He's part of the elite corps

    surrounding Hitler. The Praetorian Guard revolts against Caesar. if you're

    wrong, however, then we must both think of two people who will soon be on

    their way to Bern. And may God have mercy on our souls."

    Brigadier General Ellis replaced the pages in the white folder, picked up

    the attach6 case at his feet, and walked to the large black door. As be

    closed it behind him, he saw that Hull was staring at him. He had an

    uncomfortable feeling in -the pit of his stomach.

    Hull was not thinking about the general, however. He was remembering that

    warm afternoon long ago in the House of Representatives. Member after

    member had gotten up and read glowing tributes into the Congressional

    Record eulogizing a brave young American who was presumed dead. Everyone

    from both parties had expected him, the honorable member from the great

    state of Tennessee, to add his comments. Heads kept turning toward his desk

    in anticipation.

    Cordell Hull was the only member of the house who was on a first-name basis

    with the renowned Elizabeth Scarlatti, that legend in her own time. The

    mother of the brave young man being glorified for posterity in the Con-

    gress, of the United States.

    14

    For In spite of their political differences, Hull and his wife bad been

    friends with Elizabeth Scarlatti for yeam

Yet he had remained silent that warm afternoon.

    He had known Ulster Stewart Scarlett, and he had despised him.

is

CHAPTER 2

The brown sedan with the United States Army insignia on both doors turned

right on Twenty-second Street and entered Gramercy Square.

    In the back seat Matthew Canfield leaned forward, taking the briefcase off

    his lap and placing it at his feeL He pulled the right sleeve of his

    overcoat down to conceal the thick silver chain, which was tightly wound

    around his wrist and looped through the metal handle of the case,

    He knew that the contents of the briefcase, or more specifically, his

    possession of its contents, signified the end for him. When it was all

    over, and if he were still alive, they would crucify him if a way could be

    found that would exonerate the military.

    The army car made two left turns and stopped by the entrance of the

    Gramercy Arms Apartments. A uniformed doorman opened the rear door and

    Canfield stepped out.

    "I want you back here in half an hour," he toid his driver. "No later."

    The pale sergeant, obviously conditioned by his superior's babits, replied,

    "I'll be back in twenty minutes, gar."

    The, major nodded appreciatively, turned, and went into the building. As he

    rode the elevator up, the major numbly realized bow tired he was. Each

    number seemed to stay lighted far longer than it should have; the time

    lapse between the floors seemed interminable. And yet he was in no burry.

    No hurry, whatsoever.

    16

    Eighteen years. The end of the he but not the end of the fear. That would

    come only when Kroeger was dead. What would be left was guilt. He could

    live with the guilt, for it would be his alone and not the boy's or

    Janet!s.

    It would be his death, too. Not JanetL Not Andrew's. if death was called

    for, it would be big. He'd make sure of that

    He would not leave Bern, Switzerland, until Kroeger was dead.

Kroeger or himself.

in all likelihood, both of them.

    Out of the elevator he turned left and stepped down the short hallway to a

    door. He unlocked the door and stepped into a large, comfortable living

    room, furnished in Italian provincial style. Two huge bay windows over-

    looked the park, and various doors led to the bedrooms, dining room the

    pantry, and the library. Canfield stood for a moment and thought

    unavoidably that all this, too, went back eighteen years.

    The library door opened and a young man walked OuL He nodded to Canfield

    without enthusiasm. "Hello, Dad."

    Canfield stared at the boy. It took a great deal of strength not to rush to

    his son and hold him.

His son.

And not his son.

    He knew if he attempted such a gesture. it would be rejected. The boy was

    wary now and, although he tried not to show it, afraid.

    'Wello," said the major. "Give -me a band with all this, will your

    The young man crossed to the older one and mumbled, 46sure thing.99

    Between -them they unfastened the primary lock an the chain, and the

    younger man held the briefcase out straight so Canfield could manipulate

    the secondary combination lock, which was secured on the flat of his wrist.

    The briefcase came loose, and Canfield removed his hat, overcoat, and

    uniform jacket, throwing them on an easy chair.

    The boy held the briefcase, standing motionless before the major. He was

    extraordinarily good looking. 'He had bright blue eyes below very dark

    eyebrows, a straight but slightly upturned nose, and black hair combed

    neatly

    17

back. His complexion was swarthy as though he had a perpetual tan. He stood

just over six feet and was dressed in gray flannels, a blue shirt, and a

tweed jacket.

"How do you feel?" asked Canfield.

    The young man paused and replied softly. "Well, on my twelfth birthday you

    and Mother got me a new sailboat. I liked that better."

    The older man returned the younger's smile. "I guess you did."

    "Is this it?" The boy placed the briefcase on the table and fingered it.

"Everything."

"I suppose I should feel privileged."

    "It took an executive order from the president to got it out of State.7

"Really?" The boy looked up.

"DoWt be alarmed. I doubt he knows what's in iL"

"How comer,

"A deal was made. There was an understanding."

'I don't believe that."

    "I think you will after you read it. No more than ten people have ever seen

    it in full, and most of them are dead. When we compiled the last quarter of

    the file, we did it in segments . . . in nineteen thirty-eight. It's in the

    separate folder with the lead seals. The pages are out of sequence and have

    to be collated. The key's on the first page." The major quickly loosened

    his tic and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Was all that necessaryr

    "We thought it was. As I recall, we used rotating pools of typists." The

    major started toward a bedroom door. "I suggest you arrange the pages

    before starting the last folder." He entered the bedroom, hastily took off

    his shirt, and unlaced his shoes. The young man followed and stood in the

    doorframe.

'T*7hen are we going?" asked the boy.

'7hursday."

"How?"

    "Bomber Ferry Command. Matthews Air Force Base to Newfoundland, Iceland,

    Greenland, to Ireland. From Ireland, on a neutral, straight through to

    Lisbon."

"Lisbonr

    "The Swiss embassy takes over from there. TheyT take us to Bern... We're

    fully protected."

    18

    Canfield, having removed his trousers, selected a pair of light gray

    flannels from the closet and put them on.

    "What's Mother going to be told?" asked the young man-

    Canfield crossed into the bathroom without replying. He filled. the

    washbowl with hot water and began lathering his face.

    The boy's eyes followed him, but he did not move or break the silence. He

    sensed that the older man was far more upset than he wished to show.

    "Get me a clean shut from the second drawer over there, will you, please.

    Just put it on the bed."

    "Sure." He selected a widecollar broadcloth from the stack of shirts in the

    dresser drawer.

    Canfield spoke while he shaved. "Today's Monday, so wenhave three days. rU

    be making the final arrangements, and itIl give you time to digest the

    file. You'll have questions, and I don't have to tell you that youll have

    to ask me. Not that you'll be speaking to anyone else who could answer you,

    anyway, but in case you get hot and want to pick up- a phone, don!t."

'Wndersto(W

    incidentally, don!t feel you have to commit anything to memory That's not

    important. I amply know that you have to understand."

    Was he being honest with the boy? Was it really necessary to make him feel

    the weight of official truth? Canfield had convinced himself that it was,

    for no matter the years, no matter the affection between them Andrew was a

    Scarlett. In a few years he would inherit one of the largest fortimes on

    earth. Such persons had to have responsibility thrust upon them when it was

    necessary, not when it was convenient.

Or did they?

    Or was Canfield simply taking the easiest way for himself? Let the words

    come from someone else- Oh, Godl Make somebody elm speakl

    Drying his face with a towel, the major splashed some Pinaud on his face

    and started putting on his shirL

"If you!rv interested, you missed most of your beard."

    "Not interested." He selected a tie from a rack on the closet door and

    pulled a dark blue blazer from a hanger. "When I leave, you can start

    reading. If you go out for dinner, put the bAefcase in the cabinet to the

    right of

    19

the library door. Lock it. Here's the key." He unclipped a small key from

his key ring.

    The two men. walked out of the bedroom, and Canfield started toward the

    front hall.

    "You either didn't hear me or you don't want to answer, but what about

    Mother?"

    "I heard you." Canfield turned toward the young man. "Janet isn't supposed

    to know anything."

"Why not? Supposing something happens?"

    Canfield was visibly upseL "It's my judgment that she be told nothing."

    "I don't agree with you." The young man remained subdued.

'That doesn'i concern mel"

    "Maybe it should. I'm pretty important to you now.... I didn't choose to

    be, Dad."

    "And you think that gives you the right to issue ordersr,

    "I think I have a right to be heard... Look, I know you're upset, but she's

    my mother."

    "And my wife. Don't forget that part, will you, Andy?" The major took

    several steps toward the young man, but Andrew Scarlett turned away and

    walked to the table where the black leather case lay beside the lamp.

"You never showed me how to open your briefcam"

    "It's unlocked. I unlocked it in the car. It opens like any other

    briefcase."

    Young Scarlett fingered the clasps and they shot up. "I didn't believe you

    last night, you know," he said quietly while he opened the lid of the

    briefcase,

"Thaes not surplisin&"

    "No. Not about him. I believe that part because it answered a lot of

    questions about you." He turned and looked at the older man. "Well, not

    questions really, because I always thought I knew why you acted the way you

    did. I figured you just resented the Scarletts.... Not me. The Scarletts.

    Uncle Chancellor, Aunt Allison, all the kids. You and Mom always laughed at

    all of them. So did L . . . I remember how painful it was for you to tell

    me why my last name couldn't be the same as yours. Remember thatr'

'Tainfuffy." Canfield smiled gently.

    "But the last couple of years . . . you changed. You got pretty vicious

    about the Scarletts. You hated it every

    20

time anyone mentioned the Scarlatti companies. You'd fly off the handle

whenever the Scarlatti lawyers made appointments to discuss me with you and

Mom. She got angry with you and said you were unreasonable.... Only she was

wrong. I understand now. . . . So you see, I'm prepared to believe

whatever's in here." He closed the lid on the briefcase.

"It wont be easy for you."

    "It isn't easy now, and I'm just getting over the first

shock." He tried lamely to smile. "Anyway, I'll learn to

live with it, I guess. - * . . I never knew him. He was never

anything to me. I never paid much attention to Uncle

Chancellor's stories. You see, I didn't want to know any

thing. Do you know why~"

    The major watched the young man closely. "No, I don't," he replied.

"Because I never wanted to belong to anyone but you

.. and Janet"

    Oh, God in your protective heaven, thought Canfield. "rve got to go." He

    started once again for the door.

"Not yet. We haven't settled anything."

"Mere's nothing to settle."

    "You haven't heard what it was I di(&t believe last night."

Canfield stopped, his hand on the doorknob. -ftat?"

'That mother ... doesn't know about him."

    Canfield removed his hand from the knob and stood by the door. When he

    spoke his voice was low and controlled. "I was hoping to avoid this until

    later. Until you'd read the file."

    "IVs got to be now, or I doet want the file. If anything!s going to be kept

    from her, I want to know why before I go any further."

    The major came back into the center of the room. "What do you want me to

    tell you? That it would kill her to find out?"

"Would it?"

"Probably not. But I haven!t the courage to test that."

~Row long have you known?"

    Canfield walked to the window. The children had left the park. The gate was

    closed.

    "On June twelfth, nineteen thirty-six, I made positive identification. I

    amended the file a year and a half later on January second, nineteen

    thirty-eight."

    J* 21

"Jesus Christ."

"Yes. . . . Jesus Christ"

"And you never told her?"

"No."

"Dad, why not?"

    "I could give you twenty or thirty impressive reasons," said Canfield as he

    continued looking down at Gramercy Park. "But three have always stuck out

    in my mind. First-he'd done enough to her; he was her own personal hell.

    Second--once your grandmother died, no one else alive could identify him.

    And the third reason-your mother took my word ... that I'd killed him."

"Youllf

    The major turned from the window. "Yes. Me. . . . believed I had. . . .

    Enough so that I forced twenty-two witnesses to sign affidavits that he was

    dead. I bought a corrupt court outside of Zurich to issue the certificate

    of death. All very legal.... That June morning in thirty-six when I found

    out the truth we were at the bay house and I was on the patio having

    coffee. You and your mother were hosing down a catboat and calling for me

    to put it in the water. You kept splashing her with the hose, and she

    laughed and shrieked and ran around the boat with you following her. She

    was so happyl ... I didn't tell her. I'm not proud of myself, but there it

    is."

    The young man sat down in the chair next to the table. He started to speak

    several times, but each time the words fell short of making sense.

    Canfield spoke quietly. "Are you sure you want to belong to me?"

    The boy looked up from the chair. "You must have loved her a lot."

"I still do."

"Then I ... still want to belong to you."

    The shaded understatement of the young man's voice nearly caused Canfield

    to break. But he had promised himself he would not do that no matter what

    happened. 17here was too much left to go through.

    "I thank you for that." He turned back to the window. The street lights had

    been turned on--every other one as if to remind people that it could happen

    here, but probably wouldn't so they could relax.

'Dadrt

"Yes?"

    22

"Why did you go back and change the file?"

    There was a long silence before Canfield answered. "I had to. . . . That

    sounds funny now-'I had to.' It took me eighteen months to make that

    decision. When I finally did make it, it took less 'than five minutes to

    convince myself." He stopped for a moment wondering if it was necessary to

    tell the boy. There was no point in not telling him. "On New Year's Day in

    nineteen thirty-eight your mother bought me a new Packard Roadster. Twelve

    cylinders. A beautiful automobile. I took it for a spin on the Southampton

    road. , . . I'm not sure what happened -1 think the steering wheel locked.

    I don't know, but there was an accident. The car rolled over twice before

    I was thrown clear. It was a wreck, but I was okay. Except for a little

    blood, I was fine. But it occurred to me that I might have been killed."

    "I remember that. You phoned from somebody's house and Mom and I drove over

    and picked youup. You were a mess.

    "That's right. That was when I made up my mind to go down to Washington and

    amend the file."

"I don't understand."

    Canfield sat on the window seat "If anything did. happen to me, Scarlett .

    . -. Kroeger could have played out a horror story and would have if it

    served him. knet was vulnerable because she didn't know anything. So some-

    where the truth had to be told. . . . But told in such a way that would

    leave neither government any alternative but to have Kroeger eliminated .

    . , immediately. Speaking for this country, Kroeger made fools out of a lot

    of prominent men. Some of those distinguished gentlemen are at the policy

    level today. Others are manufacturing planes and tanks and ships. By

    identifying Kroeger as Scarlett, we move into a whole new set of questions.

    Questions our government won't want asked now. Or perhaps ever."

    He slowly unbuttoned his tweed overcoat but he did not want to take it off.

    "The Scarlatti lawyers have a letter which is to be delivered upon my death

    or disappearance to the most influential cabinet member of whatever

    administration is in Washington at the time. Scarlatti lawyers are good at

    that sort of thing. I knew the war was coming. Everyone

    23

did. Remember, it was nineteen thirty-eight.The

letter directs that person to the Me and the truth."

Canfield took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling.

    "As you711 see, I outlined a specific course of action if we were at war

    and a vadation if we weren7t. Only in the last extremity was your mother to

    be told."

    "Why should anyone pay attention to you after what YOU did?"

Andrew Scarlett was quick. Canfield likid that.

    "There are times when countries ... even countries in a state of war have

    the same objectives. Lines of communication are always open for such

    purposes . . . Heinrich Kroeger is a case in point He represents too great

    an embarrassment to either side.... The file makes that clear.,$

"That seems cynical."

    ,sit is. . . . I directed -that within fortyeight hours after my death, the

    Third Reich's High Command be reached and told that a few of our top

    personnel in Military Intelligence have long suspected Heinrich Kroeger to

    be an American citizen."

    Andrew Scariett leaned forward on the edge of the chair. Canfield went on

    without apparently noticing the boy's growing concern-

    "Since. Kroeger consistently makes underground cOntacta with a number of

    Americans~ these suspicions are believed to be confirmed. However, as a

    result of . . ." Canfield paused to recall the exact wording. ". - - 'the

    death of one Matthew Canfield, a former associate of the man known now as

    Heinrich Kroeger . . .' our government has in its possession ... documents

    which state unequivocably that Heinrich Kroeger is . . . criminally insane,

    We want no part of him. Either as a former citizen or as a defector."

    The young man rose from the chair, staring at his stepfather. "Is this

    trueT'

    it would have been sufficient, which is more to the point. The combination

    is enough to guarantee a swift execution. A traitor as well as an insane

    man."

"Thafs not what I asked."

"Ali the information's in the file."

    "I'd like to know now. Is it true? Is -hewas he in

sane? Or is it a trickT'

Canfield got up from the window seat. His reply was

    - 24

barely above a whisper. "This is why I wanted to wait. You want a simple

answer, and there isn't any."

"I want to know if my ... father was insane."

    "If you mean do we really have documented proof from medical authorities

    that he was unbalanced? . . . No, we do not. On the other hand, there were

    ten men left in Zurich, powerful men--six are still living-who had every

    reason in the world to want Kroeger, as they knew him, considered a

    lunatic. . . . it was their only way out. And being who they were, they

    made sure that was the case. The Heinrich Kroeger referred to in the

    original file is verified by all ten to be a maniac. A schizophrenic

    madman. It was a collective effort that left no room for doubt. They had no

    choice.... But if you ask me . . . Kroeger was the sanest man imaginable.

    And the cruelest. You'll read that, too."

"Why,don't you call him by his right name?"

    Suddenly, as if the strain had become more than he could bear, Canfield

    swiftly turned.

    Andrew watched the angered, flushtd, middle-aged man across the room. He

    had always loved him for he was a man to be loved. Positive, sure, capable,

    fun andwhat was the word his stepfather had used?-vulnerable.

    "You weren't just protecting Mother, were you? You were protecting me. You

    did what you did to protect me, too.... If he ever came back, I'd be a

    freak for the rest Of MY life."

    Canfield slowly turned and faced his stepson. "Not just you. There'd be a

    lot of freaks. I counted on that."

    "But not the same for them." Young Scarlett walked back to the briefcase.

    "I grant you. Not the same." He followed the boy and stood behind him. "I'd

    have given anything not to have told you, I think you know that. I had no

    choice. By making you part of the final conditions, Kroeger-left me no

    choice but to tell you the truth. I couldn't fake thaL ... He believes that

    once you know the truth you'll be terrified, and I'll do anything short of

    killing youperhaps even that-to keep you from going into panic. There is

    information in this file which could destroy your mother. Send me to

    prison, probably for the rest of my life. Oh, Kroeger thought it all out.

    But he misjudged. He didn't know you."

"Do I really have to see him? Talk to him?"

    2S

    "I'll be in the room with you. That's where the deal is made."

    Andrew Scarlett looked startled. "Then you're going to make a deal with

    him." It was a distasteful statement Of fact.

    .'We have to know what he can deliver. Once he's satisfied that rve carried

    out my end of the bargain, you, we'll know what it is he's offering. And

    for what."

    'Men I don't have to read this, do V It was not a question. -An I have to

    do is be there... okay, ru be therel"

"You'll read it became rm ordering you tot"

    AD right. All right, Dad. I'll read it."

    "Thank you. . . . Im sorry I had to speak that way." He began to button his

    overcoat.

    16Sure. . . . I deserved it. . . . By the way, suppose Mother decides to

    call me at school? She does, You know."

    "Theres a tap on your phone as of this morning. An intercept, to be exact.

    Works fine. You have a new friend Aamed Tom Ahrens."

"Who's -her

    "A lieutenant in CIC. Stationed in Boston. He has your schedule and will

    cover the phone. He knows what to say. You went to Smith for a long

    weekend."

"Jesus, you &ink of everythin&"

    #,most of the time." Canfield had reached the door. "I may not be back

    tonight"

'Where are you going?"

    "rve got some work to do. rd rather you didn't go out but if you do,

    remember the cabinet. Put everything away." He opened the door.

"I won!t so anywhere."

    "Good. And Andy ... you've got one hell of a respon'bility ahead of you. I

    hope we've brought you up so you can handle it. I think you can." Canfield

    walked out the door and closed it behind him.

    The young man knew that his stepfather spoke the wrong words. He was trying

    to say something else. The boy stared at the door and suddenly he knew what

    that something else was.

Matthew Canfield wasWt coming back.

    What had he said? In the last extremity, Janet had to be told. His mother

    had to be told the truth. And there

    26

was no one else now who could tell her.

Andrew Scarlett looked at the briefcase on the table.

    The son and the stepfather were going to Bern, but only the son would come

    back.

Matthew Canfield was going to his death.

    Canfield closed the apartment door and leaned against the hallway wall. He

    was heavy with sweat, and the rhythmic pounding in his chest was so loud he

    thought it might be heard back in the apartmenL

    He looked at his watch. It had taken him less than an hour, and he had

    remained remarkably calm. Now he wished to get as far away as possible. He

    knew that by any of the standards of courage or morality or responsibility,

    he should stay with the boy. But such demands could not be made on him now.

    One thing at a time or he'd go out of his mind. One item crossed off and

    then on to the next.

What was the next?

Tomorrow.

    The courier to Lisbon with the detailed precdutions. one mistake and

    everything could explode. The courier wasWt leaving until seven o'clock in

    the evening.

    He could spend the night and most of the day with Janet. He rationalized

    that he had to. If Andy cracked, the first thing he'd do was try to reach

    his mother. Because he couldn't face staying with him, he had to be with

    her.

    To hell with his officel To hell with the armyl To hell with the United

    States governmentl

    In light of his impending departure he was under voluntary surveillance

    twenty-four hours a day. God damn theml

    They expected him to be no farther than ten minutes from a Teletype.

Well, he wasn't going to be.

    He would spend every minute he could with Janet. She was closing up the

    Oyster Bay home for the winter. They'd be alone, perhaps for the last time.

Vighteen years and the charade was coming to a finish.

    Fortunately for the state of his anxiety, the elevator came quickly.

    Because now he was in a hurry. To Janet.

    27

    The sergeant held the car door open and saluted as smartly as he could.

    Under ordinary circumstances, the major would have chuckled and reminded

    the sergeant that he was in civilian clothes. Instead, he returned the

    salute informally and hopped into the car. "ro the office, Major

    Canfield?" "No, Sergeant. Oyster Bay."

F

28

    CHAPTER 3

An American Success Story

On August 24, 1892, the social world of Chicago and Evanston, Illinois, was

shaken to its foundations, which were not inordinately firm to begin with.

For on this day Elizabeth Royce Wyckham, the twenty-seven-yearold daughter

of industrialist Albert 0. Wyckham, married an impoverished Sicilian

immigrant by the name of Giovanni Merighi Scarlatti.

    Elizabeth Wyckharn was a tall, aristocratic girl who had been an

    ever-present source of worry to her parents. According to Albert 0. Wyckham

    and his wife, the aging Elizabeth had thrown over every golden matrimonial

    opportunity a girl could ask for in Chicago, Illinois. Her reply had been:

"Fool's gold, Papal"

    So they had taken her on a grand tour of the Continent, expending great

    sums in great expectations. After four months of surveying the best

    matrimonial prospects from England, France, and Germany, her reply had

    been:

"Idiot's gold, Papa. I'd prefer a string of loversl"

Her father had slapped his daughter resoundingly.

She proceeded, in turn, to kick him in the ankle.

Elizabeth first saw her future husband at one of those icnic outings the

officers of her father's firm in Chicago eld annually for deserving clerks

and their families. He had been introduced to her as a serf might have been

to the daughter of a feudal baron.

    He was a huge man with massive, yet somehow gentle hands and sharp Italian

    features. His English was almost

    29

unintenigible, but instead of accompanying his broken speech with awkward

humility,. he radiated confidence and made no apoiogies. Elizabeth liked

hun,immediately. Although young Scarlatti was neither a clerk nor had he a

family, he had impressed the WYckhm executives with has knowledge of

machinery and had actually submitted a design for a machine that would cut

the cost Of producing paper rolls by possibly 16 percent. He had been

invited to the picnic.

    ElizabeWs curiosity had already been aroused by her

fathees stones about him The greaser had a knack for

tinkering-absolutely incredible. He had spotted two ma

chines, in as many weeks wher . ein the addition of single

levers eliminated the nec4essit* of second men on the

jobs. As there were eight of each machine, the Wyckham

Company was able to lay off sixteen men who obviousfY

were no longer pulling their weight. Further, WYCkham

had had the foresight to hire a second-generation Italian

from Chicagcvs Little Italy to accompany Giovanni Scar

latti wherever he wandered in the plant and literally act

as his interpreter. Old Wyckhain objected to the eight dol

lars a week. he paid the conversAnt Italian but justified

the salary on the basis that Giovanni would make other

improvements. He had better. Wyckham was Paying

him fourteen dollars a week.

    The first true inkling Elizabeth had about her future husband came several

    weeks after the picnic. Her father gloatingly announced at the dinner table

    that his big Italian simpleton had requested permission to come in Sundaysl

    No additional pay, mind you; just that he had nothing better to do.

    Naturally, WYckham had arranged it with his watchman, for it was his

    Christian duty to keep such a fellow occupied and away from all the wine

    and beer to which Italians were addicted.

    On the second Sunday Elizabeth found a pretext to go from her elegant home

    in suburban Evanston to Chicago and then to the plant. There she found

    Giovanni, not in the machine shop but in one of the billing offices. He was

    laboriously copying down figures from a file marked clearly-COMWENTLu- The

    drawer of a steel file cabinet on the left wall of the office was open. A

    long string of thin wire was still hanging from the small lock. Obviously

    the lock had been expertly picked.

At that moment, as she stood in the doorway watching

    30

him. Elizabeth smile& This large, black-haired Jtafian simpleton was far

more complicated than her 'father thought And, not incidentally, he was most

attractive.

    Startled, Giovanni looked up Within a split second his attitude changed to

    one of defiance.

    "Okay, Miss 'Usbett You tell you papal I don't want to work here no morel"

    Elizabeth then spoke her first words of love to GiovannL

    "Get we a chair, Mr. ScarlattL rn help you... ICU be quicker that way."

And, indeed, it was.

    no next several weeks were spent educating Giovanni in the legal and

    corporate structure of the American industrial organization. Just the facts

    devoid of theory, for Giovanni supplied his own philosophy. This land of

    ol>portunity was for those just a little bit quicker than the other

    opportunists. The period was one of enormous economic growth, and Giovanni

    understood that unless his machines enabled him to own a part of that

    growth, his position would remain that of a servant to masters rather than

    a master of servants. And he was ambitious.

    Giovanni set to work with Elizabeth's help. He designed what old Albert

    Wyckhain and his executives thought was a revolutionary impact-extrusion

    press that could turn out corrugated carton sides at a phenomenal rate of

    speed and at a cost approximating a 30 percent saving over the old pr9cess.

    Wyckham. was delighted and gave Giovanni a ten-dollar raise.

    While waiting for the new machinery to be tooled and put into assembly,

    Elizabeth convinced her father to ask Giovanni to dinner. At first, Albert

    Wyckham. thou$ht his daughter was playing a joke. A joke in poor taste for

    all concerned. Wyckham. may have made fun of the Italian but he respected

    him. He did not wish to see his clever wop embarrassed at a dinner party.

    However, when Elizabeth told her father that embarrassment was the last

    thing she had in mind, that she had met Giovanni on several occasions since

    the company picnio-finding him quite amusing-her father consented to a

    small family dinner with suddenly new misgivings.

    Three days after the dinner Wyckham , s new- machinery for corrugated

    carton sides was in operation and on that morning Giovanni Scarlatti did

    not show up for work.

    31

None of the executives understood. It should have been the most important

morning of his life.

It was.

    For instead of Giovanni, a letter arrived at Albert Wyckham's office, typed

    by his own daughter. "Ibe letter outlined a second machine for corrugated

    carton sides that made Wyckharn's new assembly totally obsolete.

    Giovanni's conditions were frankly put. Either Wyckham assigned him a large

    block of company stock plus options for purchase of additional shares based

    upon current values, or he would take his second design for corrugated

    carton sides to Wyckharn's competitor. Whoever possessed the second design

    would bury the other. It didn't matter to Giovanni Scarlatti, but he did

    feel it would be better kept in the family as he was formally requesting

    Albert's daughter in marriage. Again, Wyckham's answer did not really

    concern him, because Elizabeth and he would be united as man and wife

    within the month regardless of his position.

    From this juncture on, the rise of Scarlatti was as rapid as it was

    clouded. The public facts indicate that for several years he continued to

    design newer and better machinery for a number of paper-producing companies

    throughout the Midwest. He did so always with the same conditions-minor

    royalties and shares of stock, with options to buy additional shares at the

    prices of stock prior to the installation of his new designs. All designs

    were subject to renegotiation of royalties after five-year periods. A

    reasonable item to be dealt with in reasonable good faith - A very

    acceptable legal expression, especially in light of the low royalty rates.

    By this time, Elizabetlfs father, exhausted by the tensions of business

    events and his daughters marriage o ,that wop," was content to retire.

    Giovanni and his wife were awarded the old man's entire voting stock in the

    Wyckharn Company.

    This was all Giovanni Scarlatti needed. Mathematics is a pure science, and

    never was this more apparent. Already possessing representation in eleven

    paper firms in Illinois, Ohio, and western Pennsylvania, and owning pat-

    tents on thirty-seven different operating assemblies, Giovanni Scarlatti

    called a conference of the firms accountable to him. In what amounted to a

    slaughter of the uninformed, Giovanni suggested that a desirable course of

    32

action was the formation of one parent organization with himself and his

wife as the principal stockholders.

    Everyone would, of course, be well taken care of, and the single company

    would expand beyond their wildest dreams under his inventive genius.

    If they didn't agree, they could take his machines out of their factories.

    He was a poor immigrant who had been deviously misled in his initial

    negotiations. The royalties paid for his designs were ridiculous in light

    of the profits. Also in several cases Individual stocks had risen

    astronomically and by the terms of his contracts those particular firms had

    to make his options available at the previous stock prices. When one came

    right down to it, Giovanni Scarlatti was a major stockholder in a number of

    established'paper companies.

    Howls were heard in boardrooms throughout the three states. Impetuous

    challenges were Bung at the arrogant Italian only to be muted by wiser

    legal counsel. Better a merging survival than isolated destruction.

    Scarlatti might be defeated in the courts, but it was quite possible that

    he might not be. In that latter event his demands could be excessive, and

    if rejected, the cost of retooling and loss of supply would plunge many of

    the firms into disastrous financial territory. Besides Scarlatti was a

    genius, and they all might do rather well.

    So the mammoth Scarlatti Industries was formed, and the empire of Giovanni

    Merighl Scarlatti was born..

    It was as its master-sprawling, energetic, insatiable. As his curiosity

    diversified, so did his companies. From paper it was an easy leap into

    packaging; from packaging into hauling and freight; from transportation

    into produce. And always a better idea came along with the purchas&

    By the year 1904, after twelve years of marriage, Elizabeth Wyckham

    Scarlatti decided that it was prudent for her and her husband to go east.

    Although her husband's fortimes were secure and growing daily, his

    popularity was scarcely enviable. Among the financial powers of Chicago,

    Giovanni was the living proof of the Monroe Doctrine. The Irish were

    disagreeable, but this was intolerable.

    Elizabeth's father and mother died; what few social loyalties that remained

    for her went with them. The consensus of the households of her lifelong

    friends was

    33

described by Franklyn Fowler, recently of Fowler Paper Products:

    'That black wop may own the mortgage on the club's building, but we'll be

    damned if we'll let him become a memberl"

    This general attitude had no effect on Giovanni, for be had neither the

    time nor the inclination for such indulgences. Neither did Elizabeth, for

    she had become Giovanni's partner in far more than the marriage bed. She

    was his censor, his sounding board, his constant interpreter of shaded

    meanings. But she differed from her husband regarding their banishment from

    the more normal social pursuits. Not for herself, but for the children.

    Elizabeth and Giovanni had been blessed with three sons. They were Roland

    Wyckham, age nine; Chancellor Drew, eight; and Ulster Stewart, seven. And

    although they were only boys, Elizabeth saw the effects the family's

    ostracism was having on them. They attended the exclusive Evanston School

    for Boys, but except for their daily school associations, they saw no boys

    but each other. They were never asked to birthday parties but always told

    about them on the following days; invitations proferred to their classmates

    were invariably coolly received by calls from governesses; and, perhaps

    most cutting of all, was the repetitive ditty that greeted the boys each

    morning as they arrived:

"Scarlatti, spaghettil Scarlatti, spagbettil"

    Elizabeth made up her mind that they should all have a fresh start. Even

    Giovanni and herself. She knew they could afford it even if it meant going

    back to his native Italy and buying Rome.

    Instead of Rome, however, Elizabeth took a trip to New York City and

    discovered something quite unexpected.

    New York was a very provincial town. Its interests were insular, and among

    those in the business world the reputation of Giovanni Merighi Scarlatti

    had taken a rather unusual twist; they weren't sure who he was other than

    the fact that he was an Italian inventor who had purchased a number of

    American companies in the Nfidwest.

Italian inventor. American companies.

    Elizabeth found also that some of the more astute men on Wall Street

    believed Scarlattis money had come

    34

from one of the Italian ship lines. After all, he'd married the daughter of

one of Chicago's best families.

New York it would be.

    Elizabeth arranged for a temporary family residence at the Delmonico, and

    once settled, Elizabeth knew she had made the right decision. The children

    were bursting with excitement, anticipating new schools and new friends;

    and withiri a month Giovanni had purchased controlling interest in two

    failing, antiquated paper mills on the Hudson and was eagerly planning

    their joint resurrection.

    The Scarlattis stayed at Delmonico's for nearly two years. it wasn't really

    necessary, for the uptown house might have been completed much sooner had

    Giovanni been able to give it proper attention. However, as a result of his

    lengthy conferences with the architects and contractors, he discovered

    another interest-land.

    One evening while Elizabeth and Giovanni were having a late supper in their

    suite, Giovanni suddenly said, "Write out a check for two hundred ten

    thousand dollars. Put in the name East Island Real Estaters."

"Realtors, you mean?"

'Thars right. Let me have the crackers."

Elizabeth passed the croutons. "That's a lot of xnoney~w

"We got a lot of money?"

    "Well, yes, we do, but two hundred and ten thousand dollars... is it a now

    plant?"

    "Just give me the check, Elizabeth. rve got a good surprise fnr you."

    She stared at him. "You know I don't question your judgment but I must

    insist. . . "

    "All right, an right.,, Giovanni smiled. "You don't get a surprise. I tell

    you. . rm going to -be like a barone."

"A what?"

"A barone. A conte. You can be a contessa!"

"I simply don!t understand... :'

    "In Italy, a man who has a couple of fields, maybe a few pigs, he's

    practically a barone. Lots of men want to be baroni. I was talking to the

    East Island people. Theyre gonna sell me some meadows out on Long Island."

    -Giovanni, they're worthlessl They're simply the end of nowherel"

    "Woman, use your headl Already there's no place for the horses to stand.

    Tomorrow you give me the check.

    35

Don't argue, please. Justa smile and be the wife of a

barone."

Elizabeth Scarlatti smiled.

    -AA

    ,=1d; W

    dKed,41 IJ4,=

    &,'eadaffi 0/ FerMAI

&rollbe el Fef nUX dr(p9talh? - (D9NIedM 6LOA We

    4eimoxleo - dyew1val

    Although Elizabeth did not take the cards seriouslythey became a private

    joke between her and Giovannithey did serve a purpose when not elaborated

    upon. They gave an identification befitting the Scarlatti wealth. Although

    no one who knew them ever referred to either as conte or contessa, there

    were many who weren't sure.

It was just possible. . . .

    And one specific result-although the title did not appear on the cards-was

    that for the remainder of her long life Elizabeth was called madame.

Madame Elizabeth Scarlatti.

    And Giovanni could no longer reach across the table and take his wife's

    bowl of soup.

    Two years after the purchase of the land, on July 14, 1908, Giovanni

    Merighi Scarlatti died. The man was burnt out. And for weeks Elizabeth

    numbly tried to understand. There was no one to whom she could turn. She

    and Giovanni had been lovers, friends, partners, and each other's

    conscience. The thought of living without one another had been the only

    real fear in their lives.

But he was gone, and Elizabeth knew that they had not

    36

built an empire for one to see it collapse with the other's absence.

    Her first order of business was to consolidate the management of the

    widespread Scarlatti Industries into i iingle command post.

    Top executives and their families were uprooted throughout the Midwest and

    brought to New York. Charts. were prepared for Elizabeth's approval clearly

    defining all levels of decisions and areas of specific responsibility. A

    private network of telegraphic communications was set up between the New

    York offices and each plant, factory, yard, and subdivision office. Eliza-

    beth was a good general and her arifty was a well-trained, headstrong

    organization. The times were on her side, and her shrewd analysis of people

    took care of the rest.

    A magnificent town house was built, a country estate purchased in Newport,

    another seaside retreat constructed in a development called Oyster Bay, and

    every week she held a series of exhausting meetings with the executives of

    her late husband's companies.

    Among her most important actions was her decision to help her children

    become totally identified with Protestant democracy. Her reasoning was

    simple. The name Scarlatti was out of place, even crude, in the circles her

    sons had entered and in which they would continue to, live for the rest of

    their lives. Their names were legally

altered to Scarlett.

    Of course, for herself, in deep respect for Don Giovanni and in the

    tradition of Ferrara, she remained:

    1616014

    C-0

    C/ Fawn

    37

    No residence was listed for it was difficult to know at which home she

    would be at a given time.

    Elizabeth recognized the unpleasant fact that her two older sons had

    neither Giovanni's gift of imagination nor her own perception of their

    fellow man. It was difficult to know with the youngest, Ulster Stewart, for

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett was emerging as a problem.

    In his early years it was merely the fact that be was a buIly-a trait

    Elizabeth ascribed to his being the youngest, the most spoiled. But as he

    grew into his teens, Ulster's outlook changed subtly. He not only had to

    have his own way, he now demanded it. He was the only one of the brothers

    who used his wealth with cruelty. With brutality, perhaps, and that

    concerned Elizabeth. She first encountered this attitude on his thirteenth

    birthday. A few days before the event his teacher sent her a note.

    Dear Madame Scarlatti:

    Ulster's birthday invitations seem to have become a minor problem. The

    dear boy can't make up his mind who are his best friends-he has so manyand

    as a result he has given out a number of invitations and taken them back

    in favor of other boys. Ilm sure the Parkleigh School would waive the

    twenty-five limit in Ulster Stewart's case.

That night Elizabeth asked Ulster about it.

"'Yes. I took some of the invitations back. I changed mind."

"Why? That's very discourteous."

"Why not? I didn't want them to come."

    "Then why did you give them the invitations in the first place?"

    "So they could all run home and tell their fathers and mothers they were

    coming over." The boy laughed. "Then they had to go back and say they

    weren't."

"That's terriblel"

    "I don't think so. They don't want to come to my birthday party, they want

    to come to your housel"

    38

    While a freshman at Princeton, Ulster Stewart Scarlett displayed marked

    tendencies of hostility toward his brothers, his classmates, his teachers,

    and for Elizabeth the most unattractive, her servants. He was tolerated be-

    cause he was the son of Elizabeth Scarlatti and for no other reason. Ulster

    was a monstrously spoiled young man, and Elizabeth knew she had to do

    something about it. In June of 1916 she ordered him to come home for a

    weekend, and told her son he had to take a job.

"I will not!"

"You will! You will not disobey mel"

    And he didn't. Ulster spent the summer at the Hudson mill while his two

    brothers in Oyster Bay enjoyed the pleasures of Long Island Sound.

    At the end of the surnmer, Elizabeth asked how he had done.

    "You want the truth, Madame Scarlatti?" asked the youngish plant manager in

    Elizabeth's study one Saturday morning.

"Of course I do."

"It'll probably cost me my job."

"I doubt that."

    "Very well, ma'am. Your son started out in raw baling as you ordered. It's

    a tough job but he's strong. . . . I yanked him out of there after he beat

    up a couple of men."

"Good Lordl Wby wasn't I told?"

    "I didWt know the circumstances. I thought that maybe the men had pushed

    him around. I didn't know."

"What did you find out?"

    "The pushing was at the other end. . . . I put him in the upstairs presses

    and that was worse. He threatened the others, said he'd get them fired,

    made them do his work. He never let anyone forget who he was."

"You should have told me."

    "I didn't know myself until the other week. Three men quit. We had to pay

    a dentist bill for one of them. Your son hit him with a lead strip."

    "These are terrible things to hear. . . . Would you care to offer an

    opinion? Please, be frank. It will be to your advantage."

    39

    "Your son is big. He's a tough young fella.... But I'm not sure what else

    he is. I just have an idea he wants to start at the top and maybe that's

    what he should do. He's your son. His father built the mill."

    "ThatAftes him no such right. His father didn!t start at the topl"

    "Then maybe you should explain that to him. He doesn't seem to have much

    use for any of us."

    "What you're saying is that my son has a birthright, a temper, certain

    animal strength and no apparent talents. Am I correct?"

    "If that costs me my job, I'll find another. Yes. I don't like your son. I

    don't like him at all."

    Elizabeth studied the man carefully. "I'm not sure I do, either. Yo&U

    receive a raise starting next week."

    Elizabeth sent Ulster Stewart back to Princeton that fall, and the day of

    his departure she confronted him with the summer's report.

    "That dirty little Irish son of a bitch was out to get mel I knew thatt"

    'Mat dirty little Irish son of a bitch is an excellent plant manager."

"He lied.1 It's all liesl"

    "It's the truthl He kept a number of men from pressIng charges against you.

    You should be grateful for that"

"To hell with theral Groveling little snot-noses I"

    "Your language is abhorrentl Who are you to call names? What have you

    contributed?"

"I don't have tol"

    "Why? Because you're what you are? What are you? What extraordinary

    capabilities do you possess? I'd like to IWOW.11

    "That's what yoWre looking for, isn't it? isn't ifl? What can you do,

    little man? What can you do to make money ?02

"It's one measure of success."

"Ws your only measurel"

"And you reject it?"

"You're damned rightl"

'Men become a missionary."

"No, thanksl"

    "Then don't cast aspersions at the marketplace. It takes a certain

    capability to survive there. Your father knew that."

    40

    "He knew how to maneuver. You think I haven't heard? How to manipulate,

    just like youl"

    "He was a genius! He trained himself! What have you done? What have you

    ever done but live on what he provided? And you can't even do that

    graciously I"

"Shit!"

    Elizabeth suddenly stopped for a moment, watching her son. "That's it! My

    God, that's it, isn't it? . . . You're frightened to death. You possess a

    great deal of arrogance but you have nothing-absolutely nothing-to be ar-

    rogant about! It must be very painful."

    Her son raced out of the room, and Elizabeth sat for a long time pondering

    the exchange that had just taken place. She was genuinely afraid. Ulster

    was dangerous. He saw all around him the fruits of accomplishment without

    the talent or the ability to make his own contribution. He'd bear watching.

    Then she thought of all three sons. Shy, malleable Roland Wyckham;

    studious, precise Chancellor Drew; and the arrogant Ulster Stewart.

    On April 6, 1917, the immediate answer was provided: America entered the

    World War.

    The first to go was Roland Wyckham. He left his senior year at Princeton

    and sailed for France as Lieutenant Scarlett, AEF, Artillery. He was killed

    on his first day at the f ront.

    The two remaining boys immediately made plans to avenge their brother's

    death. For Chancellor Drew the revenge had meaning; for Ulster Stewart it

    was an escape. And Elizabeth reasoned that she and Giovanni had not created

    an empire to have it terminated by war. One child must stay behind.

    With cold calculation she commanded Chancellor Drew to remain a civilian.

    Ulster Stewart could go to war.

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett sailed for France, had nQ mishaps at Cherbourg, and

    gave a fair account of fiimself at the front, especially at Meuse-Argonne.

    In the last days of the war he was decorated for bravery in action against

    the enemy.

    41

    CHAPTER 4

    November 2,1918

The Meuse-Argonne offensive was in its third or pursuit stage in the

successful battle to break the Hindenburg line between Sedan and M&itres.

The American First Army was deployed from Regneville to La Haras6e in the

Argonne Forest, a distance of some twenty miles. If the chief German supply

lines in this sector were broken, the Kaiser's Geneial Ludendorff would have

no alternative but to sue for an armistice.

    On November 2, the Third Army Corps under the command of General Robert Lee

    Bullard crashed through the demoralized German ranks on the right flank and

    took not only the territory but also eight thousand prisoners. Although

    other division commanders lived to dispute the conclusion, this

    breakthrough by the Third Army Corps signaled the final arrangements for

    the armistice a week later.

    And for many in B Company, Fourteenth Battalion, Twen"venth Division, lij~d

    Corps, the performance of Second Lieutenant Ulster Scarlett was a superb

    example of the heroics that prevailed during those days of horror.

    It started early in the morning. Scarlett's company had reached a fleld in

    front of a small forest of pine. The miniature forest was filled with

    Germans trying desperately to regroup under cover in order to execute an

    orderly retreat farther back into their own lines. The Americans dug three

    rows of shallow trenches to minimize their exposure.

    42

    Second Lieutenant Scarlett had one dug for himself just a bit deeper.

    The captain of Scarlett's company did not like his second lieutenant, for

    the lieutenant was very good at issuing orders but very poor at executing

    them himself. Further, the captain suspected him of being less than

    enthusiastic about being shifted from a reserve division to the combat

    -area. He also held it against his second lieutenant that throughout their

    reserve assignment-the major portion of their stay in France-he had been

    sought out by any number of ranking officers, all only too happy to have

    their photographs taken with him. It seemed to the captain that his second

    lieutenant was having a bell of a good time.

    On this particular November morning, he was delighted to send him out on

    patrol.

"Scarlett. Take four men and scout out their positions."

    "You're insane," said Scarlett laconically. "What positions? Tliey're

    hightailing it out of the whole area."

"Did you hear what I said?"

    "I don't give a God damn what you said. Tbere's no point in a patrol."

    Several of the men were sitting in the trenches watching the two officers.

    "What's the matter, Lieutenant? No photographers around? No country club

    colonels to pat you on the back? Get four men and get out there."

"Go shag, Captaint"

    "Are you disobeying your superior officer in the face of the enemy?"

    Ulster Stewart looked at the smaller man with contempt. "Not disobeying.

    Just being insubordinate. Insulting, if you understand the term better. .

    . . I'm insulting you because I think you're stupid."

    The captain reached for his holster, but Scarlett swiftly clamped his large

    hand on his superior's wrist.

    "You don't shoot people for insubordination, Captain. Ifs not in the

    regulations. . . . I've got a better idea. Why waste four other men. . . ."

    He turned and glanced at the soldiers watching. "Unless four of you want to

    be candidates for Schnauzer bullets, I'll go myself."

The captain was stunned. He had no reply.

    The men were similarly and gratefully surprised. Scarlett removed his hand

    from the captain's arm.

    43

    "I'll be back in half an hour. If not, I suggest you wait foK some rear

    support. We're quite a bit ahead of the others."

    Scarlett checked the magazine of his revolver and quickly crawled around

    the captain to the west Bank, disappearing into the overgrown field.

    The men mumbled to each other. They had misjudged the snotty lieutenant

    with all the fancy friends. The captain swore to himself and frankly hoped

    his second lieutenant would not return

Which was precisely what Ulster Scarlett had in mind.

    His plan was simple. He saw that about two hundred yards to the. right of

    the wooded area in front of Company B was a clump of large rocks surrounded

    by antumn-foliaged trees. It was one of those rough-hewn spots that farmers

    can not dig out, so the fields were planted around it. Too small an area

    for any group but ample space for one or two individuals to hide them-

    selves. He would make his way there.

    As he crawled through the field, he came upon a number of dead infantrymen.

    The corpses had a strange effect upon him. He found himself removing

    personal items--wristwatches, rings, tags. Ripping them off and dropping

    them seconds later. He wasn7t sure why he did it- He felt like a ruler in

    some mythical kingdom, and these were his subjects.

    After ten minutes he wasn't sure of the direction of his refuge. He raised

    his head just high enough to orient himself, saw the tips of some small

    trees, and knew he was headed toward his sanctuary. He hurried forward,

    elbows and knees pounding the soft earth.

    Suddenly he came to the foot of several large pines. He was not in the

    rocky knoll but on the edge of the small forest his company planned to

    attack. His preoccupation with the dead enemy had caused him to see what he

    wanted to am The small trees had actually been the tall pines above him

    He was about to crawl back into the field when he saw, about fifteen feet

    to his left, a machine gun with a German soldier propped up against the

    trunk of a tree. He drew his revolver and remained still. Either the German

    had not seen him or he was dead. The gun was pointed directly at him.

    44

    Then the German moved. Only slightly with his right arm. He was trying to

    reach his weapon but in too much pain to accomplish the task.

    Scarlett rushed forward and fell upon the wounded soldier, trying to make

    as little noise as possible. He could not let the German fire or raise an

    alarm. Awkwardly he pulled the man away from the gun and pinned him on the

    ground. Not wanting to fire his revolver and draw attention to himself, he

    began to choke him. Fingers and thumbs on his throat, the German tried to

    speak.

    "Amerikanerl Amerikanerl Ich ergebe michl" He held his palms up in

    desperation and. gestured behind him.

    Scarlett partially released his grip. He whispered. 'What? What do you

    want?" He let the German raise himself as much as he was able to. The man

    had been left to die with his weapon, holding off whatever assault came

    while the rest of his company retreated.

    He pushed the German machine gun out of the wounded man's reach and, while

    alternately looking forward and backward, crawled several yards into the

    forest. All around were signs of evacuation. Gas masks, emptied knapsacks,

    even bandoliers of ammunition. Anything too heavy to carry easily.

They'd all gone.

    He rose and walked back to the German soldier. Something was becoming very

    clear to Ulster Scarlett.

    "Amerikanerl Der Scheint ist fast zu Ende zu seinl Erlaube mir nach Hause

    zu gehen?"

    Lieutenant Scarlett had made up his mind. The situation was perfectl More

    than perfect-it was extraordinaryl

    It would take an hour, perhaps longer, for the rest of the Fourtmnth

    Battalion to reach the area. B Company's Captain Jenkins was so determined

    to be a hero he had ran hell out of them.'Advancel Advancel Advancel

    But this was his-Scarlett's-way outl Maybe they'd jump a rank and make him

    a captain. Why not? He'd be a hero.

Only he wouldn!t be there. -

    Scarlett withdrew his revolver and as - the German screamed he shot him in

    the forehead. Then he leapt to the machine gun. He started firing.

First to the rear, then to the'right, then to the left.

    45

    The crackling, shattering noise echoed throughout the forest The bullets

    entenng trees thumped with a terrible finality. The sound was overpowering.

    And then Scarlett pointed the weapon in the direction of his own men. He

    pulled the trigger and held it steady, swinging the gun from one Bank to

    the other. Scare the living Jesus out of theml Maybe kill a fewl

Who cared?

H~ was a power of death.

He enjoyed it.

He was entitled to it.

He laughed.

He withdrew his pressed finger and stood up.

    He could see the mounds of dirt several hundred yards to the west. Soon he

    would be miles away and out of it alll

    Suddenly he had the feeling he was being watchedl Someone was watching himl

    He withdrew his pistol once again and crouched to the earth.

Snapl

A twig, a branch, a crushed stonel

    He crawled on his knees slowly, cautiously into the woods.

Nt)thing.

    He allowed his imagination to take over his reason. The sound was the sound

    of a tree limb cracked by the machine-gun fire. ne sound was the sound of

    that s

limb failing to the ground.

Nothing.

    scarlett retreated, stiff unsure, to the edge of the woods. He quickly

    picked up the remains of the dead German's helmet and began to run back to

    Company B's position.

    what Ulster Stewart did not know was that he wag being watched. He was

    being watched intently. With incredulity.

    A German officer, the blood on -his forehead slowly congealing, stood

    upright hidden from the American by the trunk of a wide pine tree. He had

    been about to kill the Yank lieutenant-as soon as his enemy left the

    gun-when be saw the man suddenly turn his fire on his own men. His own

    troops.

His own troopsl

    46

    He had the American in his Lugees sight but he did not wish to kill this

    man.

Not yet.

    For the German officer, the last man of his company in that small

    forest-4eft for dead-knew precisely what the American was doing.

It was a classic example under maximum conditions.

An infantry point, a commissioned officer at that, turn

ing his information to his own advantage against his own troopst

    He could put himself out of range of combat and get a medal in the bargainI

ne German officer would follow -this American.

    lieutenant Scarlett was halfway back -to Company Bs position when he heard

    the noise behind him. He Rung himself to the ground and slowly turned his

    body around. He tried to stare through the slightly weaving tall grass.

Nothing.

Or was there nothing?

    There was a corpse not twenty feet 'away-face down. But there were corpses

    everywhere.

    Scarlett didn't remember this one. He remembered only the faces. He saw

    only the faces. He didn't remember.

Why should he?

Corpses everywhere. How could he remember? A sin-

'b With t~ face down. There must be dozens like e L olyju iL t notice them.

tha. H st d

    He was letting his imagination overwork againl It was dawn. . . . Animals

    would come out of the ground, out of the trees.

Maybe.

Nothing moved.

    He got up and raced to the mounds of dirt to Company B.

    'Scarlettl My God, its youl" said the captain, who was crouchecl_ in front

    of the first trench. "You're lucky we didn!t shoot. We lost Fernald and

    Otis in the L%qA firel We couldn't return it because you were out therel"

Ulster remembered Fernald and Otis.

No loss. Not in exchange for his own escape.

    He threw the German helmet he had carried from the forest to the ground.

    "Now, listen to me. I've wiped out one nest, but there are two others.

    They're waiting for

    47

us. I know where they are and I can get them. But you've got to stay putl

Down! Fire off to the left in ten minute3 after I leave!"

    "Where are you going?" asked the captain' in consternation.

    "Back where I can do some goodl Give me ten minutes and then start firing.

    Keep it up for at least three or four minutes, but for Christ's sake, shoot

    left. Don't kill me. I need the diversion." He abruptly stopped and before

    the captain could speak reentered the field.

    Once in the tall grass, Scarlett sprung from one German corpse to another,

    grabbing the helmets off the lifeless heads. After he had five helmets, he

    lay on the ground and waited for the firing to commence.

    TILe captain did his part. One would have thought they were back at

    Chiteau-Thierry. In four minutes the firing stopped.

    Scarlett rose and ran back to his company's lines. As he appeared with the

    helmets in his hand, the men broke into spontaneous cheers. Even the

    captain, whose resentment disappeared with his newfound admiration, joined

    his men.

    "God danm it to hell, Scarlettl That was the bravest act I've seen in the

    warl"

    "Not so fast," Scarlett demurred with a humility not in evidence before.

    "We're clear in front and on the left flank, but a couple of Krauts ran off

    to the right. rm going after them."

    "You don't have to. Let 'em go. You've done enough." Captain Jenkins

    revised his opinion of Ulster ScarletL The young lieutenant had met his

    challenge.

"If you don't mind, sir, I don't think I have."

"What do you mean?"

    "My brother. . . . Rolly was his name. The Krauts got him eight months ago.

    Let me go after them and you take the ground."

Ulster Scarlett disappeared back into the field.

He knew exactly where he was going.

    A few minutes later the American Lieutenant crouched by a large rock in his

    tiny island of stone and weeds. He waited for B Company to start its

    assault on the forest of pines. He leaned against the hard surface and

    looked up at the sky.

Then it came.

    48

    The men shouted to give -themselves a touch more courage in the conceivable

    event they met the retreating enemy. Sporadic shots rang out. Several

    fingers were nervous. As the company reached the forest, a shattering

    volley from a score of rifles could be heard.

They were firing at dead men, thought Ulster Scarlett.

He was safe now.

For him the war Was over.

    "Stay where you are, Amerikanerl" The voice was thickly Germanic- "Don't

    movel"

    Scarlett had reached for his pistol but the voice above him was emphatic.

    To touch his revolver meant death.

    "You speak English." It was all Lieutenant Scarlett could think of to say.

    "Reasonably well. Don't movel My gun is aimed at your skull. . . . The same

    area of the skull where you put a bullet into Corporal Kroeger."

Ulster Scarlett froze.

There had been someonel He had heard somethinol

. The corpse in the fieldl

But why hadn't the German killed him?

    "I did what I had to do." Again it was the only thing Scarlett could think

    of to say.

    "I'm sure of that. Just as I am sure you had no alternative but to fire on

    your own troops. . . . You have ... very strange concepts of your calling

    In this war, do you notT'

Scarlett was beginning to understand.

"This war ... is over."

    "I have a degree in military strategy. from the Imperial Staff school in

    Berlin. rm aware of our impending defeat. . . . Ludendorff will have no

    choice once the M6ares line is broken."

"Men why kill me?"

-The German officer came from behind the huge rock and faced Ulster

Scarlett, his pistol pointed at the American's head. Scarlett saw that he

was a man not much older than himself, a young man with broad shoulderslike

himself. Tall-like himself, with a confident look in his eyes, which were

bright blue-like his own.

    "We can be out of it, for Christ's sakel We can be out of itl Why the hell

    should we sacrifice each other? Or even one of us.... I can help you, you

    knowl"

"Can you reallyTo

    49

    Scarlett looked at his captor. He knew he could not plead, could not show

    weakness. He had to remain calm, logical. "Listen to me. . . . If you're

    picked up, you'll be put in a camp with thousands of others. That is, if

    yqu're not shot. I wouldn't count on any officers' privileges if I were

    you. It'll take weeks, months, maybe a year or longer before they get to

    you! Before they let you gol"

"And you can change all this?"

"You're damned right I cani"

"But why would you?"

    "Because I want to be out of itl . . . And so do youl . . . If you didn't,

    you would have killed me by now. ... We need each other."

"What do you propose?"

"You're my prisoner. . .

"You think me insane?"

"Keep your pistoll Take the bullets out of mine.

If anyone comes across us, I'm taking you back for interrogation ... far

back. Until we can get you some clothes. ... If we can get to Paris, I'll

get you money."

"How?"

    Ulster Scarlett grinned a confident smile. The smile of wealth. "That's my

    business. . . . What choice have you got? ... Kill me and you're a prisoner

    anyway. Maybe a dead man. And you haven't much time. . .

"Get upl Put your arms out against the rockl"

    Scarlett complied as the German officer took Scarletfs revolver out of his

    holster and removed the cartridges.

"Turn aroundl"

    "In less than an hour others'll be coming up. We were an advance company

    but not that far ahead."

    The German waved his pistol at Scarlett. "There are several -farmhouses

    about a kilometer and a half southwest. Movel Mach schnellr' With his left

    hand he thrust Scarlett's empty revolver at him.

The two men ran across the fields.

    -The artillery to the north began its early morning barrage. The sun had

    broken through the clouds and the mist and was now bright.

    About a mile to the southwest was a cluster of buildings. A bam and two

    small stone houses. It was necessary to cross a wide dirt road to reach the

    overgrown pasture, fenced for livestock, which were not now in evidence.

    50

Chimney smoke curled from the larger of the two houses.

    Someone had a fire going and that meant sombone had food, warmth. Someone

    had supplies.

"Let's get into that shack," said Ulster.

"Neiml Your troops will be coming through."

    "For Chrisfs sake, we've got to get you some clothes. Can't you see that?"

    The German clicked the hammer of his Luger into firing position. "You're

    inconsistent. I thought you proposed taking me back-far back-through your

    own lines for interrogation? It might be simpler to kill you now.91

    "Only until we could get you clothesl If I've got a Kraut officer in tow,

    there's nothing to prevent some fatass captain figuring out the same thing

    I havel Or a major or a colonel who wants to get the hell out of the area.

    . . . It's been done before. An they have to do is order me to turn you

    over and thairs itl . . . If you're in civilian clothes, I can get us

    through easier. Tliere!s so damned much confusiont"

    The German slowly released the hammer of his revolver, still staring at the

    lieutenant "You really do want this war to be over for you, don't you?"

    Inside the stone house was an old man, hard of hearing, confused and

    frightened by the strange pair. With little pretense, holding the unloaded

    revolver, the American lieutenant ordered the man to pack a supply bf food

    and find clothes-any clothes for his "Prisoner."

    As Scarlett's French was poor, he turned to his captor. 'T&y don't you tell

    him were both German? ... Were trapped. We're trying to escape through the

    lines. Every Frenchman knows we're breaking through everywhere."

    The German officer smile& -rve already done that. It will add to the

    confusion. . . . You will be amused to learn that he said he presumed as

    much. Do you know why he said that?"

    "He said we both had the filthy smell of the Boche about us~"

    The old man, who had ed$ed near the open door, suddenly dashed outside and

    began-feebly-running toward the field.

    51

    "Jesus Christl Stop himl God damn it, stop hinil" yelled Scarlett.

    The German officer, however, already had his pistol raised. "Don't be

    alarmed. He saves us making an unpleasant decision."

Two shots were fired.

    Ile old man fell, and the young enemies looked at each other.

"What should I call you?" asked Scarlett.

"My own name will do. Strasser.... Gregor Strasser."

    It was not difficult for the two officers to make their way through the

    Allied lines. The American push out of Regneville was electrifyingly swift,

    a headlong rush. But totally disconnected in its chain of command. Or so it

    seemed to Ulster Scarlett and Gregor Strasser.

    At Reims the two men came across the remnants of the French Seventeenth

    Corps, bedraggled, hungry, weary of it all.

    They had no trouble at Reims. The French merely shrugged shoulders after

    uninterested questions.

    They headed west to Villers-Cotter6ts, the roads to Epernay and Meaux

    jammed with upcoming supplies and replacements.

    Let the other poor bastards take your deathbed bullets, thought Scarlett.

    The two men reached the outskirts of Villers-Cotter8ts at night. They left

    the road and cut across a field to the shelter of a cluster of trees.

    "We'll rest here for a few hours," Strasser said. "Make no attempt to

    escape. I shall not sleep."

    "You're crazy, spord I need you as much as you need mel . . . A lone

    American officer forty miles from his company, which just happens to be at

    the frond Use your headl-

    "You are persuasive, but I am not like our enfeebled imperial generals. I

    do not listen to empty, convincing arguments. I watch my flanks."

    "Suit yourself. It's a good sixty miles from Cotterets to Paris and we

    don't know what we're going to run into. We're going to need sleep. . . .

    We'd be smarter to take turns.10

    52

    "Jawohil" said Strasser with a contemptuous laugh. "You talk like the Jew

    bankers in Berlin. 'You do this. We'll do thatt Why argue?' Thank you, no,

    Amerikaner. I shall not sleep."

    "Whatever you say." Scarlett shrugged. "I'm beginning to understand why you

    guys lost the war." Scarlett rolled over on his side. "You're stubborn

    about being stubbom"

    For a few minutes neither man spoke~ Finally Gregor Strasser answered the

    American in a quiet voice. "We did not lose the war. We were betrayed."

    "Sure. The bulleb were blanks and your artillery backfired. I'm going to

    sleep."

    The German officer spoke softly, as if to himself. "Many bullets were in

    empty cartridges. Many weapons did malfuuction.... Betrayal. . . ."

    Along the road several trucks lumbered out of Villers-Cotterets followed by

    horses pulling caissons. The lights of the trucks danced flickeringly up

    and down. The animals whinnied; a few soldiers shouted at their charges.

    More poor, stupid bastards, thought Ulster Scarlett as he watched from his

    sanctuary. "Hey, Strasser, what happens now?" Scarlett turned to his fellow

    deserter.

    "Was ist?" Strasser had catnapped. He was furious with himself. "You

    speak?"

    "Just wanted you to know I could have jumped you. ... I asked you what

    happens now? I mean to you? ... I know what happens to us. Parades, I

    guess. What about you?"

    "No parades. No celebrations. . . . Much weeping. Much recrimination. Much

    drunkenness. . . . Many will be desperate.... Many will be killed also. You

    may be assured of that."

"WhcR Who's going to be killed?"

    "ne traitors among us. They will be searched out and destroyed without

    mercy."

    "You're crazyl I said you were crazy before and now I know itl"

    "What would you have us do? You haven't been infected yet. But you will bel

    ... The Bolsheviksl They are at our borders and they infiltratel They eat

    away at our corel They rot inside usl . . . And the Jewsl The Jews in

    Berlin make fortunes out of this warl The filthy Jew profiteersl The

    conniving Semites sell us out today, you

    53

tomorrowl ... The Jews, the Bolsheviks, the stinking little peoplel We are

all their victims and we do not know it! We fight each other when we should

be fighting them!"

    Ulster Scarlett spat. The son of Scarlatti was not interested in the

    problems of ordinary men. Ordinary men did not concern him.

And yet he was troubled.

    Strasser was not ' an ordinary man. The arrogant German officer hated the

    ordinary man as much as he did. "What are you going to do when you shovel

    these people under ground? Play king of the mountain?"

    "Of many mountains. . . . Of many, many mountains.11

Scarlett rolled over away from the German officer.

But he did not clbse his eyes.

Of many, many mountains.

    Ulster Scarlett had never thought of such a domain. . . . Scarlatti made

    millions upon millions but Scarlatti did not rule. Especially the sons of

    Scarlatti. They would never rule.... Elizabeth had made that clear.

"Strasser?"

"Yah?"

"Who are these people? Your people?"

    "Dedicated men. Powerful men. The names can not be spoken of. Committed to

    rise out of defeat and unite the elite of Europe."

    Scarlett turned his face up to the sky. Stars flickered through the

    low-flying gray clouds. Gray, black, dots of shimmering white.

"Strasser?"

"Was ist?"

"Where will you go? After it's over, I mean."

"To Heidenheim. My family lives there."

"Where is it?"

    "Halfway between Munich and StuttgarL" The German officer looked at the

    strange, huge American deserter. Deserter, murderer, aider and abettor of

    his enemy.

    "We'll be in Paris tomorrow night. IT get you your money. There's a man in

    Argenteuil who keeps money for me."

"Danke."

    Ulster Scarlett shifted his body. Ile earth was next to his face, and the

    smell was clean.

"Just ... Strasser, Heidenheim. That's all?"

    54

:Thaes all."

'Give me a name, Strasser."

"What do you mean? Give you a namer'

    "Just that. A name you'll know is me when I get in touch with you."

    Strasser thought for a moment. "Very well, Amerikaner. Let's choose a name

    you should find hard to forget-Kroeger."

"Who?"

    "Kroeger-Corporal Heinrich Kroeger, whose head you shot off in the

    Meuse-Argonne."

    On November 10 at three o'clock in the afternoon the cease-fire order went

    out.

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett bought a motorcycle and began his swift journey to

    La Haras6e and beyond. To B Company, Fourteenth Battalion.

    He arrived in the area where most of the battalion was bivouacked and

    started his search for the company. It was difficult. The camp was filled

    with drunken, glassyeyed, foul-breathed soldiers of every description. The

    order-of-the-early-morning was mass alcoholic hysteria.

Except for Company B.

    B Company was holding a religious service. A commemoration for a fallen

    comrade.

For Lieutenant Ulster Stewart Scarlett, A.EF.

Scarlett watched.

    Captain Jenkins finished reading the beautiful Psalm for the Dead in a

    choked voice and then led the men in the Lord's Prayer.

    "Our Father Who art in heaven . . ." Some of -the men were weeping

    unashamedly.

It was a pity to spoil it all, thought Scarlett.

His citation read in part:

    . . . after single-handedly destroying three enemy machine-gun nests, he

    took out in pursuit of a fourth dangerous emplacement, destroying that

    also and thereby saving many Allied lives. He did not re-

    55

turn and was presumed dead. However, until the fighting ceased a week hence,

Second Lieutenant Scarlett provided B Company with an inspiring cry of

battle. "For Old Rollyl" struck terror in the hearts of many an enemy.

Through -God's infinite wisdom, Second Lieutenant Scarlett rejoined his

platoon the day following the cessation of hostilities. Exhausted and weak,

he returned to glory. Through presidential order we hereby bestow . . .

56

CHAPTER 5

Back in New York, Ulster Stewart Scarlett discovered that being a hero let

him do precisely as he wished. Not that he had been confined, far from it,

but now even the, minor restrictions such as punctuality and the normal ac-

ceptance of routine social courtesies were no longer expected of him. He had

faced the supreme test of man's existence--the encounter with death. True,

there were thousands like him in these respects but few were officially

designated heroes, and none was a Scarlett. Elizabeth, startled beyond

words, lavished upon him everything that money and power could make

available. Even Chancellor Drew deferred to his young brother as the male

leader of the family.

    And so into the twenties bounded Ulster Stewart Scarlett.

    From the pinnacles of society to the owners of speakeasies, Ulster Stewart

    was a welcome friend. He oontributed neither much wit nor a great deal of

    understanding and yet his contribution was something very special. He was

    a man in working sympathy with his environment. His demands from life were

    certainly unreasonable but these were unreasonable times. The seeking of

    pleasure, the avoidance of pain, the enjoyment of existing without ambition

    were all that he seemed to requim

Seemed to requife.

But not what Heinrich Kroeger required at all.

    57

    They corresponded twice a year, Strassees letters addressed to a general

    post office box in mid-Manhattan.

    AP4 1920 My dear Kroeger:

    It is official. We have given a name and a new life to the defunct Workers

    party. We are the National Socialist German Workers party-and, please, my

    dear Kroeger, don!t take the words too seriously. It is a magnificent

    beginning. We attract so many. The Versailles restrictions are devastating.

    11eY reduce Germany to rubble. And yet it is good. It is good for us. The

    people are angry, they lash out not only at the victors--but at thow who

    betrayed us from withbL

    June, 1921 Dear Strasser:

    You have Versailles, we have the Volsteadl And it!s good for us, too. . .

    . Everyone's getting a slice of the pie and rm, not missing my share-our

    sharel Everybody wants a favor, a payoff-a shipmentl You have to know the

    right people. In a short time III be the "right people.- rm not interested

    in the money-screw the moneyl Leave that for the kikes and the greasersl

    I'm getting something elsel Something far more important...

    January, 1922 My dear Kroeger:

    It is all so slow. So painfully slow when it could be differeniL The

    depression is unbelievable and getting worse. Trunkfuls of currency

    virtually worthlesL Adolf Hitler has literally assumed the position of

    chairman of the party over Ludendorff. You recall I once said to you that

    there were names I could not speak of? Ludendorff was one. I do not trust

    Hitler. There is something cheap about hini, something opportunistic.

    58

    October, 1922

Dear Strasser:

It was a good summer and ifU be a better fall and a great winterl This

Prohibition was tailor-madel It's madnessl Have a little money up front and

you're in businessl . . . And what businessl My organization is growing. The

machinery is just the way you'd like it-perfect.

    July, 1923

My dear Kroeger:

I am concerned. I have moved north and you can reach me at the address

below. Hitler is a fool. The Ruhr take-over by Poincar6 was his chance to

unite all of Bavaria-politically. IMe people are ready. But they want order,

not chaos. Instead, Hitler rants and raves and uses the old fool Ludendorff

to give him stature. He will do something insane, I feel it. I wonder if

there's room in the party for both of us? There is great activity in the

nordL A Major Buchrucker has formed the Black Reichswehr, a large armed

force that may find sympathy wtih our cause. I meet with Buchrucker shortly.

We'll See.

    September, 1923

Dear Strasser:

Since last October ifs been a better year than I ever thought possiblel It's

funny-but a person can find something in his past, something he may hate-and

realize it's the best weapon he's got. I have. I lead two lives and neither

meets the otherl It is a brilliant manipulation if I do say so myself I I

think you would be pleased that you didn't kill your friend Kroeger in

France.

    December, 1923

My dear Kroeger:

I head south immediatelyl Munich was a disaster.

    59

I warned them not to attempt a forcible putsch. It has to be political-but.

they would not listen. Hitler will draw a long jail sentence, in spite of

our "friends." God knows what will happen to poor old Ludendorff.

Buchrucker's Black Reichswehr has been destroyed by von Seeckt. Why? We all

want the same thing. The depression is nothing short'of catastrophic now.

Always it is the wrong people who fight each other. The Jews and the

Communists enjoy it all, no doubt. It is an insane country.

    April, 1924 Dear Strasser:

I've had my first contact with any real difficultybut it's under control

now. Remember, Strasser? Control.... The problem is a simple one-too many

people are after the same -thing. Everyone wants to be the big cheesel

There's plenty for everybody but no one believes that. It's very much as you

describe-the people who shouldn't fight each other are doing just that.

Nevertheless. rve nearly accomplished what I set out to do. Soon I'll have

a list of thousandsl Thousandsl Who'll do as we wand

    January, 1925 My dear Kroeger:

This is my last letter. I write from Zurich. Since Herr Hitlees release he

has once again assumed leadership of the party and I confess there are deep

divisions between us. F~exhaps they will be resolved. 1, too, have my

followers. To the point We are all of us under the strongest surveillance.

The Weimar is frightened of us---as weU it should be, I am oonvinced my

mail, my telephone, my every action is senitinized. No more chances. But the

time approaches.- A bold plan is being conceived and I have taken -the

liberty of suggesting Heinrich Kroegees inclusion. It is a master plan, a

fantastic plan. You am to contact the Marquis Jacques Louis Bertholde

    60

    of Bertholde at Fils, London. By mid-April. The only name he knows-as

    mywff--b Heinrich KroeBer.

    A gray-haired man of sixty-three &at at his desk looking out the window

    over K Street in Washington. His name was Benjamin Reynolds and in two

    years he would retim Until that time, however, he was responsible for the

    functions of an innocuous-sounding agency attached to the Department of the

    Interior. The agency was titled Field Services and Accounting. To lea than

    An hundred people, it was known simply as Group Twenty.

    The agency got its shortened name from its origins: a group of twenty field

    accountants sent out by Interior to look into the growing conflicts of

    interest between those politicians allocating federal funds and those of

    the electorate receiving them

    With America!s entry into the war and the overnight industrial expansion

    necessary to sustain the war effoM Group Twenty became an overworked unit.

    The award ing of munitions and armament contracts to businesses throughout

    the country demanded an around-the-clock scrutiny beyond the capabilities

    of the limited number of field acootintants. However, rather than expand

    the silent agency, it was decided to use it only in the most sensitive-or

    embarrassing-weas. There were a sufficient number of these. And the field

    accountants were specialists.

    After the war there was talk of disbanding Or9up Twenty, but each tune such

    action was considered problems arose that requiz-ad as talents. Generally

    they were problems Involving highly placed public sermts who dipped a bit

    too greedily into the public jewel box. But in Isolated cases Group Twenty

    assumed duties shunned by other departments for any number of reasons.

    Such as the Treasury Department's reluctance to pursue a vapor called

    ScarlattL

    11", Gloverr' asked the gray haired man. "The question is why? Assuming

    there's an ounce of prosecutable proof, why?-

    'Vhy does anyone break a law?" A man roughly ten years younger than

    Reynolds answered him, with another

    61

questiom "For profit. And theres a lot of profit in Prohibition."

    "Nol God damn it to hell, nol" Reynolds spun around in his chair and

    slammed his pipe on the desk blotter. "You're wrongi This Scarlatti has

    more money than our combined imaginations can conceive of. It's like saying

    the Mellons are going to open a bookmaking parlor in Philadelphia. It

    -doesn't make sense. . . . Join me in a drinkr,

    It was after five and Group Twenty's staff was gone for the day. Only the

    man named Glover and Ben Reynolds remained.

"You shock me, Ben," Glover said with a grin.

"nen to hell with you. I'll save it for myself."

"You do that and ru turn you in.... Good stuff?"

    "Right off the boat from old Blighty, they tell me." Reynolds took a

    leather-bound flask out of his top drawer and two water glasses from a desk

    tray and poured.

    "If you rule out profits, what the devil have you got left, Ben?"

"Damned if I know," replied the older man, drinking.

    'What are you going to do? I gather no one else wants to do anything."

    "Yes, sireel That is no, sireel Nobody wants to touch this. . . . Oh,

    they'll go after Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones with a vengeance. They'll

    prosecute the hell,out of some poor slob in East Orange, New Jersey, with

    a case in his basement But not this onel"

"You lost me, Ben."

    I-rhis is the Scarlatti Industriest This is big, powerful friends on the

    Hilll Remember, Treasury needs money, too. It gets it up there."

"What do you want to do, Benr

    "I want to find out why the mil-moth's tusk is phinging into bird feed."

"Howr'

    "With Canfield. He's partial to bird feed himself, the poor son of a

    bitch."

    "He's a good man, Ben." Glover did not like the sound of Reynold's

    invective. He liked Matthew Canfield. He thought he was talented, quick.

    There but for the money to complete an education was a young man with a

    future. Too good for government service. A lot better than either of them.

    . . . Well, better than him-

    62

self, better than a man named Glover who didn't care anymore. There weren't

many people better than Reynolds.

    Benjamin Reynolds looked up at his subordinate. He seemed to be reading his

    thoughts. "Yes, he's a good man. . . . He's in Chicago. Go out and call

    him. His routing must be somewhere."

"I have it in my desk."

"Then get him in here by tomorrow night."

63

CHAPTZR 6

Matthew Canfield, field accountant, lay In his Pullman berth, and smoked the

next to last thin cigar in his pack. They had no thin cigars on the New

York-Chicago Limited and he inhaled each breath of smoke with a degree of

Sacrifice,

    in the early morning he would reach New York, transfer to the next train

    south, and be in Washington ahead of schedule. That would make a better

    impression on Reynolds than arriving in the evening. That would show that

    he, Canfield, could close a problem quickly, with no loow ends left

    dangling. Of course, with his current assignment it wasn't difficult. He

    had completed it several days ago but had remained in Chicago as the guest

    Of the wnator he had been sent to confront about Payroll allocations to

    nonexistent employeas.

    He wondered why he had been called back to Washington. He always wondered

    why he was called bacIL probably because he believed deeply that it Was

    never just another job but, instead, that someday, somehow Washington would

    be on to him. Group Twenty would be on to hiDL

Ibey would confront him.

With evidenm

    But it was unlikely. It hadn!t happened. Matthew Canfield was a

    professional-minor level, he granted to himseif-but still a professional.

    And he had no regrets whatsoever. He was entitled to every wooden nickel he

    could dig up.

why not? He never took much. He and his mother de-

    64

served something. It had been a federal court in Tulsa, Oklahoma, which had

pasted the sheriff's notice on his father's store. A federal judge who had

rendered the determination-Involuntary Bankruptcy. Ile federal government

hadn't listened to any explanations other than the fact that his father no

longer had the ability to pay his debts.

    For a quarter of a century a man could work, raise a family, get a son off

    to the state university-so many dreams fulfilled, only to be destroyed with

    the single banging of a wooden gavel upon a small marble plate in a

    courtroom.

Canfield had no regrets.

    "You have a new occupation to get under your belt, Canfield. Simple

    procedures. Not difficult."

"Fine, Mr. Reynolds. Always ready."

    "Yes. I know you are. . . . You start in three days at pier thirty-seven in

    New York City. Customs. I'll fill you in as best I can."

    But, of course, Benjamin Reynolds did not "fill in" Matthew Canfield as

    thoroughly as he might have. He wanted Canfield to "fill in" the spaces he,

    Reynolds, left blank. The Scarlatti padrone was operating out of the West

    Side piers-middle numbers-that much they knew. But someone had to see him.

    Someone had to identify him. Without being told.

That was very important.

    And if anyone could do that it would be someone like Matthew Canfield, who

    seemed to gravitate to the nether world of the payoff, the bribe, the

    corrupt.

He did.

On the night shift of January 3, 1925.

    Matthew Canfield, customs inspector, checked the invoices of the steamer

    Genoa-Stella and waved to the shakeup foreman to start unloading hold one

    of its crates of Como wool.

And then it happened.

At first an argument. Then a hook fight.

    The Genoa-Stella crew would not tolerate a breach of unloading procedures.

    Their orders came from some-

    65

one elm Certainly not from the American customs officials.

    Two crates plummeted down from the cranes, and underneath the straw packing

    the stench of -uncut alcohol was unmistakable.

    The entire pier force froze. Several men then raced to phone booths and a

    hundred apelike bodies swarmed around the crates ready to fend off

    intruders with their books.

    The first argument was forgotten. The hook fight was forgotten.

    The oontraband was their livelihood and they would die defending it.

    Canfield, who had raced up the stairs to the glassen~losed booth high above

    the pier, watched the angry crowd. A shouting match began between the men

    on the loading dock and the sailors of the Genoa-Stella- For fifteen

    minutes the opponents yelled at each other, accompanying their shouts with

    obscene gestures. But no one drew a weapon. No one threw a hook or knife.

    They were waiting.

    Canfield realized that no one in the customs office made any move to call

    the authorities. "For Chrisfs sakel Someone get the police downl"

    There was silence from the four men in the room with Canfield.

"Did you hear me? Call the policel"

    Still the silence of the frightened men wearing the uniforms of the Customs

    Service.

    Finally one man spoke. He stood by Matthew Canfield, looking out the glass

    partition at the gangster army below. "No one calls -the police, young

    fella. Not if you want to show up at the docks tomorrow."

, "Show up anywhere tomorrow," added another man, who calmly sat down and

picked up a newspaper from his tiny desk.

"Why not? Somebody down there could get killedl"

    "They'll settle it themselves," said the older customs man.

    "What port did you come from again? . . . Erie? . . . You must have had

    different rules. Lake shipping has different rules. . . ."

"That's a lot of crapl"

    66

    A third man wandered over to CAnfield. "Look, hick, Just mind your own

    business, all rightr'

    "What the hen kind of talk h that? I mean, just what the hell kind of talk

    is that?"

    "Came, hick." Ile thud man, whom thin bodY and narrow face seemed lost In

    his loose-fitting uniform, took Canfield by the e1ow and walked him to a

    corner. 110 others pretended not to notice but their eyes kept darting over

    to the two men. They were concerned. even worned. "You got a wife and

    kids?" the thin man asked quiedy-

"No... So what?"

    "We do. That's what." The thin man put his hand into his pocket and

    withdrew several bins. "Here. Here's sixty

    bucks. . . . Just don!t rock the boat, hub? Calling the

    cops wouldet do no good, anyhow They'd rat on

    YOU- It

    "Jesust Sixty dollarsl"

    "Two weeks' pay, kid. Have a party."

"Okay... Okay, I will."

    "Here they come, Jesse." The older guard by the window spoke softly to the

    man next to Canfield.

    "amou, hick. Get an education," said the man with the money, leading

    Canfield to the window overlooking the interior of the pier.

    Down at the street-loading entrance, Canfield saw that two large

    automobiles, one behind the other, had pulled up-the first car halfway into

    the building. Several men in dark overcoats had gotten out of the lead car

    and were walking toward the phalanx of dock workers surrounding the damaged

    crate&

'T&M are they doingr'

    "They're the goons, kid," answered the guard named Jesse. "I'licy muscle.9*

,,muscle whair,

    "Hahl" came a guttural laugh from the man at the tiny desk with the

    newspaper.

    'Inmy muscle what has to be put in line. No whatWhol"

    Ile men in overcoats-five in all-began wandering up to the various

    stevedores and talking quietly. Cheek to Cheek, thought Canfield. With a

    few, they shoved them humorously and patted their thick neck& They

    67

were like zoo keepers, pacifying their animal& Two of the men walked up the

gangplank onto the ship. The head man, who wore a white felt fedora and was

now the central figure of the remaining three on the pier, looked back

toward the automobiles and then up at the

    booth. He nmkled his head and started toward the stairs. The guard,

    Jesse, spoke.

"M handle this. Everyone stay put."

    He opened the door and waited on the steel platform for the m-n in the

    white fedom

    Canfield could see the two men talking through the glass. Mw white fedora

    was smiling, even obsequiouL But then was a hard look in his eyes, a

    serious look in his eyes. And then he seemed concerned. angry. and the two

    men looked into the office.

They looked at Matthm Canfield.

    The door was opened by Jesse, "You. Cannon. b1itch Cannon, c'mere."

    it was always easier to use a cover having ones own initialL You never

    could tell whod send you a Christmas 8ft

    Canfield walked out onto the steel platform as the man in the white fedora

    descended the stairs to the cement floor of the pier.

"You go down and sign the search papers."

    M hall you say, buddyl"

    "I said go down and sign the papersf They want to know you're clean." And

    then Jesse smiled. 'I'be big boys are here... Youll got another little

    dividend. But I So fifty Weent, understandr

    "Yeah," Canfield said reluctantly. "I understand." He started down the

    steps looking at the man who waited for him.

"Now hem huhr,

#TeaLl,

491YVIlere ya. frorart

'IAke Eno. Lot of action in I.Ake Erie."

    What dya workT'

    "Canadiari stufL What else? ... Good booch that Canadian stuff."

"We import wooll Como wooll"

'Teah, sure, friend. In Ene its Canadian pelts, fabric.

    ." Canfield winked at the waterfront subaltern. "Good soft packing. huhr,

    68

"Look, fella. Nobody needs a wise guy."

"Okay. . . . Like I said. Wool."

"Come over to the dispatchers. ... You sign for the

loads.10

    Canfield walked with the large man to the dispatcher's booth where a second

    man thrust a clipboard filled with papers at him.

    "Write clear and mark tfie dates and times perfectl" ordered the man in the

    booth.

    After Canfield had complied, the first man spoke. "Okay... C'mon with me."

    He led Canfield over to the automobiles. The field accountant could see two

    men talking in the back seat of the second vehicle. No one but a driver

    remained in the first car. "Wait here."

    Canfield wondered why he had been singled out. Had anything gone wrong in

    Washington? There hadn't been enough time for anything to go wrong.

    There was a commotion from the pier. The two goons who had boarded the ship

    were escorting a man in uniform down the gangplank. Canfield saw that it

    was the captain of the Genoa-Stellm

    The man in the white fedora was now leaning into the window tallrina with

    the two men in the second car. They hadVt noticed the noise from the pier.

    The large man opened the car door and a short, very dark Italian stepped

    out. He was no more than five feet three.

    The short man beckoned the field accountant to come over. He reached into

    his coat pocket, took out a billfold, and withdrew several bills from it

    His speech was heavily accented. "You a new man?"

4111res, sk..v

"I.ake Erie? TWs rightr'

"Yes, sir."

"What's name?"

The Italian looked at the man in the white fedora.

The man shrugged. "Non conosco. . . ."

    "Here." He handed Canfield two fifty-dollar bills. "You be a good boy. . .

    . We take care of good boys, don't we, Maggiore? . . . We also take care of

    boys who ain't so good... Capiscer

"You bett Thanks very. .

    It was as far as the field acootiritant got. -fhe two men escorting the

    Genoa-SteUa captain had reached the first

    69

automobile. They were now forcibly holding him, propelling him against his

will.

    "Lascka mil Lascia mil Maialil" The captain tried to break the grip of the

    two hoodlu . He swung his shoulders back and forth but to no avail.

    The small Italian brushed Canfield aside as the goons brought the captain

    up to him. The ship's officer and his two captors started shouting at the

    same time. The Italian listened and stared at the captain.

    And then the other man, the man who remained in the back seat of the second

    automobile, leaned forward toward the window, half hidden in the shadows.

    "What's the matter? What are they yelling about, Vitone?"

    "Mis comandante doesn't like the way we do business, Padrone. He says he

    won!t let us unload no more."

"A)Vby not?"

    "Si riflutil" shouted the captain, sensing what was being said though not

    understanding the words.

    "He says he don't see anyone he knows. -He says we don1 have no rights with

    his sWpl He wants to make telephone

    "M bet he does," the man in shadow Wd quietly. "I know just who he wants to

    call."

"You gonna let him?" asked the short Italian.

    "DonI be foolish, Vitone . . . . Talk nice. Smile. Wave back at the ship.

    All of youl . . . That's a powder keg back there, you imbecilesl ... Let

    them think ever-ything's fine."

"Sure. Sure, Padrone."

    All of them laughed and waved except the captain, who furiously tried to

    release his arms. The effect was comic, and Canfield found himself nearly

    smiling except that the face in the automobile window was now in his direct

    line of sight. The field accountant saw that it was a good-looking

    face-striking would be -the word. Although the face was somewhat obscured

    by the wide brim of a hat, Canfield noticed that the features were sharp,

    aquiline, clean-cut. What particularly struck the field accountant were the

    eyes.

    They were very light blue eyes. Yet he was addressed by the Italian

    "padrone." Canfield assumed there were Italians with blue eyes but he had

    never met any. it was unusual.

    70

    "What do we do, Padrone?" asked the short man who had given Canfield the

    hundred dollars.

    "What else, sport! He's a visitor to our shores, isn't he? Be courteous,

    Vitone. . . . Take the captain outside and let him . . . make his phone

    calls." Then the man with the light blue eyes lowered his voice. "And kill

    himi"

    The small Italian nodded his head slightly in the direction of the pier

    entrance. The two men on each side of the uniformed officer pushed him

    forward, out the large door into the darkness of the night.

    "Chisma, le nostri amici said the Soon on the

captain's right -arm

    But the captain resisted. Once outside, in the dim spill of the dooes

    fight, Canfield could see that he began violently thrashing his body

    against both escorts until the one on the left lost his balance. The

    captain then swung into the other man with both fists, shouting at him in

    Italian.

    The man who had been shoved away regained his balance, and took something

    out of his pocket. Canfield couldn't distinguish its shape.

Then Canfield saw what it was.

A knife.

    The man behind the captain plunged it into the officer's unguarded back.

    Matthew Canfield pulled the visor of his customs cap down and began walking

    away from the automobiles. He walked slowly, casually.

    "Heyl Youl Youl Customsl" It was the blue-eyed man from the back seat.

"Youl Lake Eriel" the short Italian yelled.

    Canfield turned. "I didn't see anything. Not a thing. Nothin'l" He tried to

    smile but no smile would come.

    The man with the light blue eyes stared at him as Canfield squinted and

    pinched his face below the visor of his cap. The short Italian nodded to

    the driver of the first car.

    The driver got out and came behind the field ac. oountant.

    "Porta lui fuori vicin' a I'acqual Sepsa fuccidel Corteddol" said the short

    man.'

    The driver pushed Canfield in the small of the back toward the pier

    entrance. "Hey, cmonl I didn't see noth-

    71

in7l What d'you want with met ... C'mon, for Christ's sakel"

    Matthew Canfield didn't have to be given an answer. He knew exactly what

    they wanted from him. His insignificant life.

    The man behind him kept pushing, nudging him onward. Around the building.

    Along the deserted side of the pier.

    Two rats -scampered several yards in front of Canfield and his executioner.

    The growing sounds of arguments could be heard behind the walls of the

    cargo are4i. The Hudson River slapped against the huge pylons of the dock.

    Canfield stopped. He wasn7t sure why but he couldn't simply keep walking.

    The pain in his stomach was the pain Of fear.

    "A left chil ... Keep movinT' said the man, poking a revolver into

    Canfield's ribs.

    "Listen to me." Gone was Canfield's attempt to roupen his voice. -rm a

    government mani You do anything to me, they'll get youl You wont get any

    protection from your friends when they find ouL . .

    Keep moviie I"

    A shiVs hom sounded from the middle of the nver. Another responded.

    Then came a long, screeching, piercing whistle. It came from the

    Genoa-SteUa. It was a signal, a desperate signal, which did not let up. The

    pitch of its scream was car shattering.

    It distracted-as it had to-the man with the gun'beside Canfield.

    The field accountant lashed out at the man's wrist and held it, twisted it

    with all his streixgth. T"he man reached up to Canfield's face and clawed

    at the sockets of his eyes while pushing him toward the steel wall of the

    building. Canfield gripped the wrist harder, harder, and then with his

    other hand clutched at the man's overcoat and pulled him toward the

    wall-the same direction the man was pushing-turning at the last second so

    that his executioner slammed into the steel.

    The gun flew out of the Sicilian's hand and Canfield brought his knee

    crashing up into the man's groin.

    The Italian screamed a guttural cry of anguish. Canfield threw him downward

    and the man lunged, writhing,

    72

across the deck to the edge of the pier. curled UP in agony. The field

accountant grabbed his head and slammed it repeatedly against the thick

wood. The skin broke and blood came pouring out of the man!s skull.

It was over in less than a minute.

Matthew CAnfield's executioner was dead.

    The shrieking whistle from the Genoa-Stella kept up its now terrifying

    blast. The shouting from within the pier's loading area had reached a

    crescendo.

    Canfield thought that the ship's crew must have openly revolted, must have

    demanded orders from their captain, and when they did not come, assumed him

    murdered-or at least held captive.

    Several gunshots followed one after the other. The staccato sound of a

    submachine gun-more screaming, more cries of terror.

    The field accountant couldn't return to the front of the building, and

    undoubtedly someone would come out looking for his executioner.

    He rolled the body of the dead Sicilian over the edge of the dock and heard

    the splash below.

    The whistle from the Genoa-Stella stopped. The shouting began to die down.

    Someone had assumed control. And at the front end of the pier two men came

    in sighL They called out.

"La Tonal Hey, La Tonal La Tona. . .

    Matthew Canfield jumped into the filthy waters of the Hudson and started

    swimming, as best he could in his heavy customs uniform, toward the middle

    of the river.

"You're a very lucky fellowl" said Benjamin Reynolds. "I know that, sir. And

grateful it's over."

    "We're not called on for this sort of thing. I realim You take a week off.

    Relax."

-11hank you, sir."

    "Glover will be here in a few minutes. It's still a bit early."

    it was. It was six fifteen in -the morning. Canfield hadn't reached

    Washington until four and he was afraid to go to his apartment. He had

    phoned Benjamin Reynolds at home and Reynolds had instructed the field

    accountant to go to the Group Twenty offices and wait for him.

    73

    The outer door opened and Reynolds called. "Glover? 'Mat yott?"

    fes, Ben. Jesusl It!s not six thirty yet. . . . A lousy night. My son!s

    kids are with us." The voice was weary, and when Glover reached Reynoldss

    door, it was apparent that the man was wearier . . . . .. Hello, C;anfield.

    What the hell happened to you?-

    Matthew Can&.K field ammtant, told the entin story.

    When he had finished, Reynolds spoke to Glover. "Irve phoned Lake Erie

    Customs-his personnel files been removed. The. boys in New York cleared out

    his room there. it hadn't been touched. Is there any other backup we should

    worry about?"

    Glover thought for a moment "Yes. Probably. In case the Lake Erie

    employment file's gone after-and it win be-put out a rumor on the docks

    that Canfield

.. Cannon ... was a fake name for a hit man... That ii; was caught up with

in Los Angeles or San Diego or someplace, and was shot rii take we of iL"

    "Good. ... Now, Caofield~ Fm going to show you several photographs. Without

    any comments on my part - . -see if you can identify thenL" Benjamin

    Reynolds walked to a Me cabinet and opened iL He took out a folder and

    returned to his desk. "Here." He withdrew live photographs--three blowups

    from newspapers and two Prison shots.

    it took Canfield less than a second once they were arrange& 11rhaes hunt

    TbaiVs the one the little wop called padroner

-11 Scarlatti padrone." Glover said quietly.

'The identification!s absolutely positive?"

"Sum ... And if he's got blue eyes, iCs Holy WriL"

"You could swear to it in courtr'

"Of course."

    "Hey, Ben, come oni" interrupted Glover, who knew that such an action on

    Matthew Canfield, s Part Was a death warrant.

'Tin only asking."

    Who is he?" said Canfield.

    yes. who is be? ... what is he? . rm not sure i should even answer the

    first but if you found out some other way-and you could, easily-it might

    be dangerous."

    74

Reynolds turned the photographs over. A name was printed in heavy black

crayon.

    "Ulster Stewart Scarlett-n6 Scarlatti," the field accountant read out loud.

    "He won a medal in the war, didn't he? A millionaire." -

    "Yes, he did and he is," answered Reynolds. "This identification's got to

    remain secret. And I mean totally classifiedl Is that understood?"

660f course."

    "Do you think anyone could recognize you from last night?"

    "I doubt it. The light was bad and I wore my cap half over my face and

    tried to talk like a goon. No, I don't think so."

"Good. You did a fine job. Get some sleep."

    "Thank you." The field accountant walked out the door, closing it behind

    him.

    Benjamin Reynolds looked at the photographs on his desk. "The Scarlatti

    padrone, Glover."

"Turn it back to Treasury. You've got all you need."

    "You're not thinking. . . . We don't have a damned thing unless you want to

    consign Canfield to his grave.

    . . And even assuming that, what is there? Scarlett ~loesn't write out

    checks. . . . He 'was observed in the company of . . .' He 'was heard to

    give an order . . .' To whom? On whose testimony? A minor government em-

    ployee against the word of the celebrated war hero? The son of Searlatti?

    . . . No, all we've got is a threat. . . . And perhaps that's enough."

"Who's going to threaten?"

    Benjamin Reynolds leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his

    fingers against one another. "I am.... I'm going to talk with Elizabeth

    Scarlatti.... I want to know why.,,

75

CHAPTER 7

Ulster Stewart Scarlett got out of the taxi at the corner of Fifth Avenue

and Fifty-fourth Street and walked the short distance to his brownstone

house. He ran up the steps to the heavy front door and let himself in. He

slammed the door shut and stood for a moment in the huge foyer, stamping his

feet against the February cold. He threw his coat into a hallway chair, then

walked through a pair of French doors into a spacious living room and turned

on a table lamp. . . . it was only four in the afternoon but already growing

dark.

    He crossed from the table to the fireplace and noted with satisfaction that

    the servants had piled the logs and the kindling properly. He lit the fire

    and watched the flames leap to all corners of the fireplace. He gripped the

    mantel and leaned toward the warmth of the blaze. His eyes were on the

    level of his Silver Star citation, framed in gold in the center of the wan.

    He made a mental note to complete the display above the fireplace. The time

    would soon be here when that display should be in evidence.

A reminder to everyone who entered this house.

    It was a momentary diversion. His thoughts returned to the source of Ins

    anger. His fury.

Stupid, God damn thick-headed scuml

Bilgel Garbagel

    Four crewmen from the Genoa-Stella killed. Thi captain's body found in an

    abandoned waterfront barge.

    They could have lived with that. They could have lived with the crew's

    rebellion. The docks were violent.

    76

    But not with the corpse of La Tona hooked to a cross post on the surface of

    the water fifty yards from the ship Tbe freighter bringing in the

    contraban&

La Tonal

    Who had killed him? Not the slow-speaking, cloddish customs guard...

    Christ, nol ... La Tons would have eaten his balls off and spat them out

    laughingl La Tona was a sneak kill&. The worst kind of homicidal brute.

    There'd be a smelL A bad smell. No graft could stop iL Five murders on,

    pier thirty-seven during a single night shift.

    And with La Tons it would be traced to Vitone. Little Don Vitone Genovese.

    Dir-ty little guinea bastard. thought Scarlett.

Well, It was time for him to get ouL

    He had what he wanted. More than he needed. Strasser would be amazed.

    They'd all be amazed.

    Ulster Scarlett lit a cigarette and walked to a smWL thin door to the left

    of the fireplace. He took out a key, unlocked the door, and walked In.

    The room. like the door to it, was small. It had once been a walk-in wine

    pantry; now it was a miniature office with a desk, a chair, and two heavy

    steel file cabinets. On each file drawer was a wide circular combmation

    lock.

    Scarlett turned on the desk lamp and went to thq first cabinet. He crouched

    down to the bottom file, manipulated the combination numbers, and pulled

    out the drawer. He reached in and withdrew an extremely thick leatherbound

    notebook and placed it on the desk. He sat down and opened it.

    It was his master work, the product of five years of meticulous

    scholarship.

    He scanned the pages-delicately, precisely inserted Into the rings with

    cloth circlets around each hole, Each entry was lettered clearly. After

    every name was a brief description, where available, and a briefer

    biographyposition, finances, family, future,-when the candidate warranted

    it.

    The pages were titled and separated by clues and states. Index tabs of

    different colors descended from the top of the notebook to the bottom.

A masterpiecel

The record of every individual-~portant and unim-

    77

Portant-who had benefited in any way from the operations of the Scarlatti

organization. From congressmen taking outright bribes from his subordinates

to corporation heads "investing" in wildcat, highly illegal speculations

proffered-again never by Ulster Stewart Scarlettthrough his hired hands. All

he had supplied was the capital. The honey. And the bees had flocked to id

    Politicians, bankers, lawyers. doctors. architects. writers, gangsters,

    oflice clerks, police, customs inspectors, firemen, bookmakers . . . the

    list Of professions and oocupations was endless.

    The Volstead Act was the spine of the corruption, but there were other

    enterprises-all profitable.

    Prostitution, abortion, oil, gold, political campaigns and patronage, the

    stock market, speakeasies, loansharking ... this list, too, was endless.

    The money-hungry little people could never walk away from their greed. it

    was the ultimate proof of his the*. riest

The money-grasping scuml

Everything documented. Everyone identified.

Nothing left to speculation.

    The leather-bound notebook contained 4,263 names. in eighty-one cities and

    twenty-four states. . . . Twelve senators, ninety-eight congressmen, and

    three men in Coolidge's cabineL

A directory of malfeasance.

    Ulster Stewart picked up the desk phone and dialed a number.

    Put Vitone on. Never mind who's callingl I wouldnot have this number if he

    didift want me to have itilt

    Scarlett crushed out his cigarette.,He drew unconnected lines on a scratch

    pad while waiting for Genovese. He smiled when he saw that the lines

    converged-like knives -into a center spot. No, not like knives. Like bolts

    of lightning.

    -vitone? ies me. . . . rm aware of that. . . . There's not very much we can

    do, is there? . . - If yo&re questioned, you've got a story. You were in

    Westchester. You don,t know where the bell La Tona was .... Just keep me

    outi Understand? Don't be a smart-ass . . . . I've got a proposition for

    you. You're going to like it. It makes everythins worth while for you. lirs

    all yours. Ev-

    7-8

erythingl Make whatever deals you like. rm out."

    There was silence from the other end of the line. Ulster Scarlett drew the

    figure of a Christmas tree on the scratch pad.

    "No hitches, no catches. IVs yourst I don't want a thing. The

    organization's all yours.... No, I don't know anythingl I just want out If

    you're not interested, I can go elsewhere---say the Bronx or even out to

    Detroit. I'm not asking for a nickel. . . . Only this. Only one thing. You

    never saw me. You never met me. You don't know I existl Tbat's the price."

    Don Vitone Genovese began chattering in Italian while Scarlett held the

    receiver several inches from his ear. The only word Scarlett really

    understood was the repeated, "Grazie, grazie, grazie."

    He hung up the receiver and closed the leather-bound notebook. He sat for

    a moment and then opened the top drawer in the center of the desk. He took

    out the last letter he had received from Gregor Strasser. He reread it for

    the twentieth time. Or was it the hundred and twentieth?

    "A fantastic plan . . . a bold planthe Marquis

Jacques Louis Bertholde ... London ... by mid-April . .

Was the time really here? At lastl

    If it was, Heinrich Kroeger had to have his own plan for Ulster Scarlett.

    It wasn't so much bold as it was respectable. Immensely, thoroughly

    respectable. So proper, in fact, that Ulster Stewart Scarlett burst out

    laughing.

    The scion of Scarlatti-the charming, handsome graduate of the cotillions,

    the hero of the Meuse-Argonne, New York society's most eligible

    bachelor-was going to be married.

79

CHAPTER 8

"You presume, Mr. Reynoldsl" Elizabeth Scarlatti was seethm& Her vehemence

was directed at the old man who stood calmly in front of her, peering over

his glasses. "I & Dot countenance presumptuous people and I will not abide

fiarsl"

-rm sorry. I really am."

    "YOU got this appointment under false pretense&. Senator Brownlee told me

    you represented the Land Acquisition Agency and your business concerned the

    transactions between Scarlatti and the Department of the Intexior."

-Tbaes exactly what he believes.-

    '7hen he's a bigger fool than I think he is. And now you threaten mel

    Threaten me with secondhand inflammatory gossip about my soul I trust

    you're prepared to be cross-examined in oourL"

'Is that what you wantr

    "You may force me to Itl ... I don't know your position, but I do know a

    great many people in Washington and Ne never beard of you. I can only

    conclude that if someone like you can carry such tales, others must have

    beard them too. Yes, you may force me into court. I won't tolerate such

    abusel"

    Suppose it's true?"

    "It isn't true and you know It as well as I dol "Ibere's no reason on earth

    why my son would involve himself in ... in such zctivities. Hes wealthy in

    his own rightl Both my sons have trust funds that return annual incomes of-

    Ws be bonest-preposterous sums."

    80

    "Then we have to eliminate profit as a motive, don't we?" Benjamin Reynolds

    wrinkled his brow.

    "We eliminate nothing for there is nottLingl If my son has caroused a bit,

    he's to be criticized-not branded a criminal] And if you're using the

    gutter tactic of maligning the name Scarlatti because of its origin, you're

    contemptible and r1l have you dismissedl"

    Benjamin Reynolds, slow to anger, was reaching a dangerous level of

    irritation. He had to remind himself that this old woman was guarding her

    house and was more difficult than she would have been in other circum-

    stances.

    "I wish you wouldn't think of me as an enemy. I'm neither an enemy nor a

    bigot. Frankly, I resent the sec, ond implication more than I do the

    first."

    "Again you presume," interrupted Elizabeth ScarlattL "I don't grant you the

    stature of an enemy. I think yotere a little man using malicious slander

    for your own ends."

"Ordering a man's murder is not malicious slanderl"

"What did you sayr,

    "Ifs the most serious charge we have.But there

are mitigating circumstances if ifs any comfort to you."

    The old woman stared at Benjamin Reynolds in contempL He ignored the look.

    '7he man who was murdered-the one whose death your son ordered-was a known

    killer himself. . . . A captain of a freighter who worked with the worst

    elements on the waterfront He was responsible for a great deal of killing-"

    Elizabeth Scarlatti rose from her chair. "I won't tolerate this," she said

    quietly. "You make the most damaging accusation possible and then you

    retreat behind a wall of Implied judgment."

    'Ibese are strange times, Madame Scarlatti. We can't be everywhere. We

    don't want to be, frankly. We don't lanient the gangster wars. Let's face

    it. Often they accomplish more than we can."

"And you put my son in this ... this category?"

'I didn't put him anywhem He did it himself."

    Elizabeth walked dowly from her desk to a front window overlooking the

    street. "How many other people In Washington know about this outrageous

    gossipr

    Everything r" too your

"Anything.19

    "There were a few rumors at Treasury. Nothing anyone wanted to run down.

    About the rest, only my immediate subordinate and the man who was the

    witness."

"Their names?"

"Oh, no."

"I can easily find out."

"It wouldn't do you any good."

Elizabeth turned. "I see."

"I wonder if you do?"

    "Whatever you think, I'm not an idiot. I don't believe a word of this. But

    I don1 want the name of Scarlatti impugned.... How much, Mr. Reynolds?"

    Group Twenty's director returned Elizabeth's stare without giving quarter.

    "Nothing. Not a penny, thank you.... I'll go further. You tempt me to bring

    charges against you."

"You stupid old manl"

    "Damn it to hell, cut it outt All I want is the truthl . . . No, that's not

    all I want. I want it stopped. Before anyone else gets hurt. That much is

    due a decorated hero. Especially in these crazy times. . . . And I want to

    know whyl"

    "To speculate would be to grant your premise. I refuse to do thatl"

"By Jesusl You're a rough bird."

"More than you realizel"

    "Can't you understand? ... It's not going any furtherl It ends herel That

    is, it will if you can stop any future . . . activity, as you call it. We

    figure you can do thaL . . . But I'd think you'd want to know why. Since we

    both know your son is rich-why?"

    Elizabeth simply stared at him and Reynolds'knew she wouldn't answer. He'd

    done what he could, said what he had to say. The rest was up to her.

    "Good day, Madame Scarlatti. . . . I should tell you. I'll be watching the

    Scarlatti padrone."

"The who?"

"Ask your son."

    Reynolds trudged out of the room. People like Elizabeth Scarlatti tired him

    out. Probably, he thought, because he didn't believe they were worth it

    all. The giants never were.

    Elizabeth-still by the window-watched the old man close the door behind

    him. She waited until she saw him

    82

descend the front steps and walk west toward Fifth Avenue.

    The old man looked up at the figure in the window and their eyes met.

Neither acknowledged.

83

CHAPTER9

Chancellor Drew Scarlett paced the thick oriental rug of his office at 525

Fifth Avenue, He kept breathing deeply, pushing his stomach out as he

inhaled-the proper waybecause the masseur at his club told him it was one

method of calming down under pressure.

It wasn't working.

He would change masseurs.

    He stopped in front of the mahogany-paneled wall b& tween the two large

    windows overlooking Fifth Avenue. On the wall were various framed newspaper

    articles, all of them about the Scarwyck Foundation. Each prominently

    mentioned hun-some with his name in bold print above the stories.

    Whenever he was upset, which was quite often, he looked at these framed

    records of achievement. It always had a calming effect.

    Chancellor Scarlett had aslumed the role of husband to a dull wife as a

    matter of course. The conjugal bed had produced five children.

    Surprisingly-especially to Elizabeth-he had also become interested in the

    family enterprises. As if in answer to his celebrated brother's behavior,

    Chancellor retreated into the secure world of the quasi-inspired

    businessman. And he did have ideas.

    Because the annual income from the Scarlath holdings far exceeded the needs

    of a small nation, Chancellor convinced Elizabeth that the intelligent tax

    course was to establish a philanthropic foundation. Impressing his mother

    with irrefutable data-including the potential for antitrust

    auits-Chancellor won Elizabeth's consent for the

    84

Scarwyck Foundation. Chancellor was installed as president and his mother as

chairman of the board. Chancellor might never be a war hero, but his

children would recognize his economic and cultural contributions.

    The Scarwyck Foundation poured money into war memorials; preservation of

    Indian reservations; a Dictionary of Great Patriots to be distributed

    throughout selected prep schools; the Roland Scarlett Field Clubs, a chain

    of Episcopal youth camps dedicated to the outdoor life and high Christian

    principles of their democraticbut Episcopalian-patron. And scores of

    similar endeavors. One couldn't pick up a newspaper Without noticing some

    new project endowed by Scarwyck.

    Looking at the articles shored up Chancelloes undermined confidence, but

    the effect was short-lived. He could hear faintly through the office door

    the ring of his secretary's telephone and it immediately brought back the

    memory of his mother's angry call to him. She'd been trying to find Ulster

    since yesterday morning.

Chancellor picked up the intercom.

"Try my brother's home again. Miss Nesbit."

"Yes, sir."

    He had to find Ulster. His mother was adamant. She insisted on seeing him

    before the afternoon was over.

    Chancellor sa down in his chair and tried to breathe properly again. The

    masseur had told him it was good exercise while sitting down.

    He took a deep breath, pushing his stomach out as far as possible. The

    middle button of his suit coat broke from the thread and fell on the soft

    carpet, bouncing first on the chair between his legs.

Danint

Miss Nesbit rang him on the intercom.

91yeslot

    'The maid at your brother's house said he was on his way over to see you,

    Mr. Scarlett." Miss Nesbit's voice conveyed her pride in accomplishment.

"You mean he was there all the time?"

"I don't know, sir." Miss Nesbit was hurL

    Twenty agonizing minutes later Ulster Stewart Scarlett arrived.

    "Good Godl Where have you been? Mother's been trying to reach you since

    yesterday morningl We've called everywherel"

    85

    'Tve been out at Oyster Bay. Did any of you thmk of calling therer

    "In February? Of course notl ... Or maybe she did, I doWt know."

    "You couldn't have reached me anyway. I was in one of the cottages."

    'TVhat the hell were you doing there? I mean, in February 119

    -Lees say taking stock, brother mine. . . . Nice office. Chance. I =1

    remember when I was here lasL"

"About three years ago.$$

    'What are all those gadgetsr' asked Ulster, pointing at the desk.

    "Newest equipment. See... Here's an electric calendar that lights up on

    specific days to remind me of meetin

This is an intercommunicator setup with eighteen offices in the building.

Now, right here a private wire to . . ."

    "Never mind. Im impressed. I haven't much time. I thought you might like to

    know. . . . I may get married."

    "Whatt . . . Ulster, MY God in heavenl Youl Marriedl You're going to get

    married?"

"Seems to be a general request."

'Who, for God's sakel"

    Oh, rve whittled the numbers down, sport. Don't fret. She'll be

    acceptable."

    Chancellor eyed his brother coldly. He was prepared to be told that Ulster

    had chosen some Broadway trollop from a Ziegfeld show, or, perhaps, one of

    those weird female writers in black sweaters and men's haircuts who wen

    always at Ulstees partieL

"Acceptable to whom?"

"Well, let's see, I've tried out most of them."

"I'm not interested in your sex lifel Who?"

    "Oh, but you should be. Meg of your wife's friendsmarried and otherwise-are

    lousy lays."

    "Just tell me who you intend honoring, if you don't saind?"

"What would you say to the Saxon girir,

    "Janed . . . Janet Saxonl" Chancellor cried out with delight.

"I think she'd do," murmured Ulster.

    "Dot Why, she's wonderfull Mother will be so pleasedl Shes just tenificl"

"Shell do." Ulster was strangely quieL

    86

    'Uster, I can't tell you how pleased I am. You've asked her, of course." It

    was a statement.

    "Why, Chance, how can you think that? . . . I wasn't sure she'd pass

    inspection."

    "I see what you mean. Of course. . . . But I'm sure she will. Have you told

    Mother? Is that why she's calling so hystericallyT'

    "I've never seen Mother hysterical. That should be quite a sight."

"Really, you should phone her right away."

    "I will. Give me a minute. . . . I want to say something. It's quite

    personal." Ulster Scarlett sat carelessly down in a chair in front of his

    brothees desk.

    Chancellor, knowing that his brother rarely wanted to be personaL took his

    seat apprehensively. '"What is it?"

    "I was pulling your leg a few minutes ago. I mean about the lays."

"I'm relieved to hear thad"

    "Oh, don't mistake me-I'm not saying it isn't truejust tasteless of me to

    discuss it... I wanted to see you get upset. Take it easy, I had a reason

    . . . . I think it makes my case stronger."

"What case?"

    "It's why I went out to the island . . . . To do a lot of thinking. . . .

    The aimless, crazy days are coming to an end. Not overnight, but they're

    slowly fading out."

    Chancellor looked intently at his brother. "I've never heard you talk like

    this before."

    "You do a lot of thinking in a cottage by yourself. No telephones, no one

    barging in on you. . . . Oh, I'm not making any big promises I can't keep.

    I don't have to do that. But I want to try. . guess you're the only person

    I can turn to."

Chancellor Scarlett was touched. "What can I do?"

    "I'd like to get some kind of position. Informal, at first. Nothing

    regimented. See if I can't get interested in something."

    "Of ooursel I'll get you a job herel It'll be simply great working

    together."

    "No. Not here. Thatd be just another gift. No. I want to do what I should

    have done a long time ago. Do what you didL Start right at home."

"At home. What kind of position is thatT'

"Figuratively speaking, I want to learn everything 1

    87

can about us. The family. Scarlatti. Its interests, businesses, that sort of

thing... That's what you did and I've always admired you for W'

"Did you really?" Chancellor was very serious.

    "Yes, I did. . . . I took a lot of papers out to the island with me.

    Reports and things I picked up at mother's office. We do a lot of work with

    that bank downtown, doet we? What in hell is the namer,

    'Vaterman Trust. They execute all Scarlatti commitments. Have for years."

    "Maybe I could start them . . . Informally. Couple of hours a day.19

"No problem at alli rll arrange it this afternoon."

    "Another thing. Do you think you might phone Mother... Just as a favor.

    Tell her rm on my way over. I won't bother to call. You might mention our

    discussion. Tell her about Janet, if you lik&" Ulster Scarlett stood up in

    front of his brother. There was something modestly heroic about him, about

    this errant who was trying to find his roots.

    The effect was not lost on Chancellor, who rose from his chair and extended

    his hand. 'Velcome home, Ulster. lift the start of a new life for you. Mark

    my words."

"YeL I think it is. Not overnight, but it's a beginning."

    Elizabeth Scarlatti slammed the flat of her hand down on the desk as she

    rose from bar chair.

    "You!re sorry? Sorry? You don't fool me for a minutel You're frightened out

    of your wits and well you should bel You damned fooll You assl What did you

    think you were doing? Playing gamesl Little boy gamesl"

    Ulster Scarlett gripped the arm of the sofa in which he sat and repeated to

    himself over and over again, Heinrich Kroeger, Heinrkh KroeRer.

"I demand an explanation, Ulsterr

q told you. I was bored. Just plain bored."

"How involved are your

    "Oh, Chnstl rm not. All I did was give some money for a supply. A shipmeaL

    Thafs all."

"Who did you give the money to?"

    Just--guys- Fellows I met at clubs.-

-Were they criminals?-

    88

    "I don't know. Who isn't these days? Yes, I guess they were. They are. Iles

    why I'm out of it. Completely out of itr

"Did you ever sign anything?"

"Jesus, nol You think I'm crazy9"

"No. I think you're stupid."

    Heinrich Kroeser, Heinrich Kroeger. Ulster ScarlW rose from the sofa and

    lit a cigarette. He walked to the fireplace and threw the match on the

    crackling logs.

"I'm not stupid, Mother," replied Elizabeth's son.

    Elizabeth dismused his pouting objection. -You only supplied money? You

    were never involved in any violence?"

'.Nol Of course notr

    '7hen who was the shies captain? The man who was murderedr'

    "I don't knowl Look, I told you. I admit I was down there. Some guys said

    I'd get a kick out of seeing how the stuff came in. But that's all, I swear

    it. There was trouble. The crew started fighting and I left. I got out of

    there as fast as I could."

"rhere's nothing more? That's the extent of it?-

    "Yes. What do you want me to do? Bleed from my hands and feetr'

    "That's Dot very blely." Elizabeth walked around the desk and approached

    her son. "What about this marriar, Ulster? Is it, too, because you're

    bored?"

"I thought you'd approve."

    "Approve? I wasn't aware that my approval or disapproval concerned you."

"It does."

    "I approve of the Saxon girl, but I doubt for the reaam Chancellor thin I

    should. She seems to be a kway girl from what I've seen of her. . . . I'm

    not at all sure I approve of you... Do you love herr'

    Ulster Scarlett looked casually at his mother. 01 think shell make a good

    wife."

    "Since you avoid my quesWn, do you think youll. make a good husband?"

    "Why, Mother. I read In Vanity Fair where I was New York s most eligible

    bachelor "

    "Good husbands and eligible bachelors are often mutually exclusive... Why

    do you want to be marriedr

"ICs time I should be."

    89

"rd accept that answer from your brother. Not from

YOU- "

    Scarleft walked away from his mother to the windows. This was the moment.

    This was the moment be had planned, the moment he had rehearsed. He had to

    do it simply, say it simply. IWd pull It off and me day Elizabeth would

    recogahe how wrong she was.

He wasn't stupid; he was brillianL

    "I tried to tell ChanoL 12 try again with you. I do want to get married. I

    do want to get interested in sornething. . . . You asked me if I love the

    girl. I think I do. I think i will. Whars important to me now is that,I get

    straightened out." He turned from the window and faced his mother. "rd like

    to learn what you built for us. I want to know what the Scarlatti family's

    all about. Everyone seems to know but me. Its a place to start, Mother."

    "Yes. ifs a place to start. But I should caution you. When you speak of

    Scarlatti, don't be under any illusions that your name guarantees you a

    voice in its management. Youll have to prove your value before you recave

    any respozisibility"-or authority In that decWon, I am,

"Yes. You've always made that very clear."

    Embeth Scarlatti circled the desk and sat down In her chair. "I've never

    been wedded to the idea that nothing changes. Everything changes. And it's

    possible you have talent You are the son of Glovarim Scarlattl and,

    perhaps, I was a damned fool to change the surname. It seemed right at the

    time. He was a genius. Go to work, Ulster. Well we what happens."

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett walked down Fifth Avenue. The sun was out and he

    left his topcoat open. He smifed to himself. Several passersby noticed the

    large, striking4odking man with the open coat in the February cold. He was

    arrogantly handsome, obviously successful. Some men were born to it.

    Ulster Scarlett, seeing the looks of envy from the little people, agreed

    with the unspoken thoughts.

Heinrich Kroeger was on schedule.

    90

CHAPTER 10

When Horace Boutier, president of Waterman Trust Company, received

Chancellor's request for an indoctrination program for his brother Ulster,

Boutier knew immediately who to make responsible~

Third vice-president Jefferson Cartwright.

    Cartwright had been called on previously for duty with Ulster Scarlett and

    with good reason. He was, perhaps, the only executive at Waterman Trust who

    did not instantly irritate Ulster Scarlett. In a large measure this was due

    to Cartwright's unorthodox approach to his work. Quite unbankerlike.

    For Jefferson Cartwright, a blondish, large, aging man, was a product of

    the playing fields of the University of Virginia and learned early in his

    career that the qualities that made him famous on the gridiron-and on the

    cam pus---served him extremely well in his chosen profession.

    Briefly these were to learn the formations so thoroughly that one was

    always in the right position at the right time when on the field and always

    to press an aaiantage with the sheer btdk of one's size.

    Off the field was merely an extension of the playing principles. Learn the

    surface formulas, wasting as little time as possible on complexities beyond

    one's grasp, and, again, impress everyone with the size-and attractive-

    ness--of one's physical being.

    These principles---when combined with an easy, outgoing Southern

    charm-guaranteed Jefferson Cartwright's sinecure at Waterman Trust. They

    even put his name on department letterheads.

    91

    For although Jefferson Cartwright's knowledge of banking hardly approached

    an expert vocabulary, his ability to commit adultery with some of the

    wealthiest women in Manhattan, Long Wand, and southern Connecticut brought

    many excellent accounts to Waterman. Yet the bank's directors knew that

    their prime social stud was rarely a threat to any relatively secure

    marriage. Rather, he was a temporary divertissement, a charming, quick. and

    complete roll in the hay for the bored.

    Most banking *institutions had at least one Jefferson Cartwright on the

    executive payroll. However, such men often were overlooked when it came to

    club memberships and dinner parties... One could never be sure.

    it was the vague sense of ostracism that made Cartwright acceptable to

    Ulster Scarlett. Partly because he knew why it existed and it amused him,

    and partly because Cartwright--outside of a few mild lectures about the

    state of his accounts-never tried to tell him what to do with his money.

    The bank's directors knew this, too. it was right that someone should

    advise Ulster Scarlett-:If only to impress Elizabeth-but as no one could

    change him, why waste a committed manT

    At the first session, as Cartwright called it, the banker discovered that

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett didn't know the difference between a debit and an

    asset So a glossary of terms was prepared to give him a basic language to

    work with. From there another lexicon of stock market phraseology was

    written for him and in time he began to master it.

    'qben, as I understand it, Mr. Cartwright, I have two separate incomes. Is

    that correctr'

    Indeed it is, Mr. Scarlett. The first trust fund, which Is comprised of

    stocks-industrial~ and utility-is for your annual fivin! expenses. Houses.

    clothes, trips abroad, pur6 chasm of any sorL . . . Of course. you

    certainly could invest this money if you wished. You have durin! the past

    several years if rm not mistaken." Jefferson Cartwright smiled indulgently

    remembering a few of Ulster's extravagant withdrawals. "However, the second

    fund-the openfaced bonds and debenture&-is designed for expansion. For

    reinvestment. Even speculatiorL That was your father's wish. Of course

    there's a degree of flexibility."

"What do you me-an flexibility?"

    92

    "It's hardly oonceivable,,Mr. Scarlett, but should your livin' expenses

    exceed the income from the first trust we could, with your power of

    attorney, transfer capital from the second fund to the first. Of course,

    this is hardly conceivable."

"Of course.,'

    Jefferson Cartwright laughed and gave his innocent pupil an exaggerated

    wink. "I have you there, haven't l?"

"What?"

    "li did occur once. Don't you remember? The dirigible? ... The dirigible

    you purchased several years ago?"

"Oh, yes. You were upset about that."

    "As a banker I'm responsible to the Scarlatti Industries. After all, I'm

    your financial adviser. rm held accountable.... We covered the purchase

    from the second fund but it wasn't proper. Not proper at all. A dirigible

    could hardly be called an investment."

ill apologize again."

    "Just remember, Mr. Scarlett. Your father's wish was that the monies due

    from the open-faced securities were to be reinvested."

"How could anyone tell?"

"Those are the releases you sign semiannually."

"The hundred-odd signatures I have to sit throughr

"Yes. We convert the notes and invest the capital."

"In whatr*

    "Those am the portfolio statements we send you. We catalog all investments.

    We make the selection ourselves as you have not-with your busy

    schedule-ever answered our letters with regard to your preferences."

"I never understood them"

"Well, now, that can be overcome, can't it?"

"Suppose I didn't sign the releases?"

    "Well . . . in that unlikely event the securities would remain in the

    vaults until the end of the year."

9'Wherer,

"The vaults. The Scarlatti vaults.$'

1.1 see."

    "Me releases are attached to the securities when we remove them."

"But no releases, no securities. No capital, no money." "Exactly. They can't

be converted. The releases are just what the name implies. You release to us

with your power of attorney the right to invest the capital."

    93

    "Suppose, for imagination's sake, you didn't exist. There was no Waterman

    Trust. No bank at all. How could those securities be tamed into moneyr'

    "By signature again. Made payable to whomever you designated. lea all

    clearly ad forth on each document."

1.1 see.09

    "One day-when you're more advanced, of courseyou should see the vaults. The

    Scarlatti family occupies the entire east wing. The two remaining sons,

    yourself and Chancellor, have cubicles adjacent to each other. ies really

    quite touching."

    Ulster considered. -Yes, rd like to see the vaults. When I'm more advanced,

    of coune."

    'Tor God's sake, are the Saxons preparing a wedding or a ceremonial

    convocation for the Archbishop of Canterbury?" Elizabeth Scarlattl had

    brought her oldest son to her house to discuss the various newspaper

    articles and the stack of invitations on her desk.

    -You caiet blame them. Ulster is hardly an ordinary catch."

    ,,rm aware of that. On the other hand the rest of New York can't stop

    functioning." Elizabeth walked to the library door and closed it. She

    turned and looked at her older son. "Chancellor, I want to discuss

    something with you. Very briefly and if you've got a brain in your head you

    won't repeat a word of what rm going to mention."

"Of course.11

    Elizabeth kept looking at her son. She thought to herself that Chancellor

    was really a better man than she ever gave him credit for. His problem was

    that his outlook was so terribly provincial and yet so totally dependent.

    And his perpetual vacuous look whenever they had a conference made him seem

    like an ass.

    A conference. Perhaps there had been too many conferences. Too few

    conversations. Perhaps it was her faulL

    "Chancellor I don't pretend to be on intimate terms with young people these

    days. There;s a permissiveness that was absent from my own youth and, God

    knows, that's a step in the right direction, but I think it may have gone

    too far."

"I agree completelyl" interrupted Chancellor Drew

    94

Scarlett with fervor. "roday it is self-indulgence and I'll not have my

children infected, let me tell youl"

    "Well, perhaps it goes deeper than righteous indignation. The young, as the

    times, are what we shape them to be-willingly or unknowingly. . . .

    However, this is only an introduction." Elizabeth crossed to her desk and

    sat down. "I've been watching Janet Saxon during the past few weeks. . . .

    Watching, perhaps, is unfair. I've only seen her on half a dozen occasions

    starting with that absurd engagement party. It strikes me that she drinks

    quite heavily. Quite unnecessarily heavily. Yet she's a lovely girl. An

    intelligent, alert girl. Am I wrong?"

    Chancellor Drew Scarlett was startled. He had never

thought such a thing about ' Janet Saxon. It never crossed

his mind. Everyone drank too much. It was all part of

the self-indulgence and although he disapproved he nev

er took it very seriously.

"I hadn't realized it, Mother."

    'Then, obviously, rm wrong and we'll drop the subject. I really am far

    removed from the times."

    Elizabeth smiled, and for the first time in a long time she gave her oldest

    son an affectionate kiss. Yet something was bothering Janet Saxon and

    Elizabeth Scarlatti knew it.

    The wedding ceremony of Janet Saxon and Ulster Stewart Scarlett was a

    triumph. Chancellor Drew was, naturally, his brother's best man and

    following the brides train were Chancenoes five children. Chancellor's

    wife, Allison Demerest Scarlett, was unable to attend the wedding as she

    was in labor at Presbyterian Hospital.

    The fact that it was an April wedding was a source of contention between

    Janet Saxon and her parents. They would have preferred June or, at least

    May, but Janet was adamant. Her fianck insisted that they be in Europe by

    the middle of April and that's how it would be.

    Besides, she had her own very valid reason for a short engagement.

She was pregnant.

    Janet knew her mother suspected. She also knew that her mother was

    delighted, even admired her for what she believed was the proper use of the

    ultimate feminine ploy.

    95

The prospect of this particular bridegroom entrapped, cased, irrefutably

cornered, was enough for Mar= Sayan to give in quickly to the April

ceremony. Manan Saxon would have let her daughter be married in a synagogne

on Good Friday N that ensured the Scariatti hm

    Ulster Scarlett took a leave of absence from his seaslow at the Waterman

    Trust Company. It was understood that following an extended honeymoon on

    the Continent he would plunge back into the world of finance with increased

    vigor It positively touchad-and amazed -4eGerson Cartwright that Ulster

    took with him--~on his sacred journey of love," as do Virginia cavalier put

    it,--& large number of papers to study. He had gathered together literally

    hundreds of reports concerning the myriad interests of the Scarlatti

    Industries and promised Cartwright that he would inaster the complexities

    of the inexhaustible diversiflcation by the time he whirned.

Jefferson Cartwright was so moved by Ulster's earnest-

ness that he presented hhn with a hand-tooled leather

brief case.

    The first leg of the newlywedie trip was marred by what appeared to be a

    severe case of seasickness on Janet's part. By a mildly amused ship's

    doctor, however. it was ascertained to be a miscaniage and as a result the

    bride spent the entire voyage to Southampton confined to her cabin.

    In England they discovered that the English aristocracy was becoming quite

    tolerant of their invading Amencan counterparts. it was all a question of

    degree. The cmde but nch colonists war rips for the taking and tRken dity

    were. The more shcceoftbk~-~ this category inchuted Ulster Scarlett and his

    wifD--were absorbed without question,

    Evm the owners of Blenheim had to be with someone who could wager the price

    of their best hunter on the turn of a single card. Especially when this

    particular gambler could tell at a glance which was the best hunter.

    96

    At about this time-the second month of their trip-the rumors began

    filtering back to New York. Brought mainly by returning members in good

    standing of the Four Hundred. It seemed Ulster Stewart was behaving very

    badly. He had taken to disappearing for days at a time and on one occasion

    was known to have been gone for the better part of two weeks, leaving his

    bride in a state of embarrassed anger.

    However, even these extremes of gossip were not dwelled upon, for Ulster

    Stewart had done the same thing while a single man, and Janet Saxon, after

    all, had hooked herself Manhattan's most eligible bachelor. She should

    complainl A thousand girls would have settled for the ring and the ceremony

    and let him do as he pleased. All those millions and some said a titled

    family thrown into the bargairil No one had much sympathy for Janet Saxon.

And then the rumors took another turn.

    The Scarletts uprooted themselves from London soew ty and began what could

    only be described as an insanely planned itinerary throughout the

    Continent. From the frozen lakes of Scandinavia to the warm shores of the

    Mediterranean. From the afill-cold streets of Berlin to the hot pavements

    of Madrid. From the mountain ranges of Bavaria to the flat, dirty ghettos

    of Cairo. From Paris in summer to the Scottish islands in autumn. One never

    know where Ulster Scarlett and his wife would be. next. It didn't make

    sense. Them was no logic in their destinations.

    Jefferson Cartwright was more concerned than anyone else. Alarmed. He was

    unsure of what to do and so he decided to do nothing but send carefully

    worded memorandums to Chancellor Draw Scarlett.

    For Waterman Trust was sending thousands upon thousands of dollars in bank

    drafts to every conceivable and some mconcervable exchanges in Europe Each

    letter of request from Ulster Scarlett was precisely worded and the

    instrtictions absolute. The demand for confidence, for silence, in the

    transactions was emphatic. The breaking of this confidence to be penalized

    by the immediate withdrawal of his interests from Waterman.... One-third of

    the Scarleft trusts. One-half of the Scarlatti inheritance,

    There was no question about it. Ulster Scarlett had benefited from his

    unions at the bank. He knew exactly how to expedite his financial demands

    and did it in the

    97

language of the banking profession. Still, Jefferson Cartwright was uneasy.

He could be subject to criticism at a later date. There still remained

two-thirds of the trusts and the second half of the inheritance. He solved

his insoluble dilemma by sending the following-then variations of it-to

Ulster Scarlett's brother.

    Dear Chancellor:

    Just to keep you up-to-date-as we so successfully established during your

    brother's sessions here at Waterman-Ulster is transferring considerable

    sums to European banks to cover what must be the finest honeymoon in the

    history of marriage. Nothing is too good for his beautiful wifel You!ll be

    happy to learn that his correspondence is most businesslike.

    A number of such notes were received by Chancellor Drew, who smiled

    indulgently at his reformed younger brOther`3 devotion to his wife. And to

    think he was corresponding like a businessman. Progress bad been made.

    What Jefferson Cartwright did not explain was that Waterman Trust also

    received endless bills and charges validated by Ulster's signatures from

    countless hotels, railroads, stores, and lending institutions throughout

    Europe. What disturbed Cartwright was that the flexibility he had

    authorized during the dirigible incident would have to be employed again.

    it was inconceivable but there it wasl Ulster Scarlett's expenses were

    going to exceed the income from the trust fund. In the space of several

    months-when one added the charges to the transferals-Ulster Stewart

    Scarleft was reaching the eight-hundred-thousand-dollar mark.

Inconceivablel

Yet there it was.

    And Waterman was subject to losing one-third of the Scarlatti interest if

    he divulged the information.

    In August Ulster Stewart Scarlett sent word back to his mother and brother

    that Janet was pregnant. They would remain in Europe for a minimum of three

    more months as the doctors deemed it best that she do as little traveling

    as possible until the baby was Well along.

    Janet would remain in London. while Ulster traveled with friends to do some

    hunting in southern Germany.

    98

    He'd be gone for a month. Possibly a month and a half.

He'd cable when they7decided to Come home-

    in mid-December the cable arrived. Ulster and Janet would be home for the

    holidays. Janet was to remain fairly inactive as the pregnancy was a

    difficult one, but Ulster hoped Chancellor had checked on the decorators

    and that his brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street would be comfortable for

    her.

    He instructed Chancellor Drew to have someone meet a prior ship to escort

    a new housekeeper Ulster had found on the Continent. She had been highly

    recommended and Ulster wanted her to feel at home. Her n

was Hannah.

Language would be no problem

She spoke both English and German.

    During the remaining three months of Janet's pregnancy Ulster resumed his

    sessions at Waterman Trust and his mere presence had a calming effect on

    Jefferson Cartwright. Although he never spent more than two hours at the

    bank, he seemed somewhat more subdued, less given to fits of irritation

    than he had been before his honeymoon.

    He even began taking work home in the hand-tooled leather briefcase.

    in reply to Cartwright's confidential and offhand questions about the large

    sums of money forwarded by the bank to Ulster in Europe, the Scarlatti heir

    reminded Waterman~s third vice-president that it was he who had made it

    clear that nothing prohibited him from using the income from his trust fund

    for investments. He reiterated his request that a his European transactions

    remain confidential between the two of them.

    "Of course. I understand completely. But you must realize that in the event

    we transfer funds from the second trust to cover your expenses--as surely

    we'll have to this year-I must record it for the Scarlatti records.

    99

We've paid enormous sums all over Europe on your signa-

    "But you won't have to do that for a long time, will you?"

    "At the end of the fiscal year, which for the Scarlatti industries is June

    thirtieth. The same as the governmenes."

    "Well"-the handsome man sighed as he looked at the agitated Southemer-"on

    June thirtieth I'll just have to stand up and face the music. It won!t be

    the first time my family's been upset. I hope it's the last."

    As the time approached for Janers delivery, a constant procession of

    merchants passed through the doors of the Ulster Scarlett brownstonc A team

    of three doctors gave Janet constant attention and her own family saw her

    twice a day. What mattered was that the activity kept her occupied. It kept

    her mind off a frightening fact. A fact so personal she didn't know how to

    discuss it; there was no one to whom she felt close enough.

Her husband no longer spoke to her.

    He had left her bed in her third month of pregnancy. In the south of

    France, to be exact. He had refused to have intercourse on the assumption

    that her miscarriage had been brought on by sex. She had wanted sex. She

    had wanted it desperately. She had wanted his body on hers because it was

    the only time she felt close to him. The only time her husband appeared to

    her to be without guile, without deceit, without the cold manipulation in

    his eyeL But even this was denied her.

    Then he left thqir communal room. insisting upon separate rooms wherever

    they went.

    And now he neither answered her questions nor asked any of his own.

He ignored her.

He was silent.

    He was, if she wanted to be honest with herself, contemptuous of her.

He hated her.

    Janet Uxon Scarlett. A reasonably intelligent product of Vassar. A graduate

    of the Pierre cotillions and a sane habitu6 of the hunt clubs. And always,

    always wondering why it was she and not someone else who enjoyed the

    privileges she had.

Not that she ever disclaimed them. She didnt. And

    100

perhaps she was entitled to them. God knew she was a "looker." Everyone had

said it for as long as she could remember. But she was what her mother

always complained about-an observer.

    "You never really enter into things, Janetl You must try to get over thatl"

    But it was hard to "get over." She looked upon her life as two sides of a

    stereopticon-both different, yet merging into one focus. On one plate was

    the well-appointed young lady with impeccable credentials, enormous wealth,

    and an obviously assured future with some well-appointed, enormously

    wealthy, impeccably credentialed husband. On the other was a girl with a

    frown on her forehead and a questioning look in her eyes.

    For this girl thought the world was larger than the confined world

    presented to her. Larger and far more compelling. But no one had allowed

    her to see that larger world.

Except her husband.

    And the part of it he let her see-forced her to s was terrifying.

Which is why she drank.

    While preparations for the birth continued, aided by a steady stream of

    Janet!s friends and family, a strange passivity came over Ulster Stewart

    Scarlett. It was discernible especially to those who observed him closely,

    but even to others it was apparent that he had slowed down his normally

    frantic pace. He was quieter, less volatile, sometimes reflective. And for

    a while his periods of going off by himself became more frequent. Never

    very long, just three or four days at a time. Many, like Chancellor Drew,

    attributed it to impending fatherhood.

    "I tell you, Mother, it's simply wonderful. Hes a new mant And you know, I

    told him having children was the answer. Gives a man a purpose. You watch,

    when ies a over he'll be ready for a real man's job I"

    "You have an acute ability to grasp the obvious, Chancellor. Your brother

    is quite convinced that he has a purpose in avoiding what you call a real

    man's job. I suspect he's bored to death by his imminent role as father. Or

    he's drinking bad whiskey."

    101

"You're too hard on him."

    "Quite the contrary," interrupted Elizabeth ScarlattL "I think he's become

    far too hard on us."

    Chancellor Drew looked bewildered. He changed the subject and began to read

    aloud a report of Scarwyck's newest project.

    A week later a male child was born to Janet Scarlett at the French

    Hospital. Ten days later at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine he was

    christened Andrew Roland Scarlett.

    And a day after the christening, Ulster Stewart Scarlett disappeared.

102

CHAPTER 11

At first no one took much notice. Ulster had stayed away from home before.

Although it was not the conventional behavior of a new father, Ulster hardly

fit into any conventional pattern. It was presumed that the tribal rites

attending the birth of a male child proved just too much for him and that he

had taken refuge in activities best left undescribed. When after three weeks

no word had been heard from him and no satisfactory explanations furnished

by a variety of people, the family became concemed. On the twenty-fifth day

after his disappearance, Janet asked Chancellor to call the police. Instead,

Chancellor called Elizabeth, which was a far more positive action.

    Elizabeth carefully weighed the, alternatives. Calling the police would

    necessitate an investigation and probably a great deal of publicity. In

    light of Ulster's activities a year ago, that was undesirable. If Ulstees

    absence was his own doing, such action would only serve to provoke hirn.

    Without provocation her son was unpredictable; with it he might well be

    impossible. She decided to hire a discreet firm of investigators, which

    often had been called on to examine insurance claims against the family

    businesses. The owners understood completely and put only their most

    efficient and trusted men on the job.

    Elizabeth gave them two weeks to unearth Ulster StewarL Actually, she

    expected he'd show up by then, but if he didn't, she would turn the matter

    over to the police.

    At the end of the first week, the investigators had compiled a multi-page

    report about Ulster's habits. The places he most frequently visited; his

    friends (many); his

    103

enemies (few); and, in as much detail as possible, a reconstruction of his

movements during the last few days before he vanished. They gave this

information to Elizabeth.

    Elizabeth and Chancellor Drew studied the reports closely. They revealed

    nothing.

    The second week proved equally unenlightening except to fill in Ulstees

    activities more minutely by the days and hours. Since his return from

    Europe, his daily rounds had become ritualistic. The squash courts and the

    steam rooms of the athletic club; the bank on lower Broadway, Waterman

    Trust; his cocktails on Fifty-third Street between 4:30 and 6:00 P.M. with

    five speakeasies sharing the five weekdays of his attendance; the nightly

    sorties into the entertainment world where a handful of entrepreneurs

    commandeered his indulgence (and financing); the almost routine early

    morning windups at a supper club on Fiftieth Street prior to his arrival

    home, never later than 2:00 Am.

    One bit of data did catch Elizabeth's attention as, indeed, it had the one

    who had reported it. It was incongruous. it appeared on Wednesday's sheet,

    Left house at approximately 10:30 and immediately hailed a taxi in front

    of residence. Maid was sweeping front steps and believed she heard - Mr.

    Scarlett, direct the driver to a subway.

    Elizabeth had never thought of Ulster In a subway. And yet, two hours

    later, according to a "Mr. Mascolo, head waiter at the Venezia Restaurant,"

    he was having an early lunch with a "Miss Dempsey (See Acquaintances:

    Theatrical artists)." The restaurant was two blocks from uistees house. Of

    course there could be a dozen explanations and certainly nothing in the

    report indicated anything strange other than Ulster's decision to go to a

    subway. For the time bein& Elizabeth attributed it to uistees meeting

    someone, probably Miss Dempsey.

    At the end of the week, Elizabeth capitulated and instructed Cliancellor

    Drew to contact the police.

The newspapers had a red-letter day.

    The Bureau of Investigation joined with the Manhattan police on the premise

    that possibly interstate laws had

    104

been violated. Dozens of publicity seekers as well as many sincere

individuals volunteered that they had seen Ulster during that last week

before his disappearance. Some macabre souls telephoned, claiming knowledge

of his whereabouts, demanding money for the information. Five letters

arrived asking ransom for his return. All leads were checked OUL All proved

worthless.

    Benjamin Reynolds saw the story on page two of the Washington Herald. Other

    than the wedding, it was the first news he'd read about Ulster Scarlett

    since his meeting with Elizabeth Scarlatti over a year ago. However, in

    keeping with his word, he had made discreet inquiries about the celebrated

    war'hero during the past monthsonly to learn that he had rejoined his

    proper world. Elizabeth Scarlatti had done her job well. Her son had

    dropped out of the importing business and the rumors of his involvement

    with criminal elements had died away. He had gone so far as to assume some

    minor positionwith New York's Waterman Trust.

    It had immed the affair Scarlatti was over for Ben Reynolds.

And now this.

    Would this mean it was no longer dormant, no longer a closed wound? Would

    it signify a reopening of the harsh speculation he, Ben Reynolds, had

    dwelled upon? Would Group Twenty be called in?

    A Scarlatti son did not simply disappear without the government at least

    alerted. Too many congressmen were indebted to Scarlatti for one thing or

    another-a factory here, a newspaper there, a good-sized campaign check most

    of the time. Sooner or later someone would rez ember that Group Twenty had

    looked into the man's activities once before.

They'd be back. Discreetly.

If Elizabeth Scarlatti said it was all right.

    Reynolds put the newspaper down, got out of his chair, and walked to his

    office door.

    "Glover," he asked his subordinate, "could you come in my office a minuter'

    The older man walked back to his chair and sat down. "Did you read the

    story about Scarlatti?"

    105

    "This morning on the way to work," answered Glover, coming through the

    door.

    What do you make of it?-

    "I knew you'd ask me. I think some of his last year's friends caught up

    with him."

#11Why?1.

    Glover sat down m the chair in front of Reynoldes desk. "Because I can't

    think of anything else and ifs logical. . . . And don't ask me why again

    because you know as well as I do."

"I do? I'm not sure of that"

    "Oh, come on, Ben. The moneyman isn't having any more. Someones stuck for

    a shipment and goes to him He refuses. Sicilian sparks fly and that's that.

    . . . Ifs either something like that or a blackmail job. He decided to

    fight-and lost."

"I can't buy violence."

"Tell that to the Chicago police."

    "Scarlen didn't deal with the lower echelons. Thats why I can't buy a

    violence theory. There was too much to lose. Scarlett was too powerful; he

    had too many friends... He might be used, not killed."

'Then what do you think?"

    ,'I dowt know. Thaes why I asked you. You jammed up'this aftemoonr'

    "God damn it, yes. Still the same two things. No breaks coming our way."

d'AribDna damr-

    ,qbws one. That son-of-a-bitch congressman keeps pushing through the

    appropriations and we know damned well hes getting paid, but we can't prove

    it. Can't even get anyone to admit they know anybody... Incidentally, -U

    business, Canfield's on this one."

speaking of the Scarle "Yes, I know. How's he doingr"Oh, we can't blame him.

He's doing the best he can." ,,what's the other problem?" -Me Pond

memorandum from Stockhohn.':

    He's got to come through with something more than rumors, Glover. He's

    wasting our time until he gives us something concrete. Irve told you

    that." q know, I know. But Pond sent word by courier-4t arrived from

    State this mornmg-the transaction's been made. That's the word."

    106

    "Can't Pond get any names? Thirty million doflars' worth of securities and

    he can't get a single name?"

    "A very tight syndicate, obviously. He hasn't come up with any."

    "One heU of an ambassador. Coolidge appoints lousy ambassadors."

    "He does think the whole shebang was manipulated by Donnenfeld."

"WeR, that's a namel Who in hell is DonnenfeldT'

    "Not a person. A firm. About the largest on the Stockholm exchange."

"How did he come to that conclusion?"

    'Two reasons. The first is that only a large firm could handle it. Two-the

    whole thing can be buried easier that way. And it wW have to be buried.

    American securities sold on the Stockholm exchange is touchy business."

"Touchy, helll It can't be donel"

    "All right. Raffied in Stockholm. Same thing as tar as the money's

    concerned."

"What are you going to do about it?"

    "Drudgery. Keep checking an the corporations with extensive ties in Sweden.

    You want to know something? Therere a couple of dozen in Milwaukee alone.

    How do You like that? Make a bundle over here and do business with your

    cousins back home."

    "If yop want my opinion, Walter Pond's stirring up a quiet fuss so he gets

    some attention. Cal Coolidge doesn't make a friend an ambassador to the

    land of the midnight sun---or whatever the hell it's called-unless the

    fellow's not so good a friend as he thinks he is."

I

    107

CHAPTER 12

After two months, with nothing further to write about or to broadcast, the

novelty of Ulster Scarletfs disappearance wore off. For in trutk the only

additional information uncovered by the combined efforts of the police, the

Bureau of Missing Persons, and the federal investigators was of a character

nature and led nowhere. It was as if he had literally decomposed, became

vapor Existing one mmute, a colorful memory the nexL

    Ulswes lifei possessions, prejudices, and anxieties were placed under the

    scrutiny of professionals. And the result of thew labors etched an

    extraordinary portrait of pointlessness. A man who had just about

    everything a human being could ask for on this earth had apparently lived

    in a vacmmL A purposeless, aimless vacuum.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti puzzled over the voluminous reports supplied her by the

    authorities. It had become a habit for her, a ritual, a hope. If her son

    had been killed~ it would, of course~ be painful; but she could accept the

    loss of life. And there were a thousand ways ... ffie, water, earth ... to

    rid the world of a body. But she could not accept this conclusiom It was

    possible, of course. He had known the underworld, but on such a peripheral

    basis.

    One morning Elizabeth stood by her library window watching the outside

    world come to grips with another day. The pedestrians always walked so

    rapidly in the morning. The automobiles were subject to far more backfiring

    after a night of idleness. Then Elizabeth saw

    108

one of her maids out on the front steps. The maid was sweeping the front

steps.

    As ft watched the woman swing the broom back and forth, Elizabeth was

    renunded. of another maid. On another set of steps.

    A maid at Ulstees house- A maid who swept UlsteA steps one morning and

    remembered her son giving instructions to a taxi driver.

What were those instructions?

A subway. Ulster had to get to a subway.

    Her son had to take a subway one morning and Elizabeth hadn!t understood.

    it was only a dim ffickering candle in a very dark forest but it was a

    light Elizabeth crossed rapidly to the telephone.

    Thirty minutes later, Third Vice-President Jefferson Cartwright stood

    before Elizabeth Scarlatti. He was stiff partially out of breath from the

    nervous pressures of rearranging his schedule in order to attend this

    command performanc&

    ,,yes, hdeed; , drawled the Virginian. "Ali the accounts won thoroughly

    examined the minute Mr Scarlett s disappearance was known to us. Wonderful

    boy We became very close durin! his sessions at the bank."

'TAM is the state of his accounts?"

,q?erfway normal."

,,rm afraid i doret know what that means."

    Cartwright hesitated for a few seconds--the thoughtful banker. "of course,

    the final tigures aren7t complete but we have no reason at this point to

    believe he exceeded the annual Income of his trust."

"What is that income, Mr. CartwrightT'

    Well, of cours% the market fluctuates-happily upward--~ Jed be docult to

    give you a precise figum"

"Just an approximate OnC"

    "Let me we now . . ~" Jefferson Cartwright did not like the direction the

    conversation was taking. He was suddenly very thankftil that he had had the

    foresight to send those vague memorandums to Chancellor Drew about his

    brothees expenditures in Europe. His Southern drawl becam thicker "I could

    call several executives more familiar with Mr. Scarlett's portfolio-~ut it

    was considerable. Madame ScarlattL"

    109

    "nen I expect you to have at least a rough figure at your command."

    Elizabeth did not like Jefferson Cartwright and the tone of her voice was

    ominous. -

    "Mr. ScarIetVs income from the trust fund designated for personal

    expenditures as differentiated from the second trust fund designated for

    investments was in excess of seven hundred and eighty-three thousand

    dollars." Cartwright spoke rapidly, quietly.

    "rut very pleased that his personal needs rarely exceeded that trifling

    amount." Elizabeth shifted her position in the straight-backed chair so she

    could give Mr. Cartwright the fall benefit of her stare. Jefferson Cart-

    wright rattled on at an accelerated tempo. Phrases spilled over into

    others, his accent more pronounced than ever.

    "Well, surely, you were aware of Mr. Scarlett!s extravagances. I believe

    the newspapers reported many. As I say, I personally did my best to caution

    him, but he was a very headstrong young man. If you recall, just three

    years ago, Mr. Scarlett purchased a dirigible for nearly a half million

    dollars. We did our best to dissuade him, of course, but it was simply

    impossible. He said he had to have a dirigiblel If you'll study your son7s

    accounts, madame, you'll find many such rash purchases." Cartwright was

    decidedly on the defensive although he knew perfectly wen El=beth could

    hardly hold him responsible.

"lust how many such ... puchases were there?"

    At an even faster rate of speed the banker replied, "Well, certainly none

    as extravagant as the dirigiblel We were able to prevent similar incidents

    by explaining to Mr. Scarleft that it was improper to transfer monies from

    his second trust for such purposes. That he had to . . . limit his expenses

    to the income produced by the first trust. in our sessions at the bank we

    emphasized this aspect time and again. However, last year alone, while he

    was in Europe with the beautiful Mrs. Scarlett, we were in constant touch

    with the Continental banks over his personal accounts. To put it mildly,

    your son was most helpful to the European economy... It also was necessary

    to make ... numerous direct payments on his signature. ... Certainly Mr.

    Chancellor Scarlett spoke of the many, many notes I sent him regarding the

    large sums of money we forwarded your son in Europe."

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "No, he told me nothing."

    110

    "Well, Madame Scarlatti~ it was your son's honeymoon. There was no reason..

    ."

    "Mr. Cartwright," the old woman interrupted sharply, "do you have an

    accurate accounting of my son~s bank drafts, here and abroad, for the past

    year?"

"Why, of course, madame."

    "And a listing of the payments made directly by you on his signatureV

"Certainly."

    "I shall expect them in my hands no later than tomorrow morning."

    -But it would take several accountants a full week to compile everything.

    Mr. Scarlett was hardly the most precise individual when it came to such

    matters. . . ."

    "Mr. Cartwrightl I've dealt with Waterman Trust for over a quarter of a

    century. The Scarlatti Industries deal through Waterman Trust exclusively,

    because I direct that they should. I believe in Waterman Trust because it's

    never given me a reason not to. Do I make myself clear?"

    -You do, indeed. Tomorrow mornin." Jefferson Cartwright bowed out of the

    room as a pardoned slave might take leave of an Arabian sheiklL

-Oh, Mr. C;artwright-1'

4yar,

    ,,I dont think I really commended you for keeping my son's expenses within

    the boundaries of his income."

    "I'm sorry. . . ." Beads of perspiration appeared on Cartwright's forehead.

    "Ibere was little - . ."

    "I don!t think you understand me, Mr. Cartwright. I'm quite sincere. I

    commend you. Good morning.,'

"Good day, Madame ScarlattL"

    Cartwright and three Waterman bookkeepers stayed throughout the night in an

    attempt to bring the accounts of Ulster Stewart Scarlett up-to-date. It was

    a difficult chore.

    By two thirty in the morning Jefferson Cartwright had on his desk a list of

    banks and exchanges where the Scarlatti heir either had or once had

    accounts. Opposite each were detailed figures and times of transference.

    The list seemed endless. The specific deposits might well have avill

eraged yearly Incomes for the large majority of middleclass Americans but

for Ulster Stewart they were no more than weekly allowances. It would take

days to ascertain what was left. The list included:

T~Hz CBEmicAL CoRN ExcHANoE, 900 Madison Avenue, New York City.

    MtjsoN DE BANQuE, 22 rue Violette, Paris.

    1A RANQuE Amfiwcmm, rue Nouveau, Marseilles.

DsuTSCHR-AMMICANISCHE BANK, Kurfuerstendamn4 Berlin.

    BANco-TuRnTA, Calk de la Suefios, Madrid.

    MAmN Dia Momm CARLo. me du Feuillage, Monaco.

WMNM STAEDTISCM SPARKASSE6 Salzburgerstrasse, Vienna.

BmQuE-RL4NcA=a-ALoftxE6 Harbor of Moons, Cairo, Egypt.

And so it went. Ulster and his bride had seen Europe.

    Of course, balancing this list of supposed assets was a second list of

    deficits in the form of accounts due. These included monies owed by

    signature to scores of hotels, department stores, shops, restaurant.%

    automobile agen.cies, steamship lines, railroads, stables, private clubs,

    gambling establishment&. They all had been paid by Waterman.

Jefferson Cartwright perused the detailed reports.

    By civilized standards they were a conglomeration of financlai nonsense,

    but the history of Ulster Stewart scadett bore out that for him this was

    perfectly normal. Cartwright reached the same conclusion as had the sov-

    ernment accountants when they I chocked for the Bureau of Investigation

    soon after Ulstees disappewance.

    Nothing unusual considermg Ulster SwIett's Past lifeNaturally, Waterman

    Trust would send letters of inquiry to the banks here and abroad to

    ascertain the amount of remaining deposits. it would be a simple matter to

    have the monies transferred under power of attorney back to Waterman TrusL

    Yes, lndeW' muttered the Southerner to himself. -Mighty complete job under

    the circumstances.-

    jefferson Cartwright was convinced that old Scarlatti would have a very

    different attitude toward him this morning. He would sleep for a few hours,

    take a long cold

    112

shower, and bring the reports to her himself. Secretly, he hoped that he

would look tired, terribly tired. She might be impressed.

    "My dear Mr. Cartwright," spat out Elizabeth Scarlatti, "it never occurred

    to you that while you were transferring thousands upon thousands to banks

    all over Europe, you were simultaneously settling debts which totaled

    nearly a quarter of a million dollars? It never crossed your mind that by

    combining these two figures my -son accomplished the seemingly impossiblel

    He went through the entire annual income from his trust in less than nine

    monthsl Damned near to the pennyl"

    "Naturally, Madame Scarlatti~ letters are being sent this mornin' to the

    banks requestin' full information. Under our power of attorney, of course.

    I'm sure sizable amounts will be returned."

-rm notat an sure,

    "if I may be frank, Madame Scarlatti, what you're leadin' up to completely

    eludes me. . . ."

    ElizabetIfs tone became momentarily gentle, refiective. -ro ten the truth,

    it eludes me also. only rm not leading, rm being led. . .

"I beg your pardon?"

    'Thiring my son!s sessions at Waterman could he have ... come upon

    something . . . which might cause him to transfer such sums to Europe?"

    "I asked myself the sa question. As his adviser I felt it my duty to

    inquire. . . . Apparently Mr. Scarlett made a number of investments on the

    Continent."

    investments? In Europe? That seems most unlikelyl-

    "He had a wide circle of friends, Madame SOarlattL Friends who, I'm sure,

    didn't lack for projects.... And I must say, your son was beco" more and

    more Proficient in investment analysis. . .

"He what?'

    ',I refer to his studies of the Scarlatti portfolios. Why, he put his

    shoulder to the wheel and was unrelentin, on himself. I took great pride in

    his accomplishment. He was really takin' our sessions seriously. Tryin' so

    hard to understand the factor of diversification. . . . Why, on his

    113

honeymoon he took along hundreds of the Scarlatti corporate reports.29

    Elizabeth rose from her chair and walked slowly, deliberately toward the

    window overlooking the street, but her concentration was on the

    Southerner's sudden, incredible revelation. As had happened so often in the

    past, she realized that her instincts-abstract, unclear-werp leading her to

    the truth. It was there; she was near it. But it remained out of her grasp.

    "I assume you mean the statements-the breakdowns -of the Scarlatti

    Industries! holdings?"

    '7hat, too, of course. But much, much more. He anab-zed the trusts, both

    his and Chancellor's-even your own, Madame ScarlattL It was his hope to

    write a complete report with special emphasis on the growth factors. It was

    a mighty ambitious task and he never wavered .....

    "Far more than ambitious, Mr. Cartwright," intqrupted Elizabeth. "Without

    training. rd say unpossible." She continued to look out on the street.

    Actually, dear madame, we at the bank understood ". So we convinced him to

    limit his research to his own holdings. I felt it would be easier to

    explain and I certainly didet wish to dampen his enthusiasm, so I . . "

    Elizabeth turned from the window and stared at the banker. Her look caused

    him to stop speakin& She. knew the truth was now within, her grasp6 "Please

    clarify. How did my son... research his holdingsr'

    ,,From the securities in his trust ftmd. Primarily the bonds in his second

    trust-the investment fund-they're far more stable COMMOditUm He cataloged

    them and then matched them with alternate, choices. which might have been

    made when they werp originally purchased. If I may add, he, was most

    impressed with ft selections. He told me W'

    He ... cataloged them? What precisely do you meanr

    "He listed the securities separately. The amounts each represented and the

    years and months they were due. From the dates and the amounts he was able

    to compare with numerous other issues on the board:'

    How did he do this?"

    "As I mentioned, from the bonds and debentures themselves. From the yearly

    portfolios:'

'Iftere?"

'7he vaults, madame. IMe Scarlatti vaults."

    114

My Godl thought Elizabeth.

    The old woman put her hand-4rembling-,on the windowsill. She spoke calmly

    in spite of the fear enveloping her. "How long did myson . . . do this

    research?"

    Why, for several months. Smae his return from Europe to be exact"

    "I sm IM anyone mist him? He was so inexperienced, I mean:'

    kfiewn Cartwright returned ElIzabeWs look. He was not an utta fool. "Thwe

    was no nocessity. CatalogiW premature securities isn7t difficult. ICs a

    simple process of listin' names, figures, and dates. And your son is ...

    was a

    --yeL ... He was.- Elizabeth knew the banker was bemrinnin to read her

    dmmghtL It diddl matter. Nothing mattered now but the ftuth.

The vauftL

    "Mr. C*rtwrjgbt, FU be ready in ten minute& rU call for my car and well

    both return to Your offim"

adAs YOU wish."

    The ride downtown was made in silence. The banker and the matriarch sat

    next to each other in the back seat, but neither spoke. Each was

    preoccupied with his own thoughts.

ElizabeWs--the truth.

    cartwrighics-survival. For N what he had begun to wspea was correct, bed be

    rumed. Waterman Trust wit be ruine& And he was the appointed adviser to

    ter Stewart ScarletL

    The chauffair, opened the door as the Southerner depped out onto the curb

    and held his hand for Elizaboth. He noted that she grasped his hand

    tightly. too tightly, as she cliniba-with difficulty-out of the automobile.

    She stared down at nothm&

    The banker led the old woman rapidly through the bank. Past the cages, past

    the tellers, past the office doors to the rear of the building. They took

    the elevator down to the huge waterman cellars. out of the elevator they

    turned to the left and approached the east wing.

    The walls were gray, the surfaces smooth , and the thick cement encased

    both sides of the gleaming steel bars. Above, the portal was a simple

    inscription.

    US

    EASr WING

    SCARLAM

    Elizabeth thought-once agaia-that the affect was tomblike. Beyond the bars

    was a narrow hallway lit from the ceiling with bright bulbs encased in wire

    mesh. Except for the doorways, two on either side, the corridor looked like

    a passageway to some pharaolfs final rer'Ing place in the center of an

    awesome Pyramid. The door at the and led to the vault of the Scarlattl

    Industries itselL

Everything.

Giovanni.

    ibe two doors on either side led to cubicles for the wife and the three

    children. Chancellor's and Ulstees were on the left. Elizabeth's and

    Roland's on the right. Elizabeth was next to GiOvannL

    Elizabeth had Dever had Man& consolidated. She knew that ultimately the

    courts would take care of that. It was her one gesture of sentiment to her

    lost son. It was proper. Roland, too, was part of the empire~

    The uniformed guard nodded-funereally-and opened the sted-barred door.

    EMzabeth stood in front of the entrance to the first cubicle on the 1efL

    The nameplate on the center of the tnetal door read, ulster Stewart

    Scarlatti.

    The guard opened this door and Elizabeth entered the nun room. "You will

    relock the door and watt Outside6:"

"Naturally."

    She was alone in the cell-like enclosure. She reflected that only once

    before had she been in Ulstees cubicle. It had been with GiovamiL Yaws,

    histories ago. . . . He had coaxed her downtown to the bank without telling

    her of his arrangements for the east wing vaults. He had been so proud. He

    had taken her through the five rooms as a guide might usher tourists,

    &rough a museunL He had elaborated on the intricacies of the various WistL

    She remembered how be slapped the cabinets as if they were prize-winning

    cattle that would someday provide enormous herds.

He had been right.

    Tble room hadnt changed. it might have been yeSW6 day.

On one side, built into the wall, were the deposit boxes

    116

holding the industrials-the stocks, the certificates of ownership in

hundreds of corporations. The wherewithal for day-to-day living. Ulster's

first trust fund. On two other walls stood file cabinets, seven on each

side. Each file drawer was marked with a year date-changed each year by the

Waterman executors. Each drawer contained hundreds of open-faced securities

and each cabinet had six drawers.

    Securities to be drawn on for the next eighty-four years.

The second trust. Earmarked for Scarlatti expansion.

Elizabeth studied the cards on the cabinets.

1926. 1927. 1928. 1929. 1930. 1931.

These were listed on the first cabineL

    She saw that there was a monk's stool pushed several feet away from the

    cabinet to the right. Whoever had used it last had been seated between the

    first and second file. She looked at the index cards on the adjacent

    cabinet.

1932.1933.1934.1935.1936.1937.

    She ffeached down and pulled the stool in front of the first cabinet and

    sat down. She looked at the bottom file drawer.

1926.

She opened it.

    The year was divided by the twelve months, each month separated by a small

    index tab. Before each tab was a thin metal carton with two miniature

    cleats joined by a single wire submerged in wax. On the face of the

    wax-branded-were the initials W.T. in old English lettering.

    The year 1926 was intacL None of the thin metal cartons had been opened.

    VVhich meant that Ulster had not complied with the banles request for

    investment instructions. At,the end of December the executors would take

    the responsibility themselves and, no doubt, consult EhZabeth as they had

    always done in the past with Ulstees fund.

She pulled out the yew 1927.

    This, too, was untouched. None of the wax crests had been broken.

    Elizabeth was about to close the file on 1927 when she stopped. Her eyes

    caught sight of a blur in the wax. A tiny, slight blemish that would have

    gone unnoticed had not a persoWs attention been on the crests.

    117

    The T. of -the W.T. was ragged and slanted downward on the month of August.

    The same was true for September, October, November, and December.

    She pulled out the August carton and shook it. Then she ripped the wire

    apart and the wax crest cracked and fell away.

The carton was empty.

    She replaced it and drew out the remaining months of 1927.

All empty.

    She replaced the cartons and opened the file for 1928. Every thin carton

    had the T. of the wax crest ragged and slanting downward.

All empty.

    For how many months had Ulster carried out his extraordinary charade? Going

    from one harried banker to the next and always, always-at the last---conung

    down to the vaults. Document by document. Security by security.

    Three hours ago she wouldn't have believed it. It was only because a maid

    sweeping her front steps had triggered the memory of another maid sweeping

    steps. A maid who remembered a short command given by her son to a

    cabdriver.

Ulster Scarlett had taken a subway.

    One nudmormag he could not take the chance of a tax! ride in traffic. He

    had been late for his session at the bank.

    What better time than midmorning? The initial placing of orders, the chaos

    of early trading in the market.

    Even Ulster Scarlett would be overlooked at midmorning.

She hadn't understood the subway.

Now she did.

    As if performing a painful ritual she checked the remaining months and

    years of the first cabinet. Through December, 1931.

Empty.

    She closed the drawer on 1931 and began at the bottom of the second

    cabinet. 1932.

Empty.

    She had reached the middle of the cabinet-1934when she heard the sound of

    the metal door opening. She quickly closed the file and turned around in

    anger.

Jefferson Cartwright entered and shut the door.

    113

"I thought I told you to remain outside!"

    "My word, Madame Scarlatti, you look like you've seen a dozen ghosts."

"Get outl"

    Cartwright walked rapidly to the first cabinet and arbitrarily pulled out

    one of the middle drawers. He saw the broken seals on the metal cartons,

    lifted one out,. and opened it. "Seems as if somethin's missin'."

"I'll have you dismissed!"

    "Maybe. . . . Maybe you will." The Southerner pulled out another drawer and

    satisfied himself that several other cartons whose seals had been broken

    were empty also.

    Elizabeth stood silently, contemptuously, next to the banker. When she

    spoke, it was with the intensity bom of disgust. "You have just terminated

    your employment at Waterman Trust!"

    "Maybe I have. Excuse me, please." The Virginian gently moved Elizabeth

    away from the second cabinet and continued his search. He reached the year

    1936 and turned to the old woman. "Not much left, is there? I wonder how

    far it goes, don't you? Of course, I'll make a complete breakdown for you

    as soon as possible. For you and my superiors." He closed the drawer on

    1936 and smiled.

    "This is confidential family business. VoifIl. do nothingl You can do

    nothingl"

    "Oh, come nowl These cabinets contained open-faced securities. Bearer bonds

    negotiable subject to signature. ... Possession is ownership. They're the

    same as money. ... Your disappearin' son took a whale of a hunk of the New

    York Exchangel And we haven't even finished lookin' around. Shall we open

    a few more cabinets?"

"I will not tolerate thisl"

    "Men don't. You go on your way, and I'll simply report to my superiors that

    Waterman Trust is in one hell of a pile of manure. Forgettin' very sizable

    commissions due the bank and puttin' aside any thoughts of the companies

    involved gettin' nervous over who owns whatthere might even be a run on

    some stocks-I possess knowledge which I should report immediately to the

    au.thoritiesi"

"You can notl You mu t nod"

    119

    "Why not?" Jefferson Cartwright held Gut the palms of both hands.

    Elizabeth turned away from him and tried to marshal her thoughts. "Estimate

    what!s gone, Mr. Cartwright. . . ."

    'I can estimate as far as weve looked. Eleven years, approximately -three

    and a half million a year comes to something like forty million. But we may

    have only just begun:'

    'I said prepare an estimate. I trust that I don!t have to tell. you that if

    you say a word to anyone-I shall destroy you. We'll arrive at mutually

    agreeable terms." She slowly turned and looked at Jefferson CartwrighL

    "'You should know, Mr. Cartwright, that through an accident you're

    privileged to information that lifts you far above your talents or

    abilities. When men are so fortunate, they must be cautious."

Elizabeth Scarlatti spent a sleepless night.

    Jefferson Cartwright also spent a sleepless night. But it waset in bed. It

    was on a monk7s stool with reams of papefs at his feet.

    The figures mouated as he cautiously checked the file cabinets against the

    Scarlatti trusts reports.

Jefferson Cartwright thought he'd go mad.

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett had removed securities worth over $270 million.

He totaled and retotaled the figures.

An amount that would cause a crisis on the exchange.

    An international scandal, which could-if known-cripple the Scarlatti

    Industries. . . . And it would be known when the time came to convert the

    first trusaing secunties. At the outside-. barely a year.

    Jefferson Cammght folded the last of the pages together and stuffed them

    into his inner jacket pocket He clamped his arm against his chest, making

    sure that the prmum between his flesh was stopped by the paper, and left

    the vaults.

    He signaled the front guard with a short whistle. The man had been dozing

    on a black leather chair near the door.

"Oh, m`God, Mr. Cartwrightl Ystartled mel"

Cartwright walked out onto the street.

    120-

    He looked at the grayish white light of the sky. It was going to be morning

    soon. And the light was his signal.

    For he-Jefferson Cartwright, fifty-year-old ex-football player from the

    University of Virginia, who had married first money and then lost it--held

    in his pocket carte blanche to everything he had ever wanted.

    He was back in the stadium and the crowds were roaring.

Touchdownt

Nothing could be denied him now.

121

CHAPTER 13

At twenty minutes after one in the morning, Benjamin Reynolds sat

comfortably in an armchair in his Georgetown apartmeaL He held on his lap

one of the file folders the attorney general's office had sent Group Twenty.

There had been sixteen in all and he divided the stack equally between

Glover and himself.

    With congressional pressure, especially New York's Senator Brownlee, the

    attorney generars office wasn't going to leave a single stone unturned. If

    the Scarlatti son had disappeared into a void, at least the AG men could

    write volumes explaining the fact. Because Group Twenty had

    touched-briefly--on the life of Ulster Scarlett, Reynolds, too, would be

    expected to add something. Even if it was nothing.

    Reynolds felt a trace of guilt when he thought of Glover wading through the

    same nonsense.

    Like all reports of investigations of missing persons, it was filled with

    trivia. Dates, hours, minutes, streets, houses, names, names, names. A

    record of the inconsequential made to seem important. And perhaps to some-

    one, somewhere, it might be. A part, a section, a paragrapk a sentence,

    even a word could open a door for someone

But certainly not for anyone at Group Twenty.

Hed apologize to Glover later that morning.

    Suddenly the phone rang. The sound in the stillness at such an unexpected

    hour startled Reynolds.

"Ben? It's Glover. . . ."

    122

    "Jesusl You scared the hell out of me! What's wrong? Someone call in?"

    "No, Ben. I suppose this could wait until morning, but I thought I'd give

    you the pleasure of laughing yourself to sleep, you bastard."

    "You've been drinking, Glover. Fight with your wife, not me. What the hell

    have I done?"

    "Gave me these eight Bibles from the attorney general's office, that's what

    you did.... I found something!"

"Good Christl About the New York thingl The aocks?"

    "No. Nothing we've ever connected with Scarlett. May~ be nothing but it

    could be

'INbat?"

"Sweden. Stockholm."

"Stockholm? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I know the Pond file by rote."

"Walter Pond? The securities?"

    "That's right. His first memorandum arrived last May. The initial word

    about the securities. Remember now?"

"Yes, yes, I do. So what?"

    "According to a report in the sixth file, Ulster Scarlett was in Sweden

    last year. Would you like to guess when?"

    Reynolds paused before answering. His attention was riveted on the almost

    unimaginable amount of thirty million dollars. "It wasn't Christmas, was

    it." It was a statement spoken softlv.

    "Now that you mention it, some people might have looked at it that way.

    Perhans Christmas in Sweden comes in May."

    "Let's talk in the morning." Reynolds hung up without waiting for his

    subordinate to reply or say goodnight. He walked slowly back to the soft

    armchair and sat down.

    As always Benjamin Reynolds's thought processes raced ahead of the

    information presented. To the complications, the ramifications.

    If Glover had made a valid assumption, that Ulster Scarlett was involved

    with the Stockholm manipulation, then it had to follow that Scarlett was

    still alive. If that were true, then -thirty million dollars' worth of

    American securities had been illegally offered by him for sale on the

    Stockholm exchange.

    123

    No one individual, not even Ulster Stewart Scarlett, could get his hands on

    thirty million dollars' worth of securities.

Unless there was a conspiracy.

But of what kind? For what purpose?

    If Elizabeth Scarlatti herself were a part of it-she had to be considered

    in light of the magnitude of the capital-why?

Had he misread her completely?

It was possible.

    It was also possible that he had been right over a year ago. The Scarlatti

    son had not done what he had done for thrills or because he'd met unsavory

    friends. Not if Stockholm was pertirxenL

    Glover paced the floor in front of Reynolds's desk. "It's there. Scarlett's

    visa shows he entered Sweden on May tenth. The Pond memorandum is dated the

    fifteenth."

"I see. I can read."

"What are you going to do?"

    "Do? I can't do a damn thing. There's really nothing here at all. Simply a

    statement calling our attention to some rumors and the date of an American

    citizen's entry into Sweden. What else do you see?"

    "Assuming there's a basis for the rumors, the connection's obvious and you

    know it as well as I dol Five will get you ten that if Pond's last

    communication is right, Scarlett's in Stockholm now."

"Assuming he's got something to seiv,

"That's what I said."

    "If I remember, somebody's got to say something's

stolen before somebody else can yell thief I If we make

accusations, all the Scarlattis have to say is they don't

know what we're talking about and we're strung up on a

high legal tree. And they don't even have to do that. They

can simply refuse to dignify us with an answer --- that's

the way the old lady would put it-and the boys on the

Hill will take care of the rest.... This agency-for those

who know about it-is an abomination. The purpose we

ftrve is generally at odds with a few other purposes in

this town. We're one of the checks and balances-~e

    124

your choice. A lot of people in Washington would like to see us ouW,

    "Then we'd better let the AG'S office have the information and let them

    draw their own conclusions. I guess that's the only thing left."

    Benjamin Reynolds pushed his foot against the floor and his chair swung

    gently around to face the window. "We should do that. We will if you insist

    on it."

    "What does that mean?" asked Glover, addressing his words to the back of

    his superioes head.

    Reynolds shoved his chair around again and looked at his subordinate. "I

    think we ran do the job better ourselves. Justice, Treasury, even the

    Bureau. Theyre accountable to a dozen committees. We're not."

"We're extending the lines of our authority."

    "I don1 think so. And as long as I sit in this chair that's pretty much my

    decision, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Why do you want us to take it on?"

    "Because there's something diseased in all this. I saw it in the old

    woman's eyes.

"That's hardly clear logic."

"It's enough. I saw it."

    "Ben? If anything turns up we think is beyond us. you'll go to the attorney

    general?"

"My word."

-You're on. What do we do now?"

    Benjamin Reynolds rose from his chair. "Is Canfield still in ArizonaT'

"Phoenix."

"Get him here."

    Canfield. A complicated man for a complicated assignment. Reynolds did not

    like him, did not completely trust him. But he would make progress faster

    than any of the others.

    And in the event he decided to sell out, Ben Reynolds would know it. He

    would spot it somehow. Canfield wasn't that experienced.

    If that happened Reynolds would bear down on the field accountant and get

    to the truth of the Scarlatti business. Canfield was expendable.

    Yes, Matthew Canfield was a good choice. If he pursued the Scarlattis on

    Group Twenty's terms, they could ask no more. If, on the other hand, he

    found different

    125

terms-terms too lucrative to refuse-he would be called in and broken.

Destroyed. But they would know the truth.

    Ben Reynolds sat down and wondered at his own cynicism.

    There was no question about it. The fastest way to solve the mystery

    behind the Scarlattis was for Matthew Canfield to be a pawn.

A pawn who trapped himself.

126

CHAPTER 14

It was difficult for Elizabeth to sleep. She repeatedly sat up in bed to

write down whatever came into her head. She wrote down facts, conjectures,

remote possibilities, even impossibilities. She drew little squares,

inserted names, places, dates, and tried to match them with connecting

lines. At about three in the morning, she had reduced the series of events

to the following:

    April, 1925. Ulster and Janet married after only threeweek engagement. Why?

    . . . Ulster and Janet sailed Cunard Line to Southampton. Reservations made

    by Ulster in February. How did he know?

    May to December, 1925. Approximately eight hundred thousand sent by

    Waterman Trust to sixteen different banks in England, France, Germany,

    Austria, Holland, Italy, Spain, and Algeria.

    January to March, 1926. Securities valued at appro31mately 270 million

    taken from Waterman. Forced sale equivalent between 150 and 200 million.

    Ali bills and charges in Ulstees and Janefs name from European aocounts

    settled in full by February, 1926. Month of March, Ulster's behavior

    considerably altered, withdrawn.

    April, 1926. Andrew born. Andrew christened. Ulster disappears.

    July, 1926. Confirmation received from fourteen European banks that all

    monies withdrawn previously. Generally within four weeks of deposit. Two

    banks, London and The Hague, report sums of twenty-six thousand and

    nineteen thousand, respectively, remain on deposit.

This was the chronological order of events relative to

    127

Ulstees disappearance. The design was there. Premeditation of the whole

sequence was apparent: the reservations made in February; the short

engagement; the honeymoon tour; the constant deposits and prompt with-

drawals; the removal of the securities and the final act of Ulster's

disappearance itself. From February, 1925, to April, 1926. A plan conceived

for fourteen months and executed with enormous precision, even to the point

of assuring pregnancy, if Janet was to be believed. Was Ulster capable of

such ingenuity? Elizabeth did not know. She really knew very little about

him and the endless reports served only to cloud his image. For the person

this research analyzed was seemingly capable of nothing save

self-indulgence.

    She knew there was only one place to start the search. Europe. The banks.

    Not all, she rationalized, but several. For regardless of the complexities

    of growth and the excesses of diversification, the fundamental practice of

    banking had remained constant since the time of the pharaohL You put money

    in and you took money out. And whether for necessity or for pleasure the

    money withdrawn went someplace else. It was that other place, or those

    other places, that Elizabeth wanted to find. For it was this money, the

    money that Waterman Trust sent to the sixteen European banks, which would

    be used until such time as the securities might be sold.

    At ten minutes to nine the butler opened the front door for Waterman Trust

    Company's newest second vicepresident, Jefferson Cartwright He showed

    Cartwright into the library where Elizabeth sat behind the desk with the

    Inevitable cup of coffee in her hand.

    Jefferson Cartwright sat on the small chair in front of the desk aware that

    it flatteringly accentuated his size. He put his briefcase by his side.

"Did you bring the letters?"

    "I have them right here, Madame Scarlatti," answered the banker, lifting

    the briefcase to his lap and opening it. "May I take this opportunity to

    thank you for your kind intercession on my behalf at the -office. It

    certainly was most generous of you."

    128

    "Thank you. I understand you!ve been made second vice-president.'*

    'Mat's correct, ma7am, and I do -believe the good word from you made it

    possible. I thank you again:' He handed Elizabeth the papers.

    She took them and started scanning the top pages. They seemed to be in

    order. In fact, they were excellent.

    Cartwright spoke quietly. "The letters authorize you to receive all

    information regardin! any transactions made by your son, Ulster Stewart

    Scarlett, at the various banks. Deposits, withdrawals, transferals. They

    request access to all safety deposit boxes where they may exist. A coverin!

    letter has been sent to each bank with a photostat-of your signature. rve

    signed these in my capacity as repreo.. sentin! Waterman% collective power

    of attorney for Mr. Scarlett. By doin! it, of course., rve taken a

    considerable risk."

'I congratulate you."

    "Ies simply incredible," the banker said quietly. "Securities worth over

    two hundred and seventy million dollars. Missin!, unaccounted for. Just

    floatin' around somewhere. Who knows where? Even the largest bainkin syndi-

    cates have trouble raisin! such capital. Oh, ies, a crisis, ma!aml

    Especially 'in a highly speculative market I honestly don't khow what to

    dm-

    "Ifs possible that by keeping your own counsel youll spend many years

    drawing a remarkable salary for very little effort. Conversely, iea also

    possiblo-~

    "I think I know what the other possibility is." mterrupted Jefferson

    Cartwright. "As I see 14 yotfre lookin! for information connected with the

    disappearance of your child. You may find it, N it exists. You may not. In

    either case, therere twelve months remainin! before the first of the bonds

    will be missed. Twelve months. Some of us might not be on God!s good earth

    then. Others of us could be facin! ruin."

"Are you forecasting my demise?"

    ,11 certainly hope not But my own position is most delicate, rve violated

    the policies of my firm and the basic ethics of the bankin! business. As

    your son!& financia adviser, the aspect of collusion will be raised~

    -And yoled feel more comfortable with a settlement. Is that it?- Elizabeth

    put down the letters, angry with this

    129

ungrateful Southerner. "I bribe you and you proceed to blackmail me on the

strength of my bribe. Ifs clever strategy. How much?"

    'Tm sorry I make such a poor impression. I don't want a settlement. Thatd

    be demeaniW."

    "Iben what do you want?" Elizabeth was becoming exasperated.

    "rve prepared a statement In triplicate. One copy for you, one for the

    Scarwyck Foundation, and one, of course, for my lawyer. I'd appreciate your

    perusin! it for your approval."

    Cartwright withdrew the papers from his -briefcase and placed -them before

    Elizabeth. She picked up the top copy and saw that it was a letter of

    agreement, addressed to the Scarwyck Foundation.

    This is to confirm an agreement between Mr. Jefferson Cartwright and

    myself, Mrs. Elizabeth Wyckhain Scariatti, in my position as chairman of

    the board of the, Scarwyck Foundation, 525 Fifth Avenue, New York, New

    York.

    Whereas, Mr. Cartwright has given generously of his time and professional

    services in my behalf and in behalf of the Scarwyck Foundation, it is

    agreed that he be made advisory consultant to the foundation with an

    annual salary of fifty thousand dollars ($50,000), said position to be

    held throughout his natural life. Said position to be made effective as

    of the above date.

    Whereas, Mr. Jefferson Cartwright often has acted in my behalf and in

    behalf of the Scarwyck Foundation against his better judgment and in

    opposition to his own wishes, and,

    Whereas, Mr. Cartwright performed a services in the manner his client,

    myself, firmly believed was for the betterment of the Scarwyck

    Foundation, he did so without anticipating said responsibility and often

    without fun knowledge of the transactions.

    Therefore, it is agreed that should there be at any future dates any

    fines. penalties, or judgments against Mr. Cartwright evolving from such

    actions, they will be paid in full from MY Personal accounts.

    It should be added that no such actions are anticipated, but as the

    interests of t~e Scarwyck Founda-

    . 130

    tion are international in scope, the demands excessive, and decisions

    often subject to my own opinion, the inclusion of such a statement is

    deemed proper.

    It should be noted that Mr. Cartwright's exceptional services in my

    behalf have been rendered in confidence during the past months, but that

    from this date I have no objection to his position with the Scarwyck

    Foundation being made public knowledge.

    There were two lines on the right for the signatures and a third line on

    the left for the signature of a witness. ElizAbeth realized it was a

    professional document. It said nothing, but covered everythin&

"You don't seriously expect me to sign this?"

    "I honestly do. You see, if you don't, my overbearin' sense of

    responsibility would make me go right to the authorities. No doubt direct

    to the office of the district attorney with information I believe relevant

    to Mr. Scarlett's disappearance. . . . Can you imagine the international

    stir that would cause? The mere fact that the celebrated Madame Scarlatti

    was goin' to question the banks where her son did business----!'

11911 deny everything."

    'Unfortunately, you couldn't deny the missin' securities. They don't have

    to be redeemed for a year, but they are missin!.'

    Elizabeth stared at the Southerner, knowing she was beaten. She sat down

    and silently reached for a pen. She signed the papers as he in turn took

    each page and did the same.

131

CHAPTER 15

Ebzabeth!s trunks were placed aboard the British liner Ca1purnia. She had

told her family that the events of the past few months had taken their toll

of her patience and health and she planned an extended stay in Europe-by

herself. She was sailing the next morning. Chancellor Drew agreed that a

trip might be beneficial, but he strongly urged his mother to take along a

companion. After all, Elizabeth was no longer young, and in her advanced

years someone should accompany her. He suggested Janet.

    Elizabeth suggested that Chancellor Drew save his suggestions for the

    Scarwyck Foundation, but the issue of Janet had to be faced.

    She asked the girl to come to her house late in the afternoon two days

    before the Ca1purnia sailed.

    "ne things you tell me are hard to believe, Janet. Not so much about my

    son, but about you. Did you love bim?1.

    "Yes. I think so. Or perhaps I was overwhelmed by him. In the beginning

    there were so many people, so many places. Everything went so fast. And

    then I realized ---slowly-that he didn't like me. He couldn't stand being

    in the same room with me. I was an irritating necessity. Godl Don't ask me

    whyl"

    Elizabeth remembered her son's words. "It's time I was married... She'll

    make me a good wife." Why had he said those words? Why had it been so

    important to him?

'Vas he faithful?"

The girl threw back her head and laughed. "Do you

    132

know what it's like to share your husband with-well, you're never quite

sure?"

    "The new psychology tells us that men often behave this way to compensate,

    Janet. To convince themselves that they're-adequate."

    "Wrong again, Madame Searlatti!" Janet emphasized Elizabeth's name with

    slight contempt. "Your son was adequate. -In the extreme. I suppose I

    shouldn't say this, but we made love a great deal. The time, the place, it

    never mattered to Ulster. Or whether I wanted to or not. That was the last

    consideration. I mean I was the last consideration."

    'IyVhy did you put up with him? That's what I find difficult to

    understand."

    Janet Scarlett reached into her purse. She withdrew a pack of cigarettes

    and nervously lit one. "I've told you this much. Why not the rest.... I was

    afraid."

"Of whatTl

    "I don't know. I've never thought it out. Why don't we call

    it-appearances."

    "If you don't mind my saying so, that strikes me as foolish."

    "You forget, I was the wife of the Ulster Stewart Scarlett. I'd caught him.

    . . . It's not so easy to admit that I wasn't able to hold him any longer

    than a few months."

    "I see your point... We both know that a divorce on the grounds of assumed

    desertion would be best for you, but you'd be criticized unmercifully. It

    would appear to be in the poorest taste."

    "I know that. I've decided to wait until a year is up before I get the

    divorce. A year is a reasonable time. It would be understandable."

"I'm not sure that would be in your interesL"

-Why not?"

    "You'd completely separate yoursett and partially separate your child from

    the Scarlatti family. I'll be frank with you. -1 don't trust Chancellor

    under these circumstances..P

"I doWt understand."

    "Once you made the first move, he'd use every legal weapon available to

    have you declared unfit."

"Whatl"

    "He'd control both the child and the inheritance. Fortunately . - ."

    133

"You're madl"

    Elizabeth continued as if Janet had not interrupted. "Fortunately,

    Chancellor's sense of propriety~which borders on the ridiculous-would

    prevent him from initiating action that might cause embarrassment. But if

    you provoked.... No, Janet, a divorce isn't the answer."

"Do you know what you're saying?"

    "I assure you I do. . . . If I could guarantee that I'd be alive a year

    from now I'd give you my blessingl I can't, do that. And without me to stop

    him, Chancellor would

be a conniving wild animall"

. "There is nothing, nothing Chancellor can do to mel Or my child I"

    "Please, my dear. I'm no moralist. But your behavior hasn't been above

    reproach."

    "I don't have to listen to thisl" Janet rose from the sofa and opened her

    pocketbook, replacing the pack of cigarettes and taking out her gloves.

    "I'm not making judgments. You're an intelligent girl. Whatever you do, I'm

    sure there are reasons. . . . If it's any comfort, I think you've spent a

    year in bell."

    "Yes. A year in bell." Janet Scarlett began putting on her gloves.

    Elizabeth spoke rapidly as she crossed to her desk by the window. "But

    let's be candid. If Ulster were here, or in evidence anywhere, an

    uncontested divorce could be arranged quietly, without difficulty. After

    all, neither ' is without blemish. But, as the law says, one of the parties

    is removed, perhaps deceased, but not legally declared dead. And there's a

    child, an only child. That child is Ulster's heir. This, Janet, is the

    problem."

    Elizabeth wondered if the girl was beginning to understand. The trouble

    with the young rich, she decided, wasn't that they took their money for

    granted, but. that they couldn't comprehend that money, though a by-pro-

    duct, was a true catalyst to power and, because of this, a frightening

    thing.

    "Once you made the first: move, the birds bf prey from both camps would

    descend. In the final analysis, the Scarlatti name would become a joke in

    the back rooms of athletic clubs. And that I will not havel"

    Elizabeth took out several folders from the desk drawer, selected one, and

    replaced the others. She sat down behind the desk and looked over at the

    girl.

    134

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

    "Yes, I think I do," the girl said slowly, looking down at her gloved

    hands. "You want to conveniently tuck me away out of sight so nothing can

    disturb your precious Scarletts." She hesitated, lifting her head to return

    her mother-in-law's gaze. "And I thought for a minute you were going to be

    kind."

    "You can't very well qualify as a charity case," said Elizabeth.

    "No, I suppose not. But since I'm not looking for charity, that doesn't

    matter, does it? I guess you're trying to be kind, in your own way."

    "Then you'll do as I suggest?" Elizabeth moved the folder to put it back in

    the drawer.

    "No," Janet Saxon Scarlett said firmly. "I'll do exactly as I please. And

    I don't think I'll be a joke in athletic clubs."

    "Don't be too sure of thatl" Elizabeth slammed the folder back on the top

    of the desk.

    "I'll wait until a year is up," said Janet, "and then do whatever I have

    to. My father will know what to do. I'll do what he says."

    "Your father may have certain misgivings. He's a businessman."

"He's also my fatherl"

    "I can very well understand that, my dear. I understand it so well that I

    suggest you allow me to ask you several questions before you go."

    Elizabeth stood up and crossed to the library door. Closing it, she turned

    the brass lock.

    Janet watched the old woman's movement with as much curiosity as fear. It

    was not like her mother-inlaw to be the least concerned about

    interruptions. Any, unwanted intruder was promptly ordered out.

"There's nothing more to say. I want to leave."

    "I agree. You have little to say," broke in Elizabeth, who had returned to

    the desk. "You enjoyed Europe, my dear? Paris, Marseilles, Rome? I must

    say, though, New York's apparently a dull place for you. I suppose under

    the circumstances there's far more to offer across the ocean."

"What do you mean?"

    "Just that. You seem to have enjoyed yourself somewhat unreasonably. My son

    found himself quite a likely

    135

playmate for his escapades. However, if I do say so, he was frequently less

obvious than you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

    Elizabeth opened the folder and flipped over several pages. "Let's see,

    now. There was a colored trumpet player in Paris. . . ."

"A whatl What are you talking about?"

    "He brought you back to your hotel, excuse me, yours and Ulster's hotel, at

    eight o'clock in the morning. Obviously, you'd been with him all nighL"

    Janet stared at her mother-in-law in disbelief. Although dazed, she

    answered her rapidly, quietly. "Yes. Paris, yest And I was with him, but

    not like that. I was trying to keep up with Ulster. Half the night trying

    to find him.11

    4'rhat fact doesn't appear here. You were seen coming into the hotel with

    a colored man supporting you."

"I was exhausted."

"Drunk is the word used here. .

"Then ifs a liel"

    The old woman turned the page. "And then one week in the south of France?

    Do you remember that weekend, Janet?"

    "No," the girl answered hesitantly. 'Tvlat are you doing? What have you got

    there?"

    Elizabeth rose, holding the folder away from the girl's eyes. "Oh, come

    now. That weekend at Madame Anriole's. What do they call her chateau-the

    Silhouette? Quite a dramatic name."

"She was a friend of Ulsterl"

    "And, of course, you had no idea what Auriole's Silhouette meant, and still

    means, I believe, throughout the south of France."

    "You're not suggesting that I had anything to do with any of that?"

    "Just what did people mean when they said they went to Auriole's

    Silhouette?"

"You can't mean it."

    "What happens at Auriole's Silhouette?" Elizabeth's voice rose viciously.

"I don't ... don't know~ I don't knowl"

"What happens?"

"I woet answer youl"

"That's very prudent, but I'm afraid it won't dot les

    136

common knowledge that the outstanding items on Madame Auriole's menus are

opium, hashish, marijuana, heroin a haven for the users of every form of

narcoticsill

"I did not know thatt"

    "You didn't know anything about it? For an entire weekend? For three days

    during the height of her season?"

    "Nol ... Yes, I found out and I left. I left as soon as I realized what

    they were doingl"

    "Orgies for narcotics addicts. Marvelous opportunities for the

    sophisticated voyeur. Day and night. And Mrs. Scarlett knew nothing about

    it at allt"

"I swear I didn't1"

    Elizabeth's voice changed to one of gentle firnmess. "I'm sure you didn't,

    my dear, but I don't know who would believe you." She paused briefly.

    "Fhere's a great deal more here." She flipped the pages, sitting down once

    more behind the desk. "Berlin, Vienna, Rome. Particularly Cairo."

    Janet ran toward Elizabeth Scarlatti and leaned across the desk, her eyes

    wide with frighL "Ulster left me for almost two weeksl I didn't know where

    he was. I was petrifiedl"

    "You were seen going into the strangest places, my dear. You even committed

    one of the gravest intemational crimes. You bought another human being. You

    purchased a slave."

"Nol No, I didn'tl That's not truel"

    "Oh, yes, it is. You bought a thirteen-year-old Arab girl who was being

    sold into prostitution. As an American citizen there are specific laws . .

    ."

    "It's a liel" broke in Janet. "They told me that if I paid the money, the

    Arab could tell me where Ulster wasl That's all I did!"

    "No, it wasn't. You gave him a present. A little thirteen-year-old girl was

    your present to him and you know it. I wonder if you've ever thought about

    her."

    "I just wanted to find Ulsterl I was sick when I found out. I didn't

    understandl I didn1 even know what they were talking aboutl All I wanted to

    do was find Ulster and get out of that awful placel"

    "I wouldn't pretend to dispute you. Nevertheless, others would."

    137

'Vho?" The girl was shaking.

    'The courts, for one. Newspapers, for another." Elizabeth stared at the

    frightened girl. "My friends. . Even your own friends."

    "And you would allow . . . someone to use those lies against me?"

Elizabeth shrugged.

"And against your own grandchild7"

    'I doubt that he would be your child, legally, that is, for very long. rm

    sure he'd be declared a ward of the court until it was determined that

    Chancellor was the proper guardian for him."

    Janet slowly sat down on the edge of the chair. Lips parted, she began to

    cry.

    'Tlease, Janet Im not asking you to enroll in a nunnery. rm not even asking

    you to do without the normal satisfactions of a woman of your age and

    appetites. you've hardly restricted yourself during the past several

    months, and I don't expect you to now. I'm only asking a fair amount of

    discretion, perhaps a bit more than you've been exercising, and a healthy

    degree of physical eaution. In the absence of the latter, immediate

    remedy."

    Janet Saxon Scarlett turned her head away, her eyes tightly shut. "You're

    horrible;" she whispered.

    "I imagine I appear that way to you now. Someday I hope you may

    reconsider."

Janet sprang from the chair.

"Let me out of this housel"

    'Tor heqveWs sake try to understand. Chancellor and Allison will oe here

    soon. I need you, my dear."

    Tbe girl raced to the door, -forgetting the lock. She could not open it.

    Her voice was low in her panic. "What more could you possibly want?"

And Elizabeth knew she had won.

138

CHAPTER 16

Matthew Canfield leaned against the building on the southeast corner of

Fifth Avenue at Sixty-third Street, about forty yards from the imposing

entrance to the Scarlatti residence. He pulled his raincoat tightly around

bim to ward off the chill brought by the autumn rain and glancad at his

watch: ten minutes to six. He had been at his post for over an hour. The

girl had gone in at a quarter to five; and-ior all he knew, she would be

the-Te until midnight or, God forbid, until morning. He had arranged for a

relief at two o'clock if nothing had happened by then, There was no

particular reason for him to feel that something would happen by then, but

his instincts told him otherwise. After five weeks of familiarizing himself

with his subjects, he let his imagination fill in what observation

precluded. The old lady was boarding ship the day after tomorrow, and not

taking anyone with her.. Her- lament for her missing or dead son was inter-

national knowledge. Her grief was the subject of countless newspaper stones.

However, the old woman hid her grief well and went about her business.

    Scarlett's wife was different. U she mourned her missing husband, it was

    not apparent. But what was obvious was her disbelief in Ulster Scarlett's

    death. What was it she had said in the bar at the. Oyster Bay Country Club?

    Although her voice was thick from whiskey, her pronouncement was clear.

    "My dear mother-in-law thi shes so smart. I hope the boat sinksl She'll

    find him."

Tonight there was a confrontation between the two

    139

women, and Matthew Canfield wished he could be a witness.

    The drizzle was letting up. Canfield decided to walk across Fifth Avenue to

    the park side of the street. He took a newspaper out of his raincoat

    pocket, spread it on the slatted bench in front of the Central Park wall,

    and sat down. A man and a woman stopped before the old lady's steps. It was

    fairly dark now, and he couldn1 see who they were. The woman was animatedly

    expl i i g something, while the man seemed not to listen, more intent on

    pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. Canfield looked again

    at his own watch and noted that it was two minutes to six. He slowly got up

    and began to saunter back across the avenue. The man turned toward the curb

    to get the spill of the streetlight on his watch. The woman kept talking.

    Canfield saw with no surprise that it was the older brother Chancellor Drew

    Scarlett and his wife Allison.

    Canfield kept walking east on Sixty-third as Chancellor Scariett took his

    wife's elbow and marched her up the steps to the Scarlatti door. As he

    reached Madison Avenue, Canfield heard a sharp crash. He tamed and saw that

    the front door of Elizabeth Scarlattis house had been pulled open with such

    force that the collision against an unseen wall echoed throughout the

    street.

    Janet Scarlett came running down the brick stairs, tripped, got up, and

    hobbled toward Fifth Avenue. Canfield - started back toward her. She was

    hurt and the timing might just. be perfect.

    The field accountant was within thirty yards of Ulster Scarlett's wife.

    when a roadster, a shiny black Pierce-Arrow, came racing down the block.

    The car veered close to the curb near the girl.

    Canfield slowed down and watched. He could see the man in the roadster

    leaning forward toward the far window. The light from the overhead

    streetlamp shone directly on his face, He was a handsome man in his early

    fifties perhaps, with a perfectly groomed matted moustache. He appeared to

    be the sort of man Janet Scarlett might know. It struck Canfield that the

    man had been waiting-as he had been waiting-for Janet Scarlett.

    Suddenly the man stopped the car, threw his door open, and quickly got out

    onto the street. He rapidly walked around the car toward the girl.

    140

"Here, Mrs. Scarlett. Get in."

    Janet Scarlett bent down to hold her injured knee. She looked up,

    bewildered, at the approaching man with the matted moustache. Canfield

    stopped. He stood in the shadows by a doorway.

    "What? You're not a taxi. . . . No. I don't know you. . . ."

    "Get inl I'll. drive you home. Quickly, nowl" The man spoke peremptorily.

    A disturbed voice. He grabbed Janet Scarlett's arm.

"Nol No, I won'tl" She tried to pull her arm away.

    Canfield came out of the shadows. "Hello, Mrs. Scarlett. I thought it was

    you. Can I be of help?"

    The well-groomed man released the girl and stared at Canfield. He seemed

    confused as well as angry. Instead of speaking, however, he suddenly ran

    back into the street and climbed into the car.

    "Hey, wait a minute, misterl" The field accountant rushed to the curb and

    put his hand on the door handle. "We'll take you up on the ride. . . ."

    The engine accelerated and the roadster sped off down the street throwing

    Canfield to the ground, his hand lacerated by the door handle wrenched from

    his ri

    gnp.

He got up painfully and spoke to Janet Scarlett.

"Your friend's pretty damned chintzy."

    Janet Scarlett looked at the field accountant with gratitude.

    "I never saw him before. . . . At least, I don't think so. . . . Maybe. .

    . . I'm sorry to say, I don't remember your name. I am sorry and I do thank

    you."

. "No apologies necessary. We've only met once. Oyster Bay club a couple of

weeks ago."

    "Ohl" The &I seemed not to want to recall the evening.

"Chris Newland introduced us. The name's Canfield."

"Oh, yes."

"Matthew Canfield. I'm the one from Chicago."

"Yes, I remember now."

"Come on. I'll get us a taxi."

"Your hand is bleeding."

"So's your knee."

"Mine's only a scratch."

"So's mine. Just scraped. Looks worse than it is."

"Perhaps you should see a doctor."

    141

    "All I need is a handkerchief and some ice. Handkerchief for the hand, ice

    for a Scotch." They reached Fifth Avenue and Canfield hailed a taxL "That's

    all the doctoring I need, Mrs. Scarlett."

    Janet Scarlett smiled hesitantly as they got into the cab. "That doctoring

    I can provide."

    The entrance hall of the Scarlett home on Fifty-fourth Street was about

    what Canfield had imagined it would be. The ceilings were high, the main

    doors thick, and the staircase facing the entrance rose an imposing two

    stories. There were antique mirrors on either side of the hallway, double

    french doors beside each mirror facing each other across the foyer. The

    doors on the right were open and Canfield could see the furniture of a

    formal dining room. The doors on the left were closed and he presumed they

    led into a living room. Expensive oriental throw rugs were placed on the

    parquet floors. . . . This was all as it should be. However, what shocked

    the field accountant was the color scheme of the hallway itself. The wall-

    paper was a rich-too rich-red damask, and the drapes covering the french

    doors were black--a heavy black velvet that was out of character with the

    ornate delicacy of the French furniture.

    Janet Scarlett noticed his reaction to the colors and before Canfield could

    disguise it, said, "Rather hits you in the eye, doesn't it?"

"I hadn't noticed," he said politely.

    "My husband insisted on, that hideous red and then replaced all my pink

    silks with those awful black drapes. He made a terrible scene about it when

    I objected." She parted the double doors and moved into the darkness to

    turn on a table lamp.

    Canfield followed her into the extraordinarily ornate living room. It was

    the size of five squash courts, and the number of settees, sofas, and

    armchairs was staggering. Fringed lamps were silhouetted atop numerous

    tables placed conveniently by the seating places. The arrangement of the

    furniture was unrelated except for a semicircle of divans facing an

    enormous fireplace. In the dim light of the single lamp, Canfield's eyes

    were immediately drawn to a panoply of dull reflections abQve the

    142

mantel. They were photographs. Dozens of photographs of varying sizes placed

in thin black frames. They were arranged as a floral spray, the focal point

being a scroll encased in gold borders at the center of the mantel.

    The girl noticed Canfield's stare but did not acknowledge it.

    .There!re drinks and ice over there," she said, pointing to a dry bar.

    "Just help yourself. Will you pardon me for a minute? I'll change my

    stockings." She disappeared into the main hall."

    Canfield crossed to the glass-topped wheel cart and poured two small

    tumblers of Scotch. He withdrew a clean handkerchief from his trousers,

    doused it in ice water, and wrapped it around his slightly bleeding hand.

    Then he turned on another lamp to illuminate the display above the mantel.

    For the briefest of moments, he was shocked.

    It was incredible. Over the mantel was a photographic presentation of

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett's army career. From officer's candidate school to

    embarkation; from his arrival in France to his assignments to the trenches.

    'In some frames there were maps with heavy red and blue lines indicating

    positions. In a score of pictures Ulster was the energetic center of

    attraction.

    He had seen photographs of Scarlett before, but they were generally

    snapshots taken at society parties or single shots of the socialite in his

    various athletic endeavors -polo, tennis, sailing-and he had looked

    precisely the way Brooks Brothers expected their clients to look. However,

    here he was among soldiers, and it annoyed Canfield to see that he was

    nearly a half a head taller than the largest soldier near him. And there

    were soldiers everywhere, of every rank and every degree of military

    bearing. Awkward citizen corporals having their weapons inspected, weary

    sergeants lining up wearier men, experienced-looking field officers

    listening intently-all were doing what they were doing for the benefit of

    the vigorous, lean lieutenant who somehow commanded their attention. In

    many pictures the young officer had his arms slung around half-smiling

    companions as ff assuring them that happy days would soon be here again.

    Judging by the expressions of those around him, Scarlett was not notably

    successful. However, his own countenance radiated optimism itself. Cool,

    and intensely self-

    143

satisfied as well, thought Canfield. The centerpiece was, indeed, a scroll.

It was the Silver Star citation for gallantry at the Mouse-Argonne. To judge

from the exhibition, Ulster Scarlett was the best-adjusted hero ever to have

the good fortune to go -to war. The disturbing aspect was the spectacle

itself. It was grotesquely out of place. It belonged in the study of some

celebrated warrior whose campaigns spanned half a century, not here on

Fifty-fourth Street in the ornate living room of a pleasure-seeker.

    "Interesting, aren't theyr' Janet had reentered the room.

"Impressive, to say the least He's quite a guy."

    "You have no argument there. If anyone forgot, he just had to walk into

    this room to be reminded."

    "I gather that this . . . this pictorial history of how the war was won

    wasn't your idea." He handed Janet her drink, which, he noted, she firmly

    clasped and brought immediately to her lips.

    "It most certainly was not" She nearly finished the short, straight Scotch.

    "Sit down, won't you?"

    Canfield quickly downed most of his own drink. "First let me freshen

    these." He took her glass. She sat on the large sofa facing the mantel

    while he crossed to the bar.

    "I never thought your husband was subject to this kind of"-he paused and

    nodded to the fireplace----~'hangover."

    "rbat's an accurate analogy. Aftermath of a big binge. You're a

    philosopher."

    '~Don't mean to be. Just never -thought of him as the type." He brought

    over the two drinks, handed one to her, and remained standing.

    "Didn't you read his accounts of what happened? I thought the newspapers

    did a splendid job of making it perfectly clear who was really responsible

    for the Kaiser's defeat." She drank again.

    "Oh, bell, that's the publishing boys. They have to sell papers. I read

    thom but I didn't take them seriously. Never thought he did either."

"You talk as if you knew my husband."

    Canfield purposely looked startled and took his glass away from his lips.

    "Didn't you know?"

"What?"

    "Well, of course, I knew him. I knew him quite well. I just took it for

    granted that you knew. I'm sorry."

    144

    Janet concealed her surprise. "rhere's nothing to be sorry about. Ulster

    had a large circle of -friends. I couldn't possibly know them all. Were you

    a New York friend of Ulstees?l don't remember his mentioning you."

    "No, not really. Oh, we met now and then when I came cast."

"Oh, that's right, youre from Chicago. It is Chicago?"

    "It is. But to be honest with you, my job takes me all over the place." And

    certainly, he was honest about that.

"What do you do?"

Canfield returned with the drinks and sat down.

    "Stripped of its frills, I'm a salesman. But we never strip the hills that

    -obviously.-

    'T,rhat do you sell? I know lots of people who sell things. They don't

    worry about frills."

    "Well, I don!t sell stocks or bonds or buildings or even bridges. I sell

    tennis courts."

Janet laughed. It was a nice laugh. "Yotfre jokingl"

"No, seriously, I sell tennis courts."

    He put his drink down and pretended to look in his pockets. "Let's see if

    I've got one on me. They're really very nice. Perfect bounce. Whnbledon

    standards except for the grass. That's the name of our company. Wimbledon.

    For your information, they're excellent courts. You7ve probably played on

    dozens of them and, never knew who to give the credit to."

    'I think that's fascinating. Why do people buy your tennis courts? Can!t

    they just build their own?-

    "Sure. We encourage -them to. We make more money when we rip one out and

    replace it with ours."

"You're teasing me. A tennis court's a tennis courL"

    "Only the grass ones, my dear. And they're never quite ready by spring and

    they're always brown in the fall. Ours are year-round."

She laughed again.

    'Iles really very simple. My company's developed an asphalt composition

    that duplicates the bounce of a grass court. Never melts in heat. Never

    expands when frozen. Would you like the full sales pitch? Our trucks will

    be here in three days and during that time we'll contract for the first

    layer of gravel. We'll do that locally. Before you know it, you'll have a

    beautiful court right out there on Fifty-fourth Street."

They both laughed.

    145

"And I assume you're a champion tennis player."

    "No. I play. Not well. I don't particularly like the game. Naturally we

    have several internationally known whizzes on the payroll to vouch for the

    courts. Incidentally, we guarantee an exhibition match on yours the (Jay we

    complete the job. You can ask your friends over and have a party. Some

    magnificent parties have been held on our courts. Now, that's generally

    -the close that sells the jobl"

"Very impressive."

    "From Atlanta to Bar Harbor. Best courts. best parties." He raised his

    glass.

"Oh, so you sold Ulster a tennis court?"

    "Never tried. I imagine I could have. He bought a dirigible once, and after

    all, whaVs a tennis court compared to that?"

    "It's flatter." She giggled and held her glass out to him. He rose and went

    to the bar, unwrapping the handkerchief from his hand and putting it in his

    pocket. She slowly extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray in front of

    her.

    "If you're not in the New York crowd. wheref did you know my husband?"

    "We first met in college. Briefly, very briefly. I left in the middle of my

    first year." Canfield wondered if Washington had placed the proper records

    of - a long-forgotten freshman down at Princeton University.

"Aversion to books?"

    "Aversion to money. The wrong branch of the family had it. Then we met

    later in the army, again briefly."

"The army?"

    "Yes. But in no way like that, I repeat, no way like thad" He gestured

    toward the mantel and returned to the sofa.

'Oh?"

    "We parted company after training in New Jersey. He to France and glory. Me

    to Washington and boredom. But we had a helluva -time before that."

    Canfield leaned ever so slightly toward her, permitting his voice the minor

    intimacy usually accompanying the second effects of alcohol. "All prior to

    his nuptials, of course."

"Not so prior, Matthew Canfield."

He looked at her cloWly, noting that the anticipated

    146

response was positive but not necessarily liking the fact "If that's the

case, he was a bigger fool than I thought he was."

    She looked into his eyes as one scans a letter, trying to read, not between

    the lines, but instead, beyond the words.

    "You're a very attractive man." And then she rose quickly, a bit

    unsteadily, and put her drink down on the small table in front of the

    settee. "I haven't had dinner and if I don't eat soon rU be incoherent. I

    don't like being incoherent.-

"Let me take you out."

    "And have you bleed all over some poor unsuspecting waiterrt

    "No more blood." Canfield held outhis hand. "I would like to have dinner

    with you."

    "Yes, I'm sure you would." She picked- up her drink and walked with ever so

    slight a list to the left side of the fireplace. "Do you know what I was

    about to do?"

    "No." He remained seated, slouched deeply into the sofa.

"I was about to ask you to leave."

Canfield began to protest.

    "No, waiL I wanted to be all by myself and nibble something all by myself

    and perhaps that's not such a good idea."

"I think that's a terrible idea."

"So I Wotet."

d'G00&"

    "But I don't want to go out- Will you have, as they say, potluck with me

    here?"

ITWt that be a lot of troubier,

    janet Scarlett yanked at a pull cord, which hung on the wall at the side of

    the mantel. "Only for the houseo. keeper. And she hasift been overworked in

    the least since my husband-left."

    The housekeeper answered her summon with such speed that the field

    accountant wondered if she were listening at the door. She was about the

    homeliest woman Matthew Canfield had ever seen. Her hands were huge.

    "Yes, madame? We did not expect you home this evening. You did tell us you

    were dining with Madame ScarlattV

    147

    "It seems I've changed my mind, doesn't it, Hannah? Mr. Canfield and I will

    dine here. I've told him potluck, so serve us whatever luck the pot holds."

"Very well, madame."

    Her accent had a trace of Middle Europe, perhaps Swiss or German, thought

    Canfield. Her jowled face framed by her pulled-back gray hair should have

    been friendly. But it, wasn't. it was somehow hard, masculine.

    Nevertheless, she made sure the cook prepared an excellent meal.

    "When that old bitch wants something, she makes them all quiver and quake

    until she gets it," said JaneL They had gone back to the living room and

    sat sipping brandy on the pillow-fluffed sofa, their shoulders touching.

    "That's natural. From everything rve heard, she runs the whole show.

    They've got to cater to her. I know I would.1t

    "My husband never thought so," the girl said quietly. "She'd get furious

    with him."

    Canfield pretended disinterest~ "Really? I never knew there was any trouble

    between them."

    '~Oh, not trouble. Ulster never cared enough about anything or anybody to

    cause trouble. Thafs why she'd get so angry. He woulcWt fight. He'd just do

    what he wanted to. He was the only person she couldn't control and she

    hated that."

    "She could stop the money, couldn't sher, Canfield asked naively.

"He had his own."

    'God knows thafs exasperating. He probably drove her crazy. 9.

    The young wife was looking at the mantel. "He drove me crazy, too. She's no

    differem"

"Well, she's his mother. . . ."

    "And rm his wife." She was now drunk and she stared with hatred at the

    photographs. "She has no right caging me up like an animall Threatening me

    with stupid gossipt Uesl'Millions of liesl My husband's friends, not minel

    Though they might as well be. mine, they)m no God damn betterl"

    148

    "Ulstees pals were always a little weird, I agree with you there. If

    they're being louses to you, ignore them. You don't need them."

    Janet laughed. "That's what rll dol I'll travel to Paris, Cairo, and

    wherever the hell else, and take ads in the papers. All you friends of that

    bastard Ulster Scarlett, I ignore youl Signed, J. Saxon Scarlett, widow. I

    hope["

    The field accountant pressed his luck. "She's got information about you

    from ... places like that?"

    "Oh, she doesn't miss a trick. You're nobody if the 11lustrious Madame

    Scarlatti hasn't got a dossier on you. Didn't you know that?"

    And then almost as rapidly as she had flown into rage, she receded into

    calm reflection. "But iVs not important. Let her go to hell."

"Why is she going to Europe?"

"'Why do you care?"

    Canfield shrugged. "I don't I just read it in the polunuls. l,

"I haven7t the vaguest idea."

    "Has it anything to do with all that gossip, those lies she collected from

    Paris ... and those places?" He tried, and it wasn't difficult, to slur his

    words.

    "Ask her. Do you know, this brandy's good." She finisbed the remainder in

    her glass and set it down. The field accountant had most of his left. He

    held his breath and drank it.

"You're right. She's a bitch."

    "She's a bitch." The girl pressed into Canfield's shoulder and arm, turning

    her face to his. "You're not a bitch, am you?,.

    "No, and the gender is wrong, anyway. Why is she going to Europe?"

    "I've asked myself that lots of times and I cant think of an answer. And I

    don't care. Are you really a nice personr

"The nicest, I think."

"I'm going to kiss you and find out. I can always tell."

"You're not that practiced . . . ...

    "Oh, but I am." The girl reached across Canfiel4fs neck and pulled him to

    her. She trembled.

    His response was mild astonishment. The girl was desperate and for some

    senseless reason, he had the feeling of wanting to protect her.

    149

    She pulled her hand down from his shoulder. "Lefs go upstairs," she said.

    And upstairs they -kissed and Janet Scarlett put her hands on his face.

. "She said . . . fun of being a Scarlett without a Scarlett around. . . .

That's what she said."

"Who? Who said that?"

"Mother Bitch. That's who."

    'Ifis mother?"

    "Unless she finds him rm free.Take me, Mat-

thew. Take me, please, for God's sake!"

    As he led her to bed, Canfield made up his mind that he'd somehow

    convince his superiors -that he had to get aboard that ship.

150

CHAPTER 17

Jefferson Cartwright draped a towel over his body and walked out of the

club's steam room. He went into the needle shower and let the harsh spray

beat down on the top of his head, turning his face upward until the tiny

blasts of water hurt his skin. He adjusted the faucets so that the water

slowly became colder, finally icy.

    He had gotten very drunk the night before. Actually he Ud started drinking

    early in the afternoon and by midnight was so far gone he decided to stay

    at his club rather than go home. He had every reason to celebrate. Since

    his triumphant meeting with Elizabeth Scarlatti he'd spent several days

    analyzing to the best of his ability the affairs of the Scarwyck

    Foundation. Now he was prepared to walk among his peers. Elizabeth's

    agreement never left his mind. He kept it in his briefcase until he knew

    enough about Scarwyck so that even his own attorneys would be impressed. He

    remembered as the water splashed down on his head that he had put the

    briefcase in a locker at Grand Central Station. Many of his colleagues

    swore that the Grand Central lockers were safer than vaults. Certainly they

    were safer than the Scarlatti vaultsl

    He'd pick up the briefcase after lunch and take the agreement to his

    lawyers. They'd be astonished and he hoped they'd ask. him questions about

    Scarwyck. He'd rattle off facts and figures so rapidly they'd be in shock.

He could hear them now.

"My God, ole Jeff! We had no idea!"

Cartwright laughed out loud in the shower.

    151

    He, Jefferson Cartwright, was the most cavalier of Virginia Cavaliers!

    These Northern pricks with their highfallutin condescending ways, who

    couldn't even satisfy their own wives, had ole Jeff to reckon with now. On

    their levell

    My God, he thought, he could buy and sell half the members in the ' club!

    It was a lovely dayl

    After his shower, Jefferson dressed and, feeling the -full measure of his

    power, jauntily entered the private bar. Most of the members were gathered

    for lunch and with false graciousness several accepted his offer of a

    drink. However, their reluctance turned into minor enthusiasm when

    Jefferson announced casually that he had "taken over Scarwyck's financial

    chores."

    Two or three suddenly found that the boorish Jefferson Cartwright had

    qualities that they had not noticed before. Indeed, not a bad chap, if you

    came to think about iL . . . Certainly must have something! Soon the heavy

    leather chairs surrounding the circular oak table to which Jefferson had

    repaired were occupied.

    As the clock neared two thirty, the members excused themselves and headed

    to their offices and their telephones. The communications network was

    activated and the startling news of Cartwright's coup with the Scarwyck

    Foundation was spread.

    One particular gentleman did not leave, however. He stayed on with a few

    diehards and joined the court of Jefferson Cartwright. He was perhaps fifty

    years old and the essence of that image so sought by aging socialites. Even

    to the graying moustache so perfectly overgroomed.

    The funny thing was that no one at the table was quite sure of his name,

    but no one wanted to admit it. This was, after all, a club.

    The gentleman gracefully propped himself into the chair next to Jefferson

    the minute it became available. He bantered with the Southerner and

    insisted upon ordering another round of drinks.

    When the drinks arrived, the well-tailored gentleman reached for, the

    martinis and in the middle of an anecdote placed them in front of him for

    a moment. As he finished his story, he handed one to Jefferson.

Jefferson took the drink and drank fully.

    The gentleman excused himself. Two minutes later Jefferson Cartwright fell

    over on the table. His eyes. were

    152

not drowsy or even closed as might become a man who had reached the limit

of alcoholic capacity. Instead, they were wide open, bulging out of his

skull.

Jefferson Cartwright was dead.

And the gentleman never returned.

    Downtown in the press room of a New York tabloid an old typesetter

    punched out the letters of the short news story. It was to appear on page

    10.

    Banker Succumbs in Fashionable Men's Club

The typesetter was disinterested.

    Several machines away another employee pushed the keys for another story.

    This one was sandwiched between retail advertisements on page 48.

    Grand Central Lacker Robbed

The man wondered. Isn't anything safe anymore?

153

CHAPTER18

At the captain's table in the first-class dining room of the Catpurnia,

Elizabeth was somewhat surprised to find that her companion to the right was

a man no more than thirty years old. The normal practice when she traveled

alone was for the ship line to provide her with a~ aging diplomat or a

retired broker, a good card player, someone with whom she'd have something

in common.

    She had no one to blame, however, as she had checked the captain's list-a

    procedure she insisted upon so that there would be no embarrassing business

    confticts-and had merely noted that one Matthew Canfield was an executive

    with a sporting goods firm that purchased heavily in England. Someone with

    social connections, she had assumed.

    At any rate he was likable. A.polite young man, very shallow, she thought,

    and probably a good salesman, which he refreshingly admitted he was.

    Toward the end of dinner a deck officer approached her chair; there was a

    cable for her.

    "You may bring it to the table." Elizabeth was annoyed.

The officer spoke softly to Elizabeth.

"Very well," She rose from her chair.

    "May I be of assistance, Madame Scarlatti?" asked Matthew Canfield,

    salesman, as he rose with the rest of the table.

"No, thank you."

    154

"Are you quite sure?"

    "Quite, thank you." She followed the deck officer out of the salon.

    In the radio room, Elizabeth was shown to a table behind the counter and

    handed the message. She noted the instructions at the top: "Emergency-have

    addressee brought to office for immediate reply."

    She looked Over at the deck officer who waited on the other side of the

    counter to escort her back to the salon. "My apologies, you were following

    orders."

She read the rest of the wireless.

    MADAME ELIZABETH SCARLATTI: H.M.S. CALPURNIA, HIGH SEAS

    VICE-PRESIDENT JEFFERSON CARTWRIGHT DEAD STOP CAUSE OF DEATH UNCERTAIN STOP

    AUTHORITIES SUSPECT ABNORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES STOP PRIOR TO DEATH CARTWRIGHT

    MADE PUBLIC A POSITION OF SIGNIFICANT RANK WITH SCARWYCK FOUNDATION STOP

    WE HAVE NO RECORD OF SUCH POSITION YET INFORMATION RECEIVED FROM RELIABLE

    SOURCES STOP IN LIGHT OF ABOVE DO YOU WISH TO COMMENT OR INSTRUCT US IN ANY

    WAY STOP EPISODE MOST TRAGIC AND EMBARRASSING TO WATERMAN CLIENTS STOP WE

    HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF VICE-PRESIDENT CARTWRIGHT'S QUESTIONABLE ACTIVITIES

    STOP AWAITING YOUR REPLY STOP

    HORACE BOUTIER PRESIDENT WATERMAN TRUST COMPANY

    Elizabeth was stunned. She wired Mr. Boutier that all announcements from

    the Scarlatti Industries would be issued by Chancellor Drew Scarlett within

    a week. Until then there would be no comment.

She sent a second wire to Chancellor Drew.

    c.D. scARLETT, 129 EAST sjxTY-sEcoND STREET, NEW YORK

    REGARDING JEFFERSON CARTWRIGHT NO STATEMENTS REPEAT NO STATEMENTS WILL BE

    ISSUED PUBLICLY OR PRIVATELY REPEAT PUBLICLY OR PRIVATELY UNTIL

    155

    WE ARE IN CONTACT FROM ENGLAND STOP REPEAT NO STATEMENT STOP

    AFFECTIONATELY AS ALWAYS

    MOTHER

    Elizabeth felt she should reappear at the table if for no other reason than

    to avoid calling too much attention to the incident. But as she walked

    slowly back through the narrow corridors with the deck officer, it came

    upon her with progressive apprehension that what had happened was a

    warning. She immediately dismissed the theory that Cartwright's

    "questionable activities" caused his murder. He was a joke.

    What Elizabeth had to be prepared for was the discovery of her agreement

    with Cartwright. There could be several explanations, which she would issue

    without elaboration. Of course, regardless of what she said, the consensus

    would be that age had finally caught up with her. Such an agreement with

    such a man as Jefferson Cartwright was proof of eccentri7city to the degree

    that raised questions of competence.

    This did not concern Elizabeth Scarlatti. She was not subject to the

    opinion of others.

    What concerned her, and concerned her deeply, was the cause of her profound

    fear: the fact that the agreement might not be found.

    Back at the captain's table she dismissed her absence with a short, sincere

    statement that one of her trusted executives, of whom she was quite fond,

    had died. As she obviously did not wish to dwell on the subject, her dinner

    companions uttered their sympathies, and after an appropriate pause in

    their conversations, resumed their small talk. The captain of the

    Ca1purnia, an overstuffed Englishman with thickly matted eyebrows and

    enormous jowls, noted ponderously 1hat the loss of a good executive must be

    akin to the tramfer of a well-trained mate.

    The young man next to Elizabeth leaned toward her and spoke softly. "Right

    out of Gilbert and SuWvan, isn7t he?"

    The old woman smiled back in agreeable conspiracy. Beneath the babble of

    voices she answered him quietly. "A monarch of the sea. Can't you picture

    him ordering up the cat-o'-nine-tails?"

    156

    "No," replied the young man. "But I can picture him climbing out of his

    bathtub. It's funnier."

    "You're a wicked boy. If we hit an iceberg, I shall avoid you."

    "You couldn't. I'd be in the first lifeboat and certainly someone around

    here would reserve a seat for you." He smiled disarmingly.

    Elizabeth laughed. The young man amused her and it was refreshing to be

    treated with a degree of goodhumored insoleDce. They chatted pleasantly

    about their forthcoming itineraries in Europe. It was fascinating, in an

    offhand way, because neither had any intention of telling the other

    anything of consequence.

    With dinner over, the captain's troupe of very important passengers made

    their way to the game room and paired off for bridge.

    "I assume you're a terrible card player," Canfield said, smiling at

    Elizabeth. "Since I'm rather good, I'll carry YOU-"

"It's difficult to refuse such a flattering invitation."

    And then he inquired: "Who died? Anyone I might know?"

"I doubt it, young man."

"You never can tell. Who was it?"

    "Now why in the world would you know an obscure executive in my bank?"

"I gathered he was a pretty important fellow."

"I imagine some people thought he was."

    "Well, if he was rich enough, I might have sold him a tennis court."

    "Really, Mr. Canfield, you're the limit" Elizabeth laughed as they reached

    the lounge.

    During the game Elizabeth noted that although young Canfield had the quiet

    flair of a first-rate player, he really wasn't very good. At one point he

    made himself dummy, quite unnecessarily thought Elizabeth, but she put it

    down to a form of courtesy. He inquired of the lounge steward if there was

    a particular brand of cigars on hand, and when offered substitutes, excused

    himself saying that he'd get some from his stateroom..

Elizabeth reme ' mbered that back in the dining room

during their coffee the charming Mr. Canfield hadopened

a fresh pack of thin cigars.

    157

    He returned several minutes after the hand was finished and apologized by

    explaining that he had helped an elderly gentleman, somewhat overcome by

    the sea, back to his cabin.

    The opponents muttered complimentary phrases, but Elizabeth said nothing.

    She simply stared at the young man and noted with a degree of satisfaction,

    as well as alarm, that he avoided her gaze.

    The game ended early; the pitch of the Ca1purnia was now quite unsettling.

    Canfield escorted Elizabeth Scarlatti to her suite.

    "You've been charming," she said. "I now release you to pursue the younger

    generation."

    Canfield smiled and handed her the keys. "If you insist. But you condemn me

    to boredom. You know that."

"Times have changed, or perhaps the young men."

    "Perhaps." It seemed to Elizabeth that he was anxious to leave.

"Well, an old woman thanks you."

    "A not so young man -thanks you. Good night, Madame ScarlattL"

    She turned to him. "Are you still interested in who the man was who died?"

    "I gathered you didn't want to tell me. Its not important. Good night."

    "His name was Cartwright. Jefferson Cartwright. Did you know him?" She

    watched his eyes closely.

    "No, I'm sorry I didn't." His look was steady and entirely innocent. "6ood

    night."

    "Good night, young man." She entered her suite and closed the door. She

    could hear his footsteps fading away down the outside corridor. He was a

    man in a hurry.

    Elizabeth removed her mink and walked into the large comfortable bedroom

    with its heavy furniture secured to the floor. She turned on a lamp

    attached to the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to

    recall more specifically what the Ca1purnia's captain bad said of the young

    man when he had presented his table for her approval.

    "And then there's a chap, very well connected, I might add, named

    Canfield."

    Elizabeth paid no more attention to his abbreviated biography than she had

    to the others.

    158

    "Hes associated with a sporting goods concern and crosses rather regularly.

    Wimbledon, I believe."

    -And then, if Elizabeth's memory served her well, the captain had added.

    "Priority request from the ship line. Probably the son of an old boy.

    School tie and that sort of thing. Had to drop Dr. Barstow for him."

    Elizabeth had given her approval without any questions.

    So the young man had a friority request for the captain!s table from the

    owners of an English steamship company. And a fatuous captain, accustomed

    to associating with the social and professional leaders of both continents,

    had felt obliged to drop a highly regarded surgeon in his favor.

    If for no other reason than to quell an inexhaustible imagination,

    Elizabeth picked up the stateroom phone and asked for the wireless room.

    "Ca1purnia radio, good evening." The British accent trailed off the word

    evening to a hum.

    "This is Elizabeth Scartatti, suite double A, three. May I speak with the

    officer in charge, if you please."

'This is Deck Offic.er Peters. May I help your,

    "Were you the officer who was on duty earlier this eveningr,

    "Yes, madame. Your wires to New York went out immediately. They should be

    delivered within the hour."

    "Thank you. However, thafs not why rm calling.... rm afraid I've missed

    someone I was to meet in the radio mom. Has anyone asked for mer, She

    listened carefully for even the slightest hesitation. There was none.

'No, madame, no one's asked for you."

    'Well, he might have been somewhat embarrassed. I really feel quite

    guilty."

    -rm sorry, Madame Scarlatti. Outside of yourself there've been only three

    passengers here all evening. first night out, yknow."

    "Since there were only three, would you mind terribly describing them to

    me?"

    "Oh, not at all. . . . Well, there was an elderly couple from tourist and

    a gentleman, a bit squiffed, I'm afraid, who wanted the wireless tour."

'The what?"

"The tour, madame. We have three a day for the first

    159

class. Ten, twelve, and two. Nice chap, really. Just a pint too many."

    "Was he a young man? In his late twenties, perhapsT Dressed in a dinner

    jacket?"

"That description would apply, madame."

    "I"hank you, Officer Peters.. It's an inconsequential matter, but I'd

    appreciate your confidence."

"Of course."

    Elizabeth rose and walked to the sitting room. Her bridge partner might

    not be very skilled at cards, but he was a superb actor.

I

160

CHAPTER 19

Matthew Canfield hurried down the corridor for the simple reason that his

stomach was upset. Maybe the barand the crowd--on B deck would make him feel

better. He found his way and ordered a brandy.

"Hell of a party, isn't it?"

    A huge, broad-shouldered fullback-type crowded Oanfield against the

    adjacent stool.

"Certainly is," Canfield replied with a. meaningless grin.

    "I know youl You're at the captain's table. We saw you at dinner."

"Good food there."

    "Pknow something? I could have been at the captain's table, but I said shit

    on it."

    "Well, that would have made an interesting hors d'oeuvre."

    "No, I mean it" The accent, Canfield determined, was Tiffany-edged Park

    Avenue. "Uncle of mine owns a lot Of stock. But I said shit on it"

"You can take my place, if you want to."

    The fullback reeled slightly backward and grasped the bar for support.

    "Much too dull for us. Hey, barkeepl Bourbon and gingerl"

    The fullback steadied himself and swayed back toward Canfield. His eyes

    were glazed and almost without muscular control. His very blond hair was

    falling Over his fOrehead.

"What's your line, chum? Or are you still in schOOIr'

    "Thanks for the complimenL No, I'm with Wimbledon Sporting Goods. How about

    You?" Canfield barked him-

    161

self into the stool, turning his head to continue surveying the crowd.

    "Godwin and Rawlins. Securities. Father-in-law owns it. Fifth largest house

    in town."

"Very impressive."

"What's your drag?"

"N)nat?"

"Drag. Pull. How come you're at -the big table?"

    "Oh, friends of the company, I guess. We work with English firms."

"Wimbledon. That's in Detroit."

"Chicago."

    "Oh, yeah. Abercrombie of the sticks. Get it? Abercrombie of the sticks."

"We're solvent."

    Canfield addressed this last remark directly to the drunken blond Adonis.

    He did not say it kindly.

"Don't get touchy. What's your name?"

    Canfield was about to answer when his eyes were attracted to the drunk's

    tie. He didn't know why. Then Canfield noticed the man's cuff links. They,

    too, were large and striped with colors as intense as those of the tie. The

    colors were deep red and black.

"Cat got you?" NA%at?"

    "What's your name? Mine's Boothroyd. Chuck Boothroyd." He grasped the

    mahogany molding once again to steady himself. "You hustle for Abercrombie

    and . . . Oops, pardon me, Wimbledonr' Boothroyd seemed to lapse into a

    semistupor.

    The field accountant decided that the brandy wasn1 doing a thing for him,

    either. He really felt quite ill.

    "Yeah, I hustle. Look, friend, I don't feel so good. Don't take offense,

    but I think I'd better get going before I have an accident. Good night, Mr.

    . .

"Boothroyd."

"Right. Good night."

    Mr. Boothroyd half opened his eyes and made a gesture of salute while

    reaching for his bourbon. Canfield made a swift but unsteady exit.

    "Chucksie, sweetiel" A dark-haired woman slammed herself against the

    inebriated Mr. BootbroydL "You disappear every God damn time I try to find

    youl"

"Don't be a bitch, lov&"

    162

"I will be every time you do thisl'

    The bartender found unfinished business and walked rapidly away.

    Mr. Boothroyd looked at his wife and for a few brief moments his wavering

    stopped. He fixed his eyes on her and his gaze was no longer unsteady, but

    very much alert. To the observer the two appeared to be nothing more than

    a husband and wife arguing over the former's drinking but with that quiet

    violence that keeps intruders away. Although he still maintained his

    bent-over posture, Chuck Boothroyd spoke clearly under the noise of the

    party. He was sober.

"No worries, pet"

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Who is be?"

    "Glorified salesman. Just sucking up for business is my guess."

    "If he's a salesman, why was be put at a table next to her?"-

"Oh, come on, stop it. You're jittery."

"Just careful."

    "I'll spell it out for you. He's with that sports store in Chicago.

    Wimbledon. They import half their stuff from a bunch of English companies."

    Boothroyd stopped as if explaining a simple problem to a child. "This is a

    British ship. The old lady's a hell of a contact and somebody's in on the

    take. Besides, he's drunk as a hoot owl and sick as a dog."

    "Let me have a sip." Mrs. Boothroyd reached for her husband's glass.

"Help yourself."

"When are you going to do it?"

"In about twenty minutes."

"Why does it have to be tonight?"

    "The whole ship's ginned up and there's some nice, lovely rotten weather.

    Anybody who isn't drunk is throwing up. Maybe both."

"What do you want me to do?"

    "Slap me in the face good and hard. Then go back to whomever you were with

    and laugh it off. Tell them when I've gone this far, the end's in sight, or

    something like that. In a few minutes I'll pass out on the floor. Make sure

    two guys carry me to the stateroom. Three maybe."

    163

    -1

"I don't know if anyone's sober enough."

    "Then get the steward. Or the bartender, that's even better. The

    bartender. I've been giving him a hard time."

"All right. You've got the key7"

"Your daddy gave it to me on the pier this morning."

164

CHAPTER 20

Canfield reached his stateroom thinking he was going to be sick. The

interminable and now violent motion of the ship had its effect on him. He

wondered why people made jokes about seasickness. It was never funny to him.

He never laughed at the cartoons.

    He fell into bed removing only his shoes. Gratefully he realized that sleep

    was coming on. It had been twentyfour hours of never-ending pressure.

And then the knocking began.

    At first quietly. So quietly it simply made Canfield shift his position.

    Then louder and louder and more rapid. It was a sharp knock, as if caused

    by a single knuckle and because of its sharpness it echoed throughout the

    stateroom.

Canfield, still half asleep, called out "What is it?"

"I think you'd better open the door, mate."

    "Who is it?" Canfield tried to stop the room from turning around.

The intense knocking started all over agai,n.

"For Christ's sake, all rightl All rightl"

    The field accountant struggled to his feet and lurched toward the stateroom

    door. It was a further struggle to unlatch the lock. The uniformed figure

    of a ship's radio operator sprang into his cabin.

    Canfield gathered his sense as best he could and looked at the man now

    leaning against the door.

"What the hell do you want?"

"You told me to come to your cabin if I had some-

    165

thin7 worthwhile. You know. About what you're so interested in?"

"So?"

    "Well, now, you wouldn't expect a British seaman to break regs without some

    reason, would you?"

"How much?"

"Ten quid."

"What in heaven's name is ten quid?"

"Fifty dollars to you."

"Pretty God damn expensive."

"It's worth it."

"Twenty bucks."

"Come on!" The cockney sailor whined.

"Thirty and thafs it." Canfield started toward his bed.

"Sold. Gimme the cash."

    Canfield withdrew his wallet and handed the radioman three ten-dollar

    bills. "Now, what's worth thirty dollars?"

    "You were caughL By Madame. Sc-arlatti." And he was gone.

    Canfield washed in cold water to wake himself up and pondered the various

    alternatives.

    He had been caught without an alibi that made sense. By all logic his

    usefulness was finished. Held have to be replaced and that would take time.

    The least he could do was throw the old woman off the scent of where he

    came from.

    He wished to God that Benjamin Reynolds was available for some good old

    sage advice. Then he remembered something Reynolds had once said to another

    field accoantant who'd been exposed unmercifully. "Use part of the truth.

    See if it helps. Find some reason for what you're doing."

    He left the stateroom and climbed the steps to A deck. He found her suite

    and knocked on the door.

    Charles Conaway Boothroyd, executive vice-president of Godwin and Rawlins

    Securities, passed out cold on the deck of the lounge.

Three stewards, two inebriated male~ partygoers, his

    166

wife, and a passing navigation officer managed to haul his immense body out

of the lounge to his cabin. Laughing they removed the blond giant's shoes

and trousers and covered him ove r with a blanket.

    Mrs. Boothroyd brought out two bottles of champagne and poured for the

    rescuers. She filled a water glass for herself.

    The stewards and the Ca1purnia officer drank only at Mrs. Boothroyd's

    absolute insistence, and left as soon as they could. Not, however, before

    Mrs. Boothroyd had impressed upon them how totally unconscious her husband

    was.

    Alone with the two volunteers, Mrs. Boothroyd made sure the last of the

    champagne was finished. "Who's got a cabin?" she asked.

    It turned out that only one was a bachelor; the other had his wife at the

    party.

    "Get 'er plastered and lets go on by ourselvesl" She flung the challenge at

    both of them. "Think you boys can handle me7" asked Mrs. Boothroyd.

    The boys responded as one, nodding Eke hamsters smelling cedar shavings.

    "I warn you. I'll keep my skirts up for both of you, and you still won't be

    enoughl" Mrs. Boothroyd swayed slightly as she opened the door. "Godl I

    hope you all don't mind watching each other. I love it, myself I"

    The two men nearly crushed each other following the lady out the stateroom

    door.

"Bitchl" Charles Conaway Boothroyd rmUtered.

    He removed the blanket and got into his trousers. He then reached into a

    drawer and took out one of his wife's stockings.

    As if for a practice run, he pulled the thigh end over his head, rose from

    the bed, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was pleased with what he

    saw. He removed the stocking and opened the suitcase.

    Underneath several shirts were a pair of sneakers and a thin elasticized

    rope about four feet long.

    Charles Conaway Boothroyd laced up the sneakers while the rope lay at his

    feet. He pulled a black knit sweater over his large frame. He was smiling.

    He was a happy man-

    167

    Elizabeth Scarlatt! was already in bed when she heard the knocking. She

    reached into the bedside table drawer and withdrew a small revolver.

    Elizabeth arose and walked to the door to the outer room. "Who is it?" she

    asked loudly.

"Matthew Canfield. Id like very much to speak with

YOU."

    Elizabeth was confused. She had not expected him and she reached for words.

    "I'm sure you've had a touch too much to drink, Mr. Canfield. Can't it wait

    until morning?" She wasn't even convincing to herself.

    "You know perfectly well I haven't and it can7t. I think we should talk

    now." Canfield was counting on the wind and the sea to muffle his voice. He

    was also counting on the fact that he had business at hand to keep him from

    becoming very, very sick.

- Elizabeth approached the door. "I can't think of a single reason why we

should talk now. I hope it won7t be necessary to call the ship's police."

    "For God's sake, lady, will you open this doorl Or shall I call the ship's

    police and say we're both interested in someone running around Europe with

    securities worth millions, none of which, incidentally, will I get."

    "*Vhat did you say?" Elizabeth was now next to the stateroom door.

    "Look, Madame Scarlatti"-Matthew cupped his hands against the wood of the

    door-Nf my information is anywhere near correct, you have a revolver. All

    right. Open the door, and if I haven't got my hands over my head, and if

    there's anyone behind me, fire awayl Can I be fairer than that?"

    She opened the door and Canfield stood there with only the thought of the

    impending conversation keeping him from being sick. He closed the door and

    Elizabeth Scarlatti saw the state of his discomfort. As always, she knew

    the sequence of priorities under pressure.

    "Use my bathroom, Mr. Canfield. It's in here. Straighten yourself up and

    then we'll talk."

    Charles Conaway Boothroyd stuffed two pillows under the blanket of his

    -bed. He picked up the rope and snapped the lines in a lasso loop. The

    crackle of the fibers

    168

was sweet music to him. He placed his wife's silk stocking in his pocket and

silently left his cabin. Because he was on A deck, starboard side, he had

only to walk around the bow promenade to reach his destination. He ascer-

tained the pitch and the roll of the ship in the rough seas and quickly

determined the precise moment of side roU for a human body to reach the

water below with the minimum of structural interference. Boothroyd was noth-

ing if not a thorough professional. They would au soon learn his worth.

    Canfield came out of Elizabeth Scarlatti's toilet feeling very much

    relieved. She stared at him from an easy chair several feet on the far side

    of the bed, pointing the revolver directly at him.

"If I sit down, will you put that damn thing away?"

"Probably not. But sit down and we'll talk about it."

    Canfield sat on the bed and swung his legs over so that he faced her. The

    old woman cocked the hammer of her pistol.

    "You spoke of something at the door, Mr. Canfield, which is the only reason

    this pistol hasn't been fired. Would you care to carry on?"

    "Yes. The first thing I can think of saying is that I'm not . . . #9

Canfield froze.*

    The lock in the outer room was being opened. The field accountant held up

    his hand to the old woman and she immediately, instinctively, handed him

    the pistol.

    Swiftly Canfield took her hand and gently but firmly placed her on the bed.

    The look in his eyes instructed her and she obeyed.

    She stretched out on the bed with only the table lamp illuminating her

    while Canfield backed into the shadows behind the open bedroom door. He

    signaled her to close her eyes, a command he did not really expect her to

    carry out, but she did. Elizabeth let her head fall to the left while the

    newspaper lay several inches from her right hand. She looked as though she

    had fallen asleep while reading.

The stateroom door was rapidly opened and closed.

Canfield pressed his back against the wall and gripped

    169

the small pistol tightly in his hand. Through the overlapping steel lip of

the door's inside border was a twoinch space that let Canfield look out. It

struck him that the open space gave the intruder the same advantage, only

Canfield was in shadow and, he hoped, unexpected.

    And then the visitor was revealed and Canfield found himself involuntarily

    swallowing, partially from amazement, partially from fear.

    The man was huge, several inches taller than Canfield, with immense chest

    and shoulders. He wore a black sweater, black gloves, and over his entire

    head was a translucent filmy cloth, silk, perhaps, which gave the giant an

    eerie, inhuman appearance and completely blurred his face.

    The intruder passed through the bedroom door and stood at the foot of the

    bed barely three feet in front of Canfield. He seemed to be appraising the

    old woman while removing a thin rope from his trousers pocket.

    He started toward the left side of the bed, hunching his body forward.

    Canfield sprang forward, bringing his pistol down on the man's head as hard

    as he could. The downward impact of the blow caused an immediate break in

    the skin and a spurt of blood spread through the silk head covering. The

    intruder fell forward, breaking his fall with his hands, and whirled around

    to face Canfield. The an was stunned but only for seconds.

    "You!" It was not an exclamation, but a darnning recognition. "You s~n of

    a bitchl"

    CanfielXs memory mistly raced back, abstracting times and events, and yet

    he hadn't the remotest idea who this massive creature was. That he should

    know him was obvious; that he didn't possibly dangerous.

    Madame Scarlatti crouched against the headboard of her bed observing the

    scene in fear but without panic. Instead she was angry because it was a

    situation she could Dot possibly control. "I'll phone for the ship's

    police," she said quietly.

    "Nol" Canfield's command'was harsh. "Don't touch that phonel Pleasel"

"You must be insane, young manl"

"You want to make a deal, buddy?"

    The voice, too, was vaguely familiar. The field accountant trained his

    pistol on the man's head.

    170

"No deal. Just take off your Halloween mask."

The man slowly raised both arms.

    "No, buddy! One hand. Sit on the other. With the palm up!"

"Smart guy." The intruder lowered one arm.

    "Mr. Canfield, I really must insist! This man broke into my cabin. God

    knows he was probably going to rob or kill me. Not you. I must phone for

    the proper authoritiesl"

    Canfield didn't quite know how to make the old woman understand. He was not

    the heroic type, and the thought of formal protection was inviting. But

    would it be protection? And even if it were, this hulk at his feet was the

    only connection, or possible connection, he or anyone in Group Twenty had

    with the missing Ulster Scarlett. Canfield realized that if the ship's

    authorities were called in, the intruder would simply be sacrificed as a

    thief. It was possible that the man was a thief, but Canfield doubted that

    strongly.

    Sitting at the accountant's feet, the masked Charles Boothroyd came to the

    identical conclusion regarding his future. The prospect of failure coupled

    with jail began to trigger an uncontrollable desperation.

    Canfield spoke quietly to the old woman. "I'd like to point out that this

    man did not break in. He unlocked the door, which presumes he was given a

    key."

    "That's right! I was! You don't want to do anything stupid, do you, buddy?

    Let's make a deal. I'll pay you fifty times what you make selling baseball

    mittsl How about it?"

    Canfield looked sharply down at the man. This was a new and disturbing

    note. Was his cover known? The sudden ache in Canfield's stomach came with

    the realization that there might well be two sacrificial goats in the

    stateroom.

'Take that God damn cloth ' off your head!"

    Mr. Canfield, thousands of passengers have traveled this ship. A key

    wouldn't be that difficult. I must insist . . ."

    The giant intruder's right hand lashed out at Canfield's foot. Canfield

    fired into the man's shoulder as he was pulled forward. It was a

    small-caliber revolver and the shot was not loud.

The masked stranger's hand spasticaUy released Can-

    171

field'-s ankle as he clutched his shoulder where the bullet was lodged.

Canfield rose quickly and kicked the man with all his strength in the

general area of the head. The toe of his patent-leather shoe caught the man

on the side of the neck and ripped the skin beneath the stocking mask. Still

the man lunged toward Canfield, hurling himself in a football cross-block at

Canfield's midsection. Canfield fired again; this time the bullet entered

the man's huge flank. Canfield pressed himself against the stateroom wall as

the man fell against his shins, writhing in agony. The bone and muscle

tissue in the path of the bullet had been shattered.

    Canfield reached down to pull off the silk face covering, now drenched with

    blood, when the giant, on his knees, suddenly lashed out with his left arm

    pinning the field accountant back against the wall. Canfield pistolwhipped

    the man about the head, simultaneously trying to remove the steellike

    forearm. As he pulled upward on the man's wrist, the black sweater ripped

    revealing the sleeve of a white shirt. On the cuff was a large cuff link

    diagonally striped in red and black.

    Briefly, Canfield stopped his assault, trying to assimilate his new

    knowledge. The creature, bloodied, wounded, was grunting in pain and

    desperation. But Canfield knew him and he was extraordinarily confused.

    While trying to steady his right hand, he aimed his revolver carefully at

    the man's kneecap. It was not easy; the strong arm was pressing into his

    upper groin with the power of a large piston. As he was about to fire, the

    intruder lurched upward, arching his back and heaving his frame against the

    smaller man. Canfield pulled the trigger, more as a reaction than intent.

    The bullet pierced the upper area of the stomach.

Charles Boothroyd fell again.

    Matthew Canfield looked over at the old woman who was reaching for the

    bedside phone. He jumped over the man and forcibly took the instrument from

    her. He replaced the ear cup in its cradle. "Pleasel I know what rm doingl"

"Are you sure?"

'-fes. Pleasel Believe mel"

"Good Godl Look outl"

Canfield whirled, narrowly missing having his spine

    172

crushed by the lurching, wounded Boothroyd, who had entwined his fingers

into a single harnmerlike weapon.

    The man toppled on the end of the bed and rolled off. Canfield pulled the

    old woman away and leveled his pistol at the assailant.

    "I don't know how you do it, but if you don't stop, the next shot goes

    right into your forehead. That's a marksman's promise, buddyl"

    Canfield reflected that he was the only member of the training group to

    fail the small-arms target course twice in succession.

    Lying on the floor, his vision impaired by the pain as well as the bloody

    silk covering his face, Charles Boothroyd knew there was next to nothing

    left. His breathing was erratic; blood was spilling into his windpipe.

    There was only one hope-to get to his cabin and reach his wife. She'd know

    what to do. She'd pay the ship's doctor a fortune to make him well. And

    somehow they would understand. No man could take this kind of punishment

    and be questioned.

    With enormous effort he began to rise. He muttered incoherently as he

    steadied himself on the mattress.

    "Don't try to stand, friend. Just answer a question," said Canfield.

"What ... What? Quit. . .

    "Where's Scarlett?" Canfield felt he was working against time. The man

    would coflapse any second.

"Don't know . .

"Is he alive?"

"Who . . ."

"You know damn well who! Scarlett! Her sont"

    With his last resource of strength, Boo-throyd accomplished the seemingly

    impossible. Clutching the mattress, he staggered backward as if about to

    collapse. His movements pufled the heavy pad partially off the bed, loosen-

    ing the hold of the blankets, and as Canfield stepped forward, Boothroyd

    suddenly lifted the mattress free of the bed and flung it at the field

    accountant. As the mattress rose in the air, Boothroyd rushed against it

    with his full weight. Canfield fired wildly into the ceiling as he and the

    old woman wedt down under the impact. Boothroyd gave a last push, crushing

    the two against the wall and the floor, letting his push spring him back

    onto his feet.

    173

He turned, hardly able to see, and weaved out of the room. Once he reached

the other stateroom he pulled off the stocking, opened the door, and rushed

out.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti moaned in pain, groping for her ankle. Canfield pushed

    against the mattress, and as it fell off, he tried to help the old woman to

    her feet.

"I think my ankle or some part of my foot is broken."

    Canfield wanted only to go af ter Boothroyd but he couldn't leave the old

    woman like this. Too, if he did leave her, she'd be right back on the phone

    and at this juncture, that would never do. "I'll carry you to the bed."

    "For God's sake put the mattress back first. I'm brittlel"

    Canfield was torn between taking off his belt, binding the old woman's

    hands and running after Boothroyd, and carrying out her instructions. The

    former would be foolish-she'd scream bloody murder; he replaced the mat-

    tress and gently lifted her onto the bed.

"How does it feel?"

    "Ghastly." She winced as he placed the pillows behind her.

    "I guess I'd better call the ship's doctor." However, Canfield made no

    motion toward the phone. He tried to find the words to convince her to let

    him have his way.

    "There's plenty of time for that. You want to go after that man, don't

    you?"

Canfield looked at her harshly. "Yes."

    "Why? Do you think he has something to do with my son?"

    "Every second I spend explaining lessens the possibility of our ever

    finding out."

    "How do I know you'll be dealing in my interest? You didn't want me to

    phone for help when we certainly needed it. You nearly got us both killed,

    as a matter of fact. I think I deserve some explanation."

"There isn't time now. Please, trust me."

"Why should I?"

    Canfield's eye caught sight of the rope dropped by Boothroyd. "Among other

    reasons too lengthy to go into, if I hadn't been here, you would have been

    killed." He pointed at the thin cord on the floor. "If you think that rope

    was meant to tie your hands with, remind me to explain the advantages of

    garroting with an elasticized cord as opposed to a piece of clothesline.

    Your wrists

    174

could wriggle out of this." He picked the cord up and thrust it in front of

her. "NGt your throat!"

    She looked at him closely. "Who are you? Whom do you work for?"

    Canfield remembered the purpose of his visit-to tell part of the truth. He

    had decided to say he was employed by a private firm interested in Ulster

    Scarlett-a magazine or some sort of publication. Under the present

    circumstances, that was obviously foolish. Boothroyd was no thief; he was

    a killer on assignment Elizabeth Scarlatti was marked for assassination.

    She was no part of a conspiracy. Canfield needed all the resources avail-

    able to him. "I'm a representative of the United States government."

    "Oh, my Godl That ass, Senator Brownleel I had no ideal"

    "Neither does he, I assure you. Without knowing it, he got us started, but

    that's as far as he goes."

    "And now I presume all Washington is playing detective and not informing

    me!"

    "If ten people in all Washington know about it, J'd be surprised. How's

    your ankler

"It will survive, as I shall under the circumstances."

    "If I call the doctor, will you make up some story about falling? Just to

    give me time. That's all I ask."

    "I'll do you one better, Mr. Canfield. I'll let you go now. We can call a

    doctor later if it's necessary." She opened the drawer in the bedside table

    and handed him the stateroom key.

Canfield started toward the door.

    "Under one condition." The old woman raised her voice sufficiently to stop

    him.

"What's that?"

    'That you give due consideration to a proposition I have to make to you."

    Canfield turned and faced her quizzically. "What kind of proposition?"

"That you go to work for me."

    "I'll be back soon," said the field accountant as he ran through the door.

    175

CHAPTER 21

Three-quarters of an hour later Canfield let himself quietly back into

Elizabeth Scarlatti's stateroom. The moment the old woman heard the key in

the latch she cried out apprehensively.

"Who is it?"

"Canfield." He walked in.

"Did you find him?"

"I did. May I sit down?"

"Please."

    "What happened? For heaven's sake, Mr. Canfieldl What happened? Who is he?"

    "His name was Boothroyd. He worked for a New York brokerage house. He

    obviously was hired, or assigned to kill you. He's dead and his earthly

    remains are behind us-I judge about three miles."

"Good Godl" The old woman sat down.

"Shall we start at the beginning?"

    '-foung man, do you know what you've done? Therell be searches, inquiries!

    The ship will be in an uproarl"

    Oh, someone will be in an uproar, I grant you. But I doubt that there will

    be more than a routine, and I suspect, subdued inquiry. With a grieving,

    confused widow confined to her quarters."

"What do you mean?"

    Canfield told her how he had located the body Dear Boothroyd's own

    stateroom. He then touched briefly on the grimmer aspects of searching the

    body and dispatching it overboard, but he described in fuller detail how he

    176

had returned to the lounge and learned that Boothroyd supposedly passed out

several hours earlier. The bartender, in what was probably exaggeration,

said that it had taken half a dozen men to haul hiin away and put him to

bed.

    "You see, his highly noticeable alibi is the most logical explanation for

    his ... disappearance."

"They'll search the ship until we reach portl"

"No, they won't."

"Why not?"

    "I tore off part of his sweater and wedged it into a corner of the post

    railing outside his stateroom. It'll be apparent that the drunken Mr.

    Boothroyd tried to rejoin the party and that he had a tragic accident. A

    drunk plus rotten weather aboard ship is a bad combination." Canfield

    stopped and reflected. "If he was operating alone, we're all righL If he

    wasn't Canfield decided to be quiet.

"Was it necessary to throw the man overboard?"

    "Would it have been better to have him found with four bullets in himr,

"Three. There's one lodged in the bedroom ceiling."

    "That's even worse. He'd be traced to you. If he has a colleague aboard

    this ship, you'd be dead before moming!"

"I suppose you're right. What do we do now?"

"We wait. We talk and we wait."

"For what?"

    "For someone to try to find out what happened. Perhaps his wife. Perhaps

    the one who gave him the key. Someone."

"You think they will?"

    "I think they have to if there's anyone on board who was working with bim.

    For the simple reason that everything went-poof."

"Perhaps he was just a burglar."

"He wasn't. He was a killer. I don't mean to alarm

YOU.

    The old woman looked carefully into Canfield's eyes. "Who is'they,' Mr.

    Canfield?"

"I don't know. That's where the talking comes in."

    "You believe they're connected with my son's disappearance, don't you?"

    177

"Yes, I do.... Don't youT'

    She did not answer directly. "You said we should start at the beginning.

    Where is that for you?"

    "When we found out that irdilions, of dollars' worth of American securities

    were being sold secretly on a foreign exchange."

"What has that to do with my sonT'

    "He was there. He was in the specific area when the rumors started. A year

    later, after his disappearance, we received reliable intelligence that the

    sale had been made. He was there again. Obvious, isn't it?"

"Or highly coincidental."

    "That theory was knocked out of the box when you opened the door for me an

    hour ago."

    The old woman stared at the field accountant as he slouched-in the chair.

    He, in turn, watched her through half-closed eyes. He saw that she was

    furious but controlled.

"You presume, Mr. Canfield."

    "I don't think so. And since we know who your wouldbe assassin was and who

    he worked for--Godwin-somebody-or-other, Wall Street-I think the picture's

    pretty clear. Someone, someone in the fifth largest brokerage house in New

    York, is angry enough with you or frightened enough of you to want you

    killed."

"That's speculation."

"Speculation, hell! I've got the bruises to prove itill

    "How did Washington make this ... questionable confiection?"

    "'Washington' takes in too many people. We're a very small department. Our

    normal concerns are quietly dealing with larcenous but highly placed

    government officials."

"You sound ominous, Mr. Canfield."

    "Not at all. If an uncle of the Swedish ambassador makes a killing in

    Swedish imports, we'd rather straighten it out quietly." He watched her

    closely.

"Now you sound harmless."

"Neither I assure you."

"About the securities?"

    "The Swedish ambassador, as a matter of fact." Canfield smiled. "Who, to

    the best of my knowledge, haw't any uncle in the import business."

    'The Swedish ambassador? I thought you said Senator Brownlee was the one."

    178

    "I didn't You did. Brownlee caused enough of a fuss to make the Justice

    Department call in everyone wlio ever had anything to do with Ulster

    Scarlett. At one point, we did."

"You're with Reynoldsl"

"Again, that's your statement. Not mine."

    "Stop playing games. You work for that man, Reyriolds, doift you?"

    "One thing I'm not is your prisoner. I'm not going to be cross-examined."

"Very well. What about this Swedish ambassador?"

    "You don't know him? You don't know anything about Stockholm?"

"Oh, for God's sake, of course I don'tl"

    The field accountant believed her. "Fourteen months ago Ambassador Walter

    Pond sent word to Washington that a Stockholm syndicate had pledged thirty

    million dollars for large blocks of American securities if they could be

    smuggled across. His report was dated May fifteenth. Your son!s visa shows

    he entered Sweden on May tenth,"

    "Flimsyl My son was on his honeymoon. A trip to Sweden was not out of the

    ordinary."

    "He was alone. His wife remained in London. That's out of the ordinary."

    Elizabeth rose from the chaise longue. "It was over a year ago. The money

    was only pledged. . . ."

    Ambassador Pond has confirmed that the transaction was concluded."

"When?"

`Fwo months ago. Just after your son disappeared."

    Elizabeth stopped pacing and looked at Canfield. "I asked you a question

    before you went after that man."

"I remember. You offered me a job."

    "Could I receive cooperation from your agency on your approval alone? We

    have the same objective. There's no conflict."

"What does that mean?"

    "Is it possible for you to report that I voluntarily offered to cooperate

    with you? The truth, Mr. Canfield, merely the truth. An attempt was made on

    my life. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead. rm a frightened old woman. 11

"It'll be assumed that you know your son's allve."

    179

"Not know. Suspect."

"Because of the securities?"

"I refuse to admit that."

"Then why?"

"First answer me. Could I use the influence of your

agency without being questioned further? Responsible

only to YOU."

    "Which means I'm responsible to you."

    "Exactly."

    "It's possible."

    "In Europe as well?"

"We have reciprocal agreements with most-"

    "Then here's my offer," interrupted Elizabeth. "I add that it's

    nonnegotiable. . . . One hundred thousand dollars. Paid in installments

    mutually agreeable."

    Matthew Canfield stared at the confident old woman and suddenly found

    himself frightened. There was something terrifying a6out the sum Elizabeth

    Scarlatti had just mentioned. He repeated her words almost inaudibly. "One

    hundred thousand-"

    ".'Dust thou wert,' Mr. Canfield. Take my offer and enjoy your life."

    The field accountant was perspiring and it was neither warm nor humid in

    the suite. "You know my answer."

    "Yes, I thought so. . . . Don't be overwhelmed. The transition to money

    takes but minor adjustments. You'll have enough to be comfortable, but not

    so much for responsibility. That would be uncomfortable. . . . Now, where

    were we?"

"What?"

    "Oh, yes. Why -do I suspect my son may be alive? Separate and apart from

    the seciirities you speak of."

"Why do you?"

    "From April to December of the past year, my son had hundreds of thousands

    of dollars transferred to banks throughout Europe. I believe he intends to

    live on that money. I'm tracing those deposits. I'm following thetrail of

    that money." Elizabeth saw that the field accountant did not believe her.

    "It happens to be the truth."

"But so are the securities, aren't they?"

    "Speaking to someone on my payroll and knowing that I'll deny any knowledge

    of them outside of this stateroom . . . yes."

"Why deny it?"

    180

    "A fair question. I don't think you'll understand but I'll try. The missing

    securities won't be discovered for nearly a year. I have no legal right to

    question my son's trust-no one has-until the bonds mature. To do so would

    be to publicly accuse the Scarlatti family. It would tear the Scarlatti

    Industries apart. Make suspect all Scarlatti transactions in every banking

    institution in the civilized world. It's a heavy responsibility.

    Considering the amount of money involved, it could create panics in a

    hundred corporations."

    Canfield reached the limits of his concentration. "Who was Jefferson

    Cartwright?"

    "The only other person who knew about the securities."

"Oh, my God!" Canfield sat up in the chair.

    "Do you really think he was killed for the reasons given?"

"I didn't know there were any."

"They were indirect. He was a notorious philanderer."

    The field accountant looked into the old woman's eyes. "And you say he was

    the only other one who knew about the securities?"

.,yes.,.

    "Then I think that was why hemas killed. In your section of town, you don't

    kill a man for sleeping with your wife. You simply use it as an excuse to

    sleep with his."

"Then I do need you, don't I, Mr. Canfield?"

"What had you planned to do when we reach EnglandT'

    "Prescisely what I said I was going to do. Start with the banks."

"What would that tell you?"

    "I'm not sure. But there were considerable sums of money by ordinary

    standards. This money had to go somewhere. It certainly wasn't going to be

    carried around in paper bags. Perhaps other accounts under false names;

    perhaps small businesses quickly established-I don't know. But I do know

    this is the money that will be used until the payments for the securities

    are liquid."

"Christ, he's got thirty million dollars in Stockholml"

    "Not necessarily. Accounts could be opened in Switzerland totaling thirty

    million-probably paid in bullionbut not released for a considerable length

    of time."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes to certify the authenticity of every

document. Since they were sold on a foreign exchange that could take

months."

"So you're going to trace the accounts in the banks."

    "That would appear to be the only starting point." Elizabeth Scarlatti

    opened the drawer of a writing desk and took out a vanity case. Unlocking

    it she took out a single sheet of paper.

    "I assume you have a copy of this. I'd like you to read it over and refresh

    your memory." She handed him the paper. It was the list of foreign banks

    where monies had been deposited by Waterman Trust for Ulster Stewart

    Scarlett. Canfield remembered it from the material sent from the Justice

    Department.

    "Yes, I've seen it, but I haven't got a copy.... Something less than a

    million dollars."

"Have you noticed the dates of the withdrawals?"

    "I remember the last one was about two weeks before your son and his wife

    returned to New York. A couple of accounts are still open, aren't they?

    Yes, here . . ."

    "London and The Hague." The old woman interrupted and continued without

    stopping. "That's not what I mean, but it could be valuable. What I'm

    referring to is the geographic pattern."

"What geographic pattern?"

    "Starting with London, then north to Norway; then south again to

    England-Manchester; then east to Paris; north again to Denmark; south to

    Marseilles; west into Spain, Portugal; northeast to Berlin; south again

    into North Africa--Cairo; northwest through Italy-Rome; then the Balkans;

    reversing west back to Switzerland-it goes on. A patchwork." The old lady

    had recited by rote as Canfield tried to follow the list of dates.

"What's your point, Madame Scarlatti?"

"Nothing strikes you as unusual?"

    "Your son was on his honeymoon. I don't know how you people go on

    honeymoons. All I know about is Niagara Falls."

"This is not a normal itinerary."

"I wouldn't know about thaL"

    "Let me put it this way.... You wouldn't take a pleasure trip from

    Washington, D.C., to New York City, then return to Baltimore with your next

    stop Boston."

"I suppose not."

"My son crisscrossed within a semicircle. The final des-

    182

tination, the last and largest withdrawal was made at a point more

logically reached months earlier."

Canfield was lost trying to follow the banks and dates.

    "Don't bother, Mr. Canfield. It was Germany. An obscure town in southern

    Germany. It's called Tassing. . . . Why?"

183

PART TWO

CHAPTER 22

The second and third days of the Ca1purnia voyage were calm, both the

weather and the first-class section of the ship. The news of the death of a

passenger cast a paU over the voyagers. Mrs. Charles Boothroyd was confined

to quarters under the constant supervision of the ship's doctor and

attending nurses. She had gone into hysterics upon hearing the news of her

husband and it had been necessary to administer large doses of sedatives.

    By the third day, with revived health, the optimism of most passengers

    revived.

    Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti and her young table escort made it a point to

    part company after each meal. By ten thirty every night, however, Matthew

    Canfield let himself into her quarters to take up his post lest there be a

    recurrence of the Boothroyd attempt. It was an unsatisfactory arrangement.

    "If I were a hundred years younger, you might pass yourself off as one of

    those distasteful men who perform services for middle-aged adventuresses."

    "If you used some of your well-advertised money to buy your own ocean

    liner, I might get some sleep at night."

    These late-hour conversations served one good purpose, however. Their plans

    began to take shape. Also Canfield's responsibilities as an employee of

    Eaabeth Scarlatti were diplomatically discussed. -

    "You understand," said Elizabeth, "I wouldn't expect you to do anything

    detrimental to the government. Or

    187

against your own conscience. I do believe in a man's conscience."

    "But I gather you'd like to make the decision about what's detrimental and

    what isn't?"

"To a degree, yes. I believe I'm qualified."

"What happens if I don't agree with you?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Oh, that's great!"

    In essence, Matthew Canfield would continue submitting his reports to

    Washington's Group Twenty with one alteration-they first would be approved

    by Elizabeth Scarlatti. Together they would, through the field accountant,

    make certain requests of his office they both felt necessary. In all

    matters of physical well-being, the old woman would follow the instructions

    of the young man without argument.

    Matthew Canfield would receive ten payments of ten thousand dollars each

    commencing with the first day in London. In small American bills.

    "You realize, Mr. Canfield, that there's another way to look at this

    arrangement."

"What's that?"

    "Your office is getting the benefit of my not inconsiderable talents for

    absolutely nothing. Extremely beneficial to the taxpayers."

"I'll put that in my next report.9.

    The basic problem of the arrangement bad not been resolved, however. For

    the field accountant to fulfill his obligations to both employers, a reason

    bad to be found explaining his association with the old woman. It would

    become obvious as the weeks went by and it would be foolish to try to pass

    it off as either companionship or business. Both explanations would be

    suspect.

    With a degree of self-interest, Matthew Canfield asked, "Cain you get along

    with your daughter-in-law?"

    "I assume you mean Ulster's wife. No one could stand Chancellor's."

"Yes."

    "I like her. However, if you're thinking about her as a third party, I must

    tell you that sheF despises me. There are many reasons, most of them quite

    valid. In order to get what I want I've had to treat her quite badly. My

    only defense, if I felt I needed one-which I don't-is that what I wanted

    was for her benefit."

    188

    "I'm deeply moved, but do you think we could get her coopoeration? I've met

    her on several occasions."

    "She's not very responsible. But I suppose you know that."

    "Yes. I also know that she suspects you of going to Europe on your son's

    account."

    "I realize that. It would help to enlist her, I imagine. But I don't think

    I could manage it by cable, and I certainly wouldn't want to spell it out

    in a letter."

    "I've a better way. I'll go back for her and I'll take a written . . .

    explanation from you. Not too involved, not too specific. I'll handle the

    rest."

"You must know her very well."

    "Not so. I just think that if I can convince her that you-and I-are on her

    side . . . if someone's on her side, she'll help."

"She might be able to. She could show us places. .

"She might recognize people. . . ."

    "But what will I do while you're in America? I'll no doubt be dead when you

    come back."

    Canfield had thought of. that. "When we reach England, you should go into

    retreat."

"I beg your pardon?"

    "For your immortal soul. And your son's as well, of course."

"I don't understand you."

    "A convent. The whole world knows of your bereavement. It's a logical thing

    to do. We'll issue a statement to the press to the effect that you've gone

    to an undisclosed retreat in the north of England. Then send you somewhere

    down south. My office will help."

"It sounds positively ridiculous!"

"You'll be fetching in your black robesl"

    The veiled, grieving Mrs. Boothroyd was led off with the first contingent

    of passengers. She was met by a man at customs who hurried her through the

    procedures and took her to a Rolls-Royce waiting on the street. Canfield

    followed the couple to the car.

    Forty-five minutes later Canfield checked into the hotel. He had called his

    London contact from a public phone and they had agreed to meet as soon as

    the Lon-

    189

doner could drive down. The field accountant then spent a half hour enjoying

the stability of a dry-land bed. He was depressed at the thought of going

right back on board ship but he knew there was no other solution. Janet

would supply the most reasonable explanation for his accompanying the old

lady and it was logical that the wife and mother of the missing Ulster

Scarlett should travel together. And certainly Canfield was not unhappy at

the prospect of a continued association with Janet Scarlett. She was a

tramp, no question; but he had begun to doubt his opinion that she was a

bitch.

    He was about to doze off when he looked at his watch and realized that he

    was late for his meeting. He picked up the phone and was delighted by the

    crisp British accent answering him.

    "Madame Scarlatti is in suite five. Our instructions are to ring through

    prior to callers, sir."

    "If you'll do that, please, I'll just go right up. Thank you.,,

    Canfield said his name quite loudly before Elizabeth Scarlatti would open

    the door. The old woman motioned the young man inside to a chair while she

    sat on a huge Victorian sofa by the window.

"Well, what do we do now?"

    "I phoned our London man nearly an hour ago. He should be here shortly."

"Who is he?"

"He said his name is James Derek."

"Don't you know him?"

    "No. We're given an exchange to call and a man is assigned to us. It's a

    reciprocal arrangement."

"Isn't that convenient." A statement.

"We're billed for it."

"What will he want to know?"

    "Only what we want to tell him. He won't ask any questions unless we

    request something either inimical to theBritish government or so expensive

    he'd have to justify

it; that's the point he'll be most concerned with."

"That strikes me as very amusing."

    "Taxpayers' money." Canfield looked at his watch. "I asked him to bring

    along a list of religious retreats."

"You're really serious about that, aren't you?"

"Yes. Unless he has a better idea. I'll be gone for about

    190

two and half weeks. Did you write the letter for your daughter-in-law?"

"Yes." She handed him an envelope.

    Across the room on a table near the door, the telephone rang. Elizabeth

    walked rapidly to the table and answered it.

    "Is that Derek?" asked Canfield, when she had hung UP.

"Yes."

    "Good. Now, please, Madame ScarlattL let me do most of the talking. But if

    I ask you a question, you'll know I want an honest answer."

"Oh? We don't have signals?"

    "No. He doesn't want to know anything. Believe that. Actually, we're a

    source of embarrassment to each other."

    "Should I offer him a drink, or tea, or isn't that allowed?"

"I think a drink would be very much appreciated."

-ru call room service and have a bar sent up."

"That's fine."

    Elizabeth Scarlatti picked up the phone and ordered a complete selection of

    wines and liquors. Canfield smiled at the ways of the rich and lit one of

    his thin cigars.

    James Derek was a pleasant-looking man in his early fifties, somewhat

    rotund, with the air of a prosperous merchanL He was terribly polite but

    essentially 0001. His perpetual smile had a tendency to curve slowly into

    a strained straight line as he spoke.

    "We traced the license of the Rolls at the pier. It belongs to a Marquis

    Jacques Louis Bertholde. French resident alien. We'll get information on

    him."

"Good. What about the retreatsT'

    The Britisher took out a paper from his inside coat pocket. "There're

    several we might suggest depending upon Madame Scarlatti's wishes to be in

    touch with the outside."

    '~Do you have any where contact is completely impossible? On both sides?"

    asked the field accountant.

    "That would be Catholic, of course. There're two or three."

"Now, see herel" interrupted the imposing old lady.

"What are theyr asked Canfield.

"There's a Benedictine order and a Carmelite. They're

    191

in the southwest, incidentally. One, the Carmelite, is near Cardiff."

    "There are limits, Mr. Canfield, and I propose to establish them. I will

    not associate with such people!"

    'Vhat is the most fashionable, most sought after retreat in England, Mr.

    Derek?" asked the field accountant

    "Well, the duchess of Gloucester makes a yearly trek to the Abbey of York.

    Church of England, of course."

    "Fine. We'll send out a story to all the wire services that Madame

    Scarlatti has entered for a month."

"That's far more acceptable," said the old woman.

    "I haven't finished." He turned to the amused Londoner. "Then book us into

    the Carmelites. You'll escort Madame Scarlatti there tomorrow."

I.As YOU say.,,

    "Just one minute, gentlemen. I do not consentl I'm sure Mr. Derek will

    adhere to my wishes."

    "Terribly sorry, madame. My instructions are to take orders from Mr.

    Canfield."

    "And we have an agreement, Madame Scarlatti, or do you want to tear it up?"

    "What can I possibly say to such people? I simply can not stand that voodoo

    mumbo jumbo coming from Romel"

    "You'll be spared that discomfort, madame," said Mr. Derek. "There's a vow

    of silence. You'll not hear from anyone."

    "Contemplate," added the field accountant. "Good f9r the immortal soul."

192

CHAPTER 23

    YORK, ENGLAND, August 12, 1926- The famed Abbey of York sustained a

    damaging explosion and fire at dawn this morning in its west wing, the

    residential quarters of the religious order. An undisclosed number of

    sisters and novices were killed in the tragic occurrence. It was believed

    that the explosion was due to a malfunction in the heating system

    recently installed by the order.

    Canfield read the story in the ship's newspaper one day before arriving in

    New York.

    They do their homework well, he thought. And although the price was

    painfully high, it proved two points conclusively: the press releases were

    read and Madame Scarlatti was marked.

    The field accountant reached into~ his pocket and took out the old woman's

    letter to Janet ScarletL He'd read it many times and thought it effective.

    He read it once more.

    My dear Child:

    I am aware that you are not particularly fond of me and I accept the fact

    as my loss. You have every right to feel as you do-the Scarlattis have

    not been pleasant people with whom to be associated. However, for

    whatever reasons and regardless of the pain you have been caused, you are

    now a Scarlatti and-you have borne a Scarlatti into this world. Per-

    193

    haps you will be the one who will make us better than we are.

    I do not make this statement lightly or out of sentiment. History has

    shown that the least expected among us often emerge splendidly because

    of the grave responsibilities placed upon them. I ask you to consider

    this possibility.

    I further ask you to give deep consideration to what Mr. Matthew Canfield

    will tell you. I trust him. I do so because he has saved my life and

    nearly lost his own in so doing. His interests and ours are inextricably

    bound together. He will tell you what he can and he will ask of you a

    great deal.

    I am a very, very old woman, my dear, and do not have much time. What

    months or years I do have (precious perhaps only to me) may well be cut

    short in a fashion I'd like to believe is not the will of God. Naturally,

    I accept this risk gladly as the head of the house of Scarlatti, and if

    I can spend what time I have. left preventing a great dishonor upon our

    family, I will join my husband with a grateful heart.

    Through Mr. Canfield, I await your answer. If it is as I suspect, we will

    be together shortly and you will have gladdened me far beyond that which

    I deserve. If it is not, you still have my affection and, believe me when

    I say, my understanding.

    Elizabeth Wyckharn Scarlatti

    Canfield replaced the letter in the envelope. It was quite good, he thought

    again. It explained nothing and asked for implicit trust that the unsaid

    explanation was vitally urgent. If he did his job, the girl would be coming

    back to England with him. If he failed to persuade her, an alternative

    would have to be found.

    The Ulster Scarlett brownstone on Fifty-fourth Street was being repainted

    and sandblasted. There were several scaffolds lowered from the roof and a

    number of workmen diligently at their crafts. The heavy Checker cab pulled

    up in front of the entrance and Matthew Canfield walked up the steps. He

    rang the bell; the door was opened by the obese housekeeper.

"Good afternoon, Hannah. I don't know if you remem-

    194

    X.

ber, but my name's Canfield. Matthew Canfield to see Mrs. Scarlett."

    Hannah did not budge or offer entrance. "Does Mrs. Scarlett expect you?"

    "Not formally, but I'm sure she'll see me." He bad had no intention of

    phoning. It would have been too easy for her to refuse.

"I don't know if madame is in, sir."

    "Then I'll just have to wait. Shall it be here on the stairs?"

    Hannah reluctantly made way for the field accountant to step into the

    hideously colored hallway. Canfield was struck again by the intensity of

    the red wallpaper and the black drapes.

    -ru inquire, sir," said the housekeeper as she started toward the stairs.

    In a few minutes Janet came down the long staircase, followed by a waddling

    Hannah. She was very much composed. Her eyes were clear, aware, and devoid

    of the panic he had remembered. She was in command and without question a

    beautiful woman.

    Canfield felt a sudden sting of inferiority. He was outclassed.

"Why, Mr. Canfield, this is a surprise."

    'He could not determine whether her greeting was meant to be pleasant or

    not. It was friendly, but cool and reserved. This girl had learned the

    lessons of the old money well.

"I hope not an unwelcome one, Mrs. Scarlett."

"Not at all."

    Hannah had reached the bottom step and walked toward the dining room doors.

    Canfield quickly spoke again. "During my trip I ran across a fellow whose

    company makes dirigibles. I knew you'd be interested." Canfield watched

    Hannah out of the corner of his eye without moving his head. Hannah had

    turned abruptly and looked at the field accountant.

    "Really, Mr. Canfield? Why would that concern mer Ile girl was mystified.

    "I understood your friends on Oyster Bay were determined to buy one for

    their club. Here, I've brought all the information. Purchase price,

    rentals, specifications, the works.... Let me show you."

    195

    The field accountant took Janet Scarlett's elbow and led her swiftly toward

    the living room doors. Hannah hesitated ever so slightly but, with a glance

    from Canfield, retreated into the dining room. Canfield then closed the

    living room doors. -

"What are you doing? I don't want to buy a dirigible."

    The field accountant stood by the doors, motioning the girl to stop

    talking.

`Vftat?"

"Be quiet for a minute. Please." He spoke softly.

    Canfield waited about ten seconds and then opened the doors in one swinging

    motion.

    Directly across the hallway, standing by the dining room table, was Hannah

    and a man in white overalls, obviously one of the painters. They were

    talking while looking over toward the living room doors. They were now in

    full view of Canfield's stare. Embarrassed, they moved away.

    Canfield shut the door and turned to Janet Scarlett. "Interesting, isn't

    it?"

"What are you doing?"

"Just interesting that your help should be so curious."

    "Oh, that." Janet turned and picked up a cigarette from a case on the

    coffee table. "Servants will talk and I think. you've given them cause."

Canfield lit her cigarette. "Including the painters?"

    "Hannah's friends are her own business. They're no concern of mine.

    Hannah's barely a concern of mine. . . ."

"You don't End it curious that Hannah nearly tripped

when I mentioned a dirigible?"

    "I simply don't understand you."

    "I admit I'm getting ahead of myselL"

    "Why didn't you telephoneT'

    "If I had, would you have seen mer

    Janet thought for a minute. "Probably.Whatever

recriminations I had over your last visit wouldn't be any

reason to insult you."

"I didn't want to take that gamble."

    w1liars sweet of you and I'm touched. But why this very odd behavior?"

    There was no point in delaying any longer. He took the envelope out of his

    pocket. 'Tve been asked to give you this. May I sit down while you read

    itT'

Janet, startled, took the envelope and immediately reo-

    196

ognized her mother-i n- law's handwriting. She opened the envelope and read

the letter.

    If she was astonished or shocked, she hid her emotions well.

    Slowly she sat down on the sofa and put out her cigarette. She looked down

    at the letter and up at Canfield, and then back to the letter. Without

    looking up, she asked quietly, "Who are you?"

    "I work for the government. I'm an official ... a minor official in the

    Department of the Interior."

"The government? You're not a salesman, then?"

"No, I'm not."

    "You wanted to meet me and talk with me for the government?"

"Yes.4

"Why did you tell me you sold tennis courtsT'

    "We sometimes find it necessary to conceal our employment. It's as simple

    as that."

"I see."

    "I assume you want to know what your mother-in-law means in the letter?"

    "Don't assume anything." She was cold as she continued. "It was your job to

    meet me and ask me all those amusing questions?"

'Trankly, yes."

    The girl rose, took the necessary two steps toward the field accountant,

    and slapped him across the face with all her strength. It was a sharp and

    painful blow. "You son of a bitchl Get out of this house!" She still did

    not raise her voice, "Get out before I call the policel"

    "Oh, my God, Janet, will you stop itl" He grabbed her shoulders as she

    tried to wriggle away. "Listen to me! I said listen or I'll slap you right

    back!"

    Her eyes shone with hatred and, Canfield thought, a touch of melancholy. He

    held her firmly as he spoke. "Yes, I was assigned to meet you. Meet you and

    get whatever information I could."

    She spat in his face. He did not bother to brush it away.

    "I got the information I needed and I used that information because that's

    what I'm paid forl As far as my department is concerned, I left this house

    by nine o'clock after you served me two drinks. If they want to pick you

    197

up for illegal possession of alcohol, that's what they can get you for!"

"I don't believe youl"

    "I don't give a good God damn whether you do -or nod And for your further

    information I've had you under surveillance for weeks! You and the rest of

    your playmates. . . . It may interest you to know that rve omitted

    detailing the more . . . ludicrous aspects of your day-to-day activitiesl"

The girl's eyes began to fill with tears.

    "I'm doing my job as best I can, and -I'm not so sure you're the one who

    should scream 'violated virgin'l You may not realize it,.but your husband,

    or former husband, or whatever the hell he is, could be very much alive. A

    lot of nice people who never heard of him-women like you and young

    girls-were burned to death because of himl Others were killed, too, but

    maybe they should have been."

    'What are you saying?" He relaxed his grip on her but still held her

    firmly.

    "I just know that I left your mother-in-law a week ago in England. It was

    a hell of a trip overl Someone tried to kill her the first night out on the

    ship. Oh, you can bet your life it would have been suicidel They would have

    said she had tearfully thrown herself overboard. No trace at all.... A week

    ago we let out a story to the newspapers saying she'd gone to a retreat in

    a place called York, in England. Two days ago the heating system blew up

    and killed Christ knows how many peoplel An accident, of coursel"

"I don't know what to say."

"Do you want me to finish, or do you still want me to

90?1*

    There was a sadness about Ulster Scarletes wife as she tritd to smile. "I

    guess you'd better stay and . . . finish."

They sat on the sofa and Canfield talked.

He talked as he had never talked before.

198

CHAPTER 24

Benjamin Reynolds sat forward in his chair, clipping a week-ola article from

the Sunday supplement of the New York Herald. It was a photograph of Janet

Saxon Scarlett being escorted by "sportingoods executive, M. Canfield" to a

dog show at Madison Square Garden. Reynolds smiled as he recalled Canfield's

remark on the telephone.

    "I can stand everything but the God damn dog shows. Dogs are for the very

    rich or the very poor. Not for anyone in betweent"

    No matter, thought Group Twenty's head. The newspapers were doing an

    excellent job. Washington had ordered Canfield to spend an additional ten

    days in Manhattan thoroughly establishing his relationship with Ulster

    Scarlett's wife before returning to England.

    The relationship was unmistakable and Benjamin Reynolds wondered if it was

    really a public facade. Or was it something else? Was Canfield in the

    process of trapping himself? The ease with which he had engineered a col-

    laboration with Elizabeth Scarlatti bore watching.

    "Ben"--Glover walked briskly into the office----~'I think we've found what

    we've been looking forl" He closed the door firmly and approached

    Reynolds's desk.

"What have you got? About what?"

"A link with thi Scarlatti business. I'm sure of it."

"Let me see."

    Glover placed several pages on top of the spread-out newspaper. "Nice

    coverage, wasn't it?" he said, indicating the photograph of Canfield and

    the girl.

    199

    "Just what us dirty old men ordered. He's going to be the toast of society

    if he doesn't spit on the floor.?'

    "He's doing a good job, Ben. They're back on board ship now, aren't they?"

"Sailed yesterday. . . . What is thisr,

    "Statistics found it. From Switzerland. Zurich area. Fourteen estates all

    purchased within the year. Look at these latitude and longitude marks.

    Every one of the properties is adjacent to another one. A borders on B, B

    on C, C on D, right down the line. Hundreds of thousands of acres forming

    an enormous compound."

"One of the buyers Sr-arlatti?"

    "No. . . . But one of the estates was bought in the name of Boothroyd.

    Charles Boothroyd."

    "You're sure? What do you mean 'bought in the name of ?"

    "Father-in-law bought it for his daughter and her husband. Named Rawlins.

    Thomas Rawlins. Partner in the brokerage house of Godwin and Rawlins. His

    daughter's name is Cecily. Married to Boothroyd."

    Reynolds picked up the page with the list of names. "Who are these people?

    How does it break down?"

    Glover reached for the other two pages. "It's all here. Four Americans, two

    Swddes, three English, two French, and three German. Fourteen in all."

"Do you have any rundowns?"

    "Only on the Americans. We've sent for information on the rest."

"Who are they? Besides Rawlins."

    "A Howard Thornton, San Francisco. He's in construction. And two Texas

    oilmen. A Louis Gibson and Avery Landor. Between them they own more wells

    than fifty of their competitors combined."

"Any connections between them?"

"Nothing so far. We're checking that out now."

    "What about the others? The Swedes, the French? The English and the

    Germans?"

"Only the names."

"Anyone familiar?"

    "Several. There's an Innes-Bowen, be's English, in textiles, -1 think. And

    I recognize the name of Daudet, French. Owns steamship lines. And two of

    the Germans. Kindorf-he's in the Ruhr Valley. Coal. And von Schritz-

    200

ler, speaks for 1. G. Farben. Don't know the rest, never heard of the

Swedes, either."

"In one respect they're all alike--"

    "You bet your life they are. They're all as rich as a roomful of Astors.

    You don't buy places like these with mortgages. Shall I contact Canfield?"

    "We'll have to. Send the list by courier. We'll cable him to stay in London

    until it arrives."

"Madame Scarlatti may know some of them."

"I'm counting on it... But I see a problem."

"What's that?"

    "It's going to be a temptation for the old girl to head right into Zurich.

    . . . If she does, she's dead. So's Canfield and Scarlett's wife."

"That's a pretty drastic assumption."

    "Not really. We're presuming that a group of wealthy men have bought

    fourteen estates all adjoining one another because of a common interest.

    And Boothroydcourtesy of a generous father-in-law-is one of them."

'Which ties Zurich to ScarlattL . . ."

    "We think so. We believe it because Boothroyd tried to kill her, right?"

"Of course."

"But the Scarlatti woman is alive. Boothroyd failed.-

"Obviously."

"And the property was purchased before that fact."

"It must have been-"

    "Then if Zurich is tied to Boothroyd, Zurich wants Scarlatti dead. They

    want to stop her. Also . . . Zurich presumed success. They expected

    Boothroyd to succeed."

    "And now that he's gone," interrupted Glover, "Zurich will figure the old

    woman found out who he was. Maybe mom . . . Ben, perhaps we9ve gone too

    far. It might be better to call it oM Make a report to Justice and get

    Canfield bacL"

    "Not yet. We're getting close to something. Elizabeth Scarlatti's the key

    right now. We'll get them plenty of protection."

    "I don't want to make an slibi in advance, but this is your

    responsibility."

    "I understand that In our instructions to Canfield make one thing

    absolutely clear. He's to stay out of Zurich. Under no condition is'he to

    go to Switzerland."

    201

"I'll do that."

    Reynolds turned from his desk and stared out the window. He spoke to his

    subordinate without looking at him. "And . . . keep a line open on this

    Rawlins. Boothroyd's father-in-law. He's the one who may have made the

    mistake-"

202

CHAPTER 25

Twenty-five miles from the ancient Emits of Cardiff, set in a remote glen in

a Welsh forest, stands the Convent of the Virgin, the home of the Carmelite

sisters. The walls rise in alabaster purity, like a new bride standing in

holy expectation in a lush but serpentless, Eden.

    The field accountant and the young wife drove up to the entrance. Canfield

    got out of the car and walked to a small arched doorway set in the wall in

    which was centered a viewer. There was a black iron knocker on the side of

    the door that he used, then waited for several mmutes until a nun answered.

"May I help your,

    The field accountant drew out his indentification card and held it up for

    the nun to sm "My name is Canfield~ sister. rm here for Madame Elizabeth

    ScarlattL Her daughter-in-law is with in&"

    "If you'll wait, please. May ir, She indicated that she wished to take his

    identification card with her. He handed it to her through the sms,11

    opening.

.11f course."

    The viewer was closed and bolted. Canfield wandered back to the car and

    spoke to Janet. "They're very cautious. 91

"What's happening?"

    "She's taking my card in to make sure the photograph's me and not someone

    else."

"LDvely here, isn't it? So quiet."

    "It is now. I make no promises when we finally see the Old &LOS

    203

    "Your callous, unfeeling disregard for my well-being, to say nothing of my

    comforts, is beyond anything I can describel Do you have any idea what

    these idiots sleep

0? I'll tell youl Army cotsl" -

1~.I'm sorry-Y Canfield tried not to laugh.

    "And do you know the slops they eat? Ill tell youl Food I'd prohibit in my

    stablesl"

    -rm told they grow their own vegetables," the field accountant countered

    gently.

"They pluck up the fertilizer and leave the plantsl"

At that moment the bells of the Angelus pealed out.

    "That goes on night and dayl I asked that damned fool, Mother MacCree, or

    whoever she is, why so early in the morning-and do you what know what she

    said?"

"What, Mother?" asked Janet.

    " 'That is the way of Christ,' that's what she said. 'Not a good Episcopal

    Christl' I told her. - It's been intolerablel Why were you so late?

    Mr.*Iierei said you'd be here four days ago."

    "I had to wait for a courier from Washington. Let's go. I'll tell You about

    it."

    Elizabeth sat in the back seat of the Bentley reading the Zurich list.

"Know any of those people?" asked Canfield.

    "Not personally. Most all of them by reputation, however."

"For instance?"

    "Ibe Americans, Louis Gibson and Avery Landor are two self-styled Texas

    Bunyans. They think they built the oil territories. Landor's a pig, I'm

    told. Harold Leacock. one of the Englishmen, is a power on the British

    Stock Exchange. Very bright. Myrdal from Sweden is also in the European

    market. Stockholm. Elizabeth looked up and acknowledged Canfield's glance

    in the rearview mirror.

"Anybody elser

"Yes. Thyssen in Germany. Fritz Thyssen. Steel com-

    204

parties. Everyone knows Kindorf-Ruhr Valley coal, and Von Schnitzler. He's

1. G. Farben now. . . . One of the Frenchmen, D'Almeida, has control of

railroads, I think. I don't know Daudet but I recognize the name."

"He owns tankers. Steamships."

    "Oh, yes. And Masterson. Sydney Masterson. English. Far East imports, I

    think. I don't know Innes-Bowen, but again I've heard the name."

"You didn't mention Rawlins. Thomas Rawlins."

    "I didn't think I had to. Godwin and Rawlins. Boothroyd's father-in-law."

    "You don't know the fourth American, Howard Thornbon? He's from San

    Francisco."

"Never heard of him."

    "Janet says your son knew a Thornton from San Francisco."

"I'm not at all surprised."

    On the road from Pontypridd, on the outskirts of the Rhoudda Valley,

    Canfield became aware of an automobile, which regularly appeared in his

    side mirror. It was far behind them, hardly more than a speck in the glass,

    but it was never out of sight except around curves. And whenever Canfield

    rounded one of the many turns, the automobile appeared subsequently much

    sooner than its previous distance would indicate. On long stretches it

    stayed far in the distance and whenever possible allowed other cars to come

    between them.

    "What is it, Mr. Canfield?" Elizabeth was watching the field accountant,

    who kept shifting his eyes to the mirror outside his window.

"Nothing."

"Is someone following usr'

    'Trobably not. There aren't that many good roads leading to the English

    border."

    Twenty minutes later Canfield saw that the automobile was drawing nearer.

    Five minutes after that he began to understand. There were no cars between

    the two vehicles now. Only a stretch of road--a very long curve-bordered on

    one side by the rocky slope of a small incline and on the other by a sheer

    drop of fifty fe:o into the waters of a Welsh lake-

    205

    Beyond the end of the curve, Canfield saw that the ground leveled off into

    a pasture or overgrown field. He accelerated the Bentley. He wanted to

    reach that level area.

    The car behind shot forward closing the gap between them. It swung to the

    right on the side of the road by the rocky slope. Canfield knew that once

    the car came parallel it could easily force him off the road, over the

    edge, plunging the Bentley down the steep incline into the water. The field

    accountant held the pedal down and veered the car toward the center trying

    to cut off the pursuer.

    "What is it? What are you doing?" Janet held on to the top of the

    dashboard.

"Brace yourselves! Both of you!"

    Canfield held the Bentley in the center, crossing to the right each time

    the car behind him tried to squeeze between him and the solid ground. The

    level field was nearer now. Only another hundred yards.

    There were, two sharp, heavy crunches as the Bentley lurched spastically

    under the second car's impact. Janet Scarlett screamed. Her mother-in-law

    kept silent, clutching the girl's shoulders from behind, helping to brace

    her.

    The level pasture was now on the left and Canfield suddenly swerved the car

    toward it, going off the road, holding to the dirt border beyond the

    pavement.

    The pursuing car plunged forward at tremendous speed. Canfield riveted his

    eyes on the rapidly receding black-and-white license plate. He shouted, "E,

    B . . . I or Ll Sevent Seven or ninel One, one, threel" He repeated the

    numbers again softly, quickly. He slowed the Bentley down and came to a.

    stop.

    Janet's back was arched against the seat. She held Elizabeth's arms with

    both her hands. The old woman sat forward, her cheek pressed against her

    daughter-in-law's head.

Elizabeth spoke.

    "The letters you called out. were E, B, I or L, the numbers, seven or nine,

    one, one, three."

"I couldn't tell the make of the car."

    Elizabeth spoke again as she took her arms from Janet's shoulders.

"It was a Mercedes-Benz."

    206

CHAPTER 26

"The automobile in question is a Mercedes-Benz coup& Nineteen twenty-five

model. The license is EBI nine, one, one, three. The vehicle is registered

in the name of Jacques Louis Bertholde. Once again, the Marquis de

Bertholde." James Derek stood by Canfield in front of Elizabeth and Janet

who sat on the sofa. He read from his notebook and wondered if these curious

Americans realized who the marquis was. Bertholde, too, often stayed at the

Savoy and was probably as rich as Elizabeth Scarlatti.

    "The same man who met Boothroyd's wife at the pier?" asked Canfield.

    "Yes. Or I should say, no. We assume it was Bertholde at the pier from your

    description. It couldn't have been yesterday. We've established that he was

    in London. However, the automobile is registered to him."

    "What do you think, Mr. Derek?" Elizabeth smoothed her dress and avoided

    looking at the Englishman. There was something about the man that disturbed

    her.

    "I don't know what to think. . . . However, I feel I should tell you that

    the Marquis de Bertholde is a resident alien of considerable influence and

    position. . . ."

    "He is the owner of Bertholde et Fils, as I recall." Elizabeth rose from

    the sofa and gave her empty sherry glass to Canfield. It was not that she

    wished more wine. She was just too wrought up to sit still. "Bertholde et

    Fils is an old established firm."

    The field accountant went to the drinks table and poured Elizabeth's

    sherry.

    207

    "Then you've met the marquis, Madame Scarlatti? Perhaps you know him?"

    Elizabeth didn't like Derek's insinuation. "No, I do not know the marquis.

    I may have met his father. I'm not sure. The Bertholdes go back many

    years."

    Canfield handed Elizabeth her glass aware that the old woman and the

    British operative were playing a mental tennis game. He broke in. "Whafs

    his business?"

    "Plural. Businesses. Near East oil, mining and drilling in Africa,

    imports-Australia and South America.

"Why is he a resident alien?"

    "I can answer that," said Elizabeth, returning to the couch. "The physical

    plants-his offices-are, no doubt. within Empire territories or

    protectorates."

    "Quite correct, madame," said Derek. "Since the majority of his interests

    lie within the borders of British possessions, he deals continuously with

    Whitehall. lie does so, most favorably."

"Is there a government dossier on Bertholde?"

"As a resident alien, of course there is."

"Can you get it for me?"

    "I'd have to have a very sound reason. You know that."

    "Mr. Derekl" interrupted Elizabeth. "An attempt was made on my life aboard

    the Ca1purnia! Yesterday in Wales an automobile tried to run us off the

    roadl In both instances the Marquis de Bertholde can 1)6 implicated. I

    would call these sound reasonst"

    "I'm afraid I must disagree. What you describe are police matters. Anything

    I know to the contrary is privileged information and I respect it as such.

    Certainly no charges are being made in either case. It's a gray area, I

    grant you, but Canfield knows what I'm talking about."

    The field accountant looked at Elizabeth and she knew the time had come to

    use his ploy. He had explained that eventually they would have to. He had

    called it-,,part of the truth." The reason was simple. British Intelligence

    was not going to be used as someone's personal police force. There had to

    be other justifications. Justifications that Washington would confirm.

    Canfield looked at the Englishman and spoke softly.

    "The United States government wouldn't involve any agency unless there were

    reasons beyond police matters. When Madame Scarlatti's son-Mrs. Scarletfs

    husband-

    208

was in Europe last year, large sums of money, in the form of negotiable

securities on a number of American corporations, were forwarded to him. We

think they were sold undercover on the Eurovean markets. The British

exchange included."

    "Are you telling me that someone is forming an Amencan monopoly over here?"

    "The State Department thinks that the manipulation was handled by our own

    embassy personnel. They're right here in London now."

    "Your own embassy personnell And you think Scarlett was a party to it?"

    "We think he wits used." Elizabeth's voice pierced the air. "Used and then

    eliminated."

    "He traveled in that crowd, Derek. So does the Marquis de Bertholde."

    James Derek replaced his small notebook in his breast pocket. The

    explanation obviously was sufficient. The British operative was also very

    curious. "I'll have a copy of the dossier for you tomorrow, Canfield. Good

    evening, ladies." He went out.

    "I congratulate you, young man. Embassy personnel. Really very intelligent

    of you."

    "I think he was remarkablel" said Janet Scarlett, smiling at him

    "It'll work," mumbled the field accountant, swallowmg the major portion of

    a Scotch. "Now, may I suggest we all need some relief. Speaking for myself,

    I'm tired of thinking-and I wouldn't appreciate a comment on that, Madame

    Scarlatti. How about dinner at one of those places you upper class always

    go? I hate dancing but I swear I'll dance with you both until you drop."

Elizabeth and Janet laughed.

    "No, but -1 thank you," said Elizabeth. "You two go and romp." She lookeil

    at the field accountant fondly. "An old woman thanks you again, Mr.

    Canfield."

"You'll lock the doors and windowsT'

"Seven stories off the ground? Of course, if you like."

"I do," said Canfield.

    209

CHAPTER 27

"It's heavenl" shrieked Janet over the din of voices at Claridge's. "Come

on, Matthew, don't look so sourl"

"I'm not sour. I just can't hear you."

"Yes, you are. You didn't like it. Let me enjoy iL"

"I will. I will! Do you want to dance?"

"No. You hate dancing. I just want to watch."

"No charge. Watch. Ifs good whiskey."

"Good what?"

"I said whiskey."

    "No, thanks. See? I can be good. You're two up on me, you know."

"I may be sixty up on you if this keeps going."

11ftat, darling?"

"I said I may be sixty when we get out of here."

"Oh, stop it. Have funt"

    Canfield looked at the girl opposite him and felt once again a surge of

    joy. There was no other word but joy. She was a delight that filled him

    with pleasure, with warmth. Her eyes held the immediacy of commitment that

    only a lover can know. Yet Canfield tried so hard to disassociate, to

    isolate, to objectify, and found that he could not do it.

"I love you very much," he said.

    She heard him through the music, the laughter, the undercurrent hum of

    movement.

    "I know." She looked at him and her eyes had the hint of tears. "We love

    each other. Isn't that remarkable?"

"Do you want to dance, nowr'

The girl threw back her head ever so slightly. "Oh,

    210

Matthewl My dear, sweet Matthew. No, darling. You don't have to dance."

'Now, look, I will."

    She clasped his hand. "We'll dance by ourselves, all by ourselves later."

    Matthew Canfield made up his mind that he would have this woman for the

    rest of his life.

    But he was a professional and his thoughts turned for a moment to the old

    woman at the Savoy.

    Elizabeth Wyckham Scarlatti at that moment got out of her bed and into a

    dressing gown. She had been reading the Manchester Guardian. Turning its

    thin pages, she heard two sharp metallic clicks accompanied by a mufBed

    sound of movement from the living room. She was not at first startled by

    the noise; she had bolted the hallway door and presumed that her

    daughter-in-law was fumbling with a key unable to enter because of the

    latch. After all, it was two o'clock in the morning and the &I should have

    returned by now. She called out.

"Just one minute, my dear. I'm up."

    She had left a table lamp on and the fringe of the shade rippled as she

    passed it causing a flickering of minute shadows on the wall.

    She reached the door and began to unbolt the latch. Remembering the field

    accountant, she halted momentarily.

"That is you, isn't it, my dear?"

There was no reply.

She automatically snapped bark the bolt.

"Janet? Mr. Canfield? Is that you?"

Silence

    Fear gripped Elizabeth. She had heard the sound; agehad not impaired her

    hearing.

    Perhaps she had confused the clicking with the unfamiliar rustling of the

    thin English newspaper. That was not unreasonable and although she tried to

    believe it, she could not.

Was there someone else in the room?

At the thought she felt pain in the pit of her stomach.

    As she turned, to go back into the bedroom, she saw that one of the large

    french windows was partially

    211

opened, no more than one or two inches but enough to cause the silk

draperies to sway slightly from the inooming breeze.

    In her confusion she tried to recall whether she had closed it before. She

    thought she had, but it had been an uninterested motion because she hadn't

    taken Canfield seriously. Why should she? They were seven stories high.

    Of course, she hadn't closed it. Or, if she had, she hadn't secured the

    catch and it had slipped off. Nothing at all unusual. She crossed to the

    window and pushed it closed.

And then she heard it.

"Hello, Mother."

    Out of the shadows from the. far end of the room walked a large man dressed

    in black. His head was shaved and he was deeply tanned.

    For several seconds she did not recognize him. The light from the one table

    IkLmp was dim and the figure remained at the end of the room. As she became

    adjusted to the light and the object of her gaze, she realized why the man

    appeared to be a stranger. The face had changed. The shining black hair was

    shaved off; the nose was altered, smaller and the nostrils wider apart; the

    ears were different, flatter against the head; even the eyes -where before

    there had been a Neapolitan droop to the lids--these eyes were wide, as if

    no lids existed. There were reddish splotches around the mouth and

    forehead. It was not a face. It was the mask of a face. It was striking. It

    was monstrous. And it was her son.

"Ulsterl My Godt"

    "If you die right now of heart failure, youll make fools out of several

    highly paid assassins."

    The old woman tried to think, tried with all her strength to resist panic.

    She gripped the back of a chair until the veins in her aged hands seemed to

    burst from the skin.

"If you've come to kill me, there's little I can do tim"

    '-fou'll be interested to know that the man who or. dered you killed will

    soon be dead hunpelf. He was stupid."

    Her son wandered toward the french window and checked the latch. He

    cautiously peered through the glass and was satisfied. His mother noticed

    that the grace with which he had always carried himself remained but there

    212

was no softness now, no gentle relaxation, which had taken the form of a

slight aristocratic slouch. Now there was a taut, hard quality in his

movement, accentuated by his hands-which were encased in skintight black

gloves, fingers extended and rigidly curved.

    Elizabeth slowly found the words. 'Why have you come here?"

    "Because of your obstinate curiosity." He walked rapidly to the hotel phone

    on the table with the lighted lamp, touching the cradle as if making sure

    it was secure. He returned to within a few feet of his mother and the sight

    of his face, now seen clearly, caused her to shut her eyes. When she

    reopened them, he was rubbing his right eyebrow, which was partially

    inflamed. He watched her pained look.

    "The scars aren't quite healed. Occasionally they itch. Are you maternally

    solicitous?"

"What have you done to yourself?"

    "A new life. A- new world for me. A world which has nothing to do with

    yours. Not yeti"

"I asked you what you've done."

    '~You know what I've done, otherwise you wouldn't be here in London. What

    you must understand, now, is that Ulster Scarlett no longer exists."

    "If that's what you want the world to believe, why come to me of a people?"

    "Because you rightly assumed it wasn't true and your meddling could prove

    irksome to me."

    The old woman steeled herself before speaking. "It's quite possible thin

    that the instructions for my death were not stupid."

    "Mat's very brave. I wonder, though, if you've thought about the others?"

"What others?"

    Scarlett sat on the couch and spoke in a biting Italian dialect. "La

    Famiglia Scarlattil That's the proper phrase, isn't it? ... Eleven members

    to be exact. Two parents, ~h grandmother, a drunken bitch wife, and seven

    children. The end of the tribel The Scarlatti line abruptly stops in one

    bloody massacrel"

    "You're madl rd stop youl Don't pit your piddling, theft against what I

    have, my boyl"

    "You're a foolish old womant We're beyond surn . It's only how they're

    applied now. You taught me thad"

    213

    "I'd put them out ot your reachl I'd have you hunted down and destroyedt"

The man effortlessly sprang up from the couch.

    "We're wasting time. You're concerning yourself with mechanics. That's

    pedestrian. Let's be clear. I make one phone call 4nd the order is sent to

    New York. Within forty-eight hours the Scarlattis are snuffed outl Extin-

    guishedl It will be an expensive funeral. The foundation will provide

    nothing but the best."

"Your own child as well?"

    "He'd be the first. All dead. No apparent reason. The mystery of the

    lunatic Scarlattis."

"You are mad." She was hardly audible.

    "Speak up, Motherl Or are you thinking about those curly headed moppets

    romping on the beach at Newport, laughing in their little boats on the

    sound. Tragic, isn't it? Just one of theml Just one out of the whole lot

    might make it for you, and the Scarlatti tribe continues in gloryl Shall I

    make my call? It's a matter of indifference to me.,,

    The old woman, who had not moved, walked slowly toward one of the

    armchairs. "Is what you want from me so valuable that the lives of my

    family depend upon it?"

    "Not to you. Only to me. It could be worse, you know. I could demand an

    additional one hundred million."

    "Why don't you? Under the circumstances you know I'd pay it."

    The man laughed. "Certainly you'd pay it. You'd pay it from a source that'd

    cause. a panic in the ticker rooms. No, thank you. I don't need it.

    Remember, we're beyond sums."

    "What is it you want?" She sat in the chair, crussing her thin arms on her

    lap.

    "The bank letters for one. They're no good to you anyway, so there should

    be no struggle with your conscience."

    She had been rightl-The concept had been rightl Always trace the practicaL

    The money.

"Bink letters?"

"'Me bank letters Cartwright gave YOU."

"You killed him! You knew about our agreementT'

    "Come, Mother. A Southern ass is made vice-president of Waterman Trustl

    Actually given responsibility. We fol-

    214

lowed him for three days. We have your agreement At least his copies. LeVs

not fool each other. The letters, please."

    The old lady rose from the chair and went into her bedroom. She returned

    and handed hun the letters. He rapidly opened the envelopes and took them

    ouL He spread them on the couch and counted them.

"Cartwright earned his money."

    He gathered them up and casually sat down on the sofa.

"I had no idea those letters were so important."

    "They're not, really. Nothing could be accomplished with them. All the

    accounts have been closed and the money ... dispersed to others, shall we

    say."

    "Then why were you so anxious to get them?" She remained standing.

    "If they were submitted to the banks, they could start a lot of

    speculation. We don't want a great deal of talk right now."

    The old woman searched her son's confident eyes. He was detached, pleased

    with himself, almost relaxed.

"Wbo is 'we'? What are you involved in?"

    Again that grotesque smile from the crooked mouth underneath the unnatural

    nostrils. "You'll know in good time. Not by name, of course, but you'll

    know. You might even be proud but you'll never admit it." He looked at his

    wristwatch. "Down to business."

"What else?"

    "What happened on the Calpurnia? Don't liel" He riveted his eyes on the old

    woman's and they did not waver.

    Elizabeth strained the muscles in her abdomen to help her conceal any

    reaction to the question. She knew that the truth might be all she had lefL

    "I don't understand you."

"You're lying!"

    "About what? I received a cablegram from a man named Boutier concerning

    Cartwright's death."

    "Stop itl" He leaned forward. "You wouldn't have gone to the trouble of

    throwing everyone off with that York Abbey story unless something happened.

    I want to know where he is."

"Where who is? Cartwright?"

"I warn youl"

    215

"I have no idea what you're talking aboutl"

    "A man disappeared on that shipt They say he fell overboard."

    "Oh, yes. I recall. . . . What has that to do with me?" Her look

    personified ianocence.

Neither moved.

"You know nothing about the incidentr'

"I didn't say that."

"What did you say, then?"

"There were rumors. Reliable sources."

"What rumors?"

    The old woman weighed several replies. She knew that her answer had to have

    the ring of authenticity without any obvious errors in character or

    behavior. On the other hand, whatever she said had to reflect the sketchy

    extremes of gossip.

    "That the man was drunk and belligerent. There'd been a struggle in the

    lounge. . . . He had to be subdued and carried to his stateroom. He tried

    to return and fell over the rail. Did you know him?"

    A cloud of detachment covered Scarlett!s answer. "No, he was no part of

    us." He was dissatisfied but he did not dwell on iL For the first time in

    several minutes he looked away from her. He was deep in thought. Finally he

    spoke. "One last item. You started out to find your missing son . . ."

"I started out to find a thiefl" she interrupted sharply.

    "Have it your way. From another pointof view I simply moved up the

    calendar."

    "Thafs not truel You stole from Scarlatti. What was assigned to you was to

    be used in conjunction with the Scarlatti Industriesl"

"We're wasting time again."

"I wanted the point cleared up."

    "The point is that you set out to find me and you succeeded. We agree oD

    that fact?"

'Agreed."

    "Now rm telling you to say nothing, do nothing, and return to New York.

    Furthermore, destroy any letters or instructions you may have left

    concerning me."

"Those are impossible demandsl"

    "In that event my orders go out. The Scariattis are deadl Go to your church

    and let them tell you how they've been washed in the blood of the lambl"

    216

    Ulster Scarlett sprang up from the Victorian couch and before the old woman

    could adjust her eyes to his movement, he had reached the telephone. There

    wasn't the slightest hesitation on his part. He picked up the telephone

    without looking at her and waited for the switchboard,to answer.

The old woman rose unsteadily. "Don'tt"

He turned to face her. "Why not?"

"I'll do as you askl"

He replaced the phone. "Are you surer'

"I'm sure." He bad won.

    Ulster Scarlett smiled with his misshapen lips. "Then ourbusiness is

    concluded."

    "Not quite." Elizabeth now would try, realizing that the attempt might cost

    her her life.

'Ohr'

-rd like to speculate, for just a minute."

"On what?"

    "For the sake of argument, supposing I decided to abandon our

    understandingr,

    "You know the consequencei. You couldn't hide from us, not for any length

    of time."

"Time, however, could be the factor on my side."

    "rbe securities have been disposed of. No sense in thinkin about that."

    "I assumed they had been, or else you wouldn't have come here."

"This is a good game. Go on."

    "I'm sum that if you hadn't thought of it yourself, someone would have told

    you that the only intelligent way of seHing those securities would be on a

    currency basis in exchange for diminished value."

'No one had to tell me."

"Now it's my turn to ask a question."

"Go alieW."

    "How difficult do you think it is to tram deposits, gold or otherwise, of

    that magnitude? ru make it two questions. Where are the only banks in the

    world willing or even capable of such depositsr'

    "We both know the answer Coded, numbered, impossible.11

    "And in which of the great banking concerns of Switzerland is there the

    incorruptible maar'

    217

    Her son paused and squinted his lidless eyes. "Now you're the one who's

    insane," he answered quietly.

    "Not at all. You think in small blocks, Ulster. You use large sums but you

    think in small blocks. . . . Word goes out in the marble halls of Bem and

    Zurich that the sum of one million American dollars can be had for the

    confidential exchange of information. . .

'What would you gain by it?"

"Knowledgel ... Namest Peoplel-

"You make me laughl"

    "Your laughter will be short-livedl . It's obvious that you have

    associates; you need them. Your threats make that doubly clear, and I'm

    sure you pay them well. . . . The question is--once they're known to me and

    I to them-will they be able to resist my price? Certainly you can never

    match it! In this we are not beyond sumsl"

    The grotesque face distorted itself further as a thick, drawlish laugh came

    forth from the misshapen mouth. "I've waited years to tell you that your

    slide-rule theories smelll Your stinking buy-me, sell-me manipulations are

    finishedl You've had your wayl It's finishedl Deadl Gonel . . . Who are you

    to manipulate? With your conniving bankersl Your stinking little Jewsl

    You're finishedl I've watched youl Your kind is deadl . . . Don't talk to

    me about my associates. They wouldn't -touch you or your moneyl" The man in

    black was in a rage.

    "You believe that?" Elizabeth did not move. She asked a simple question.

    "Completelyr' Ulster Scarletts unhealed flesh was red with the blood

    rushing to his head. "We have something elsel And you can't touch usl Any

    of usl There is.no price for us!"

    "However, you'll grant-as with the bank letters-I could prove irksome. Only

    to a far greater degree. Do you wish to take that gamble?"

    "You. sign eleven death warrantsl A mass buriall Is. that what you want,

    Mother?"

    "The answer to both our questions would seem to be no. This is now a more

    reasonable understanding."

    The man-mask in black paused and spoke softly, precisely. "You're not my

    equal. Don't for one minute think you arel"

'What happened, Ulster? What happened? . . . Why?"

"Nothing and everythingl I'm doing what none of you

    218

are capable of doingl What has to be donel But you can't do itl"

"Would I ... or we ... want to?"

    "More than anything in the world? But you haven1 the stomachsl You're

    weakl"

The telephone rang, piercing the air.

    "Don't bother to answer it", Ulster said. "It'll ring only once. It's

    merely a signal that my wife-the devoted whore--and her newest bedmate have

    left Claridge's."

    "Then I assume our meeting is adjourned." She saw to her great relief that

    he accepted the statement. She noted also thaA in such a position he was

    dangerous. A tick was developing on the surface of his skin above his right

    eye. He agam stretched his fingers in a slow deliberate motion.

"Remember what I say. You make one mistake..."

    She interrupted before he could finish. "Remember who I am, young manl

    You're speaking to the wife of Giovanni Merighi Scarlatti! There is no need

    to repeat yourself. You have your agreement. Go about your filthy business.

    I have no further interest in youl"

    The man in black strode rapidly to the door. "I hate you, Mother."

    "I hope you benefit as much from those you hold less dear."

"In ways you'd never understandl"

    He opened the door and slipped out, slamming it harshly behind him.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti stood by the window and pulled apart the drapes. She

    leaned against the cold glass for support. The city of London was asleep,

    and only a scattering of lights dotted its concrete facade

What in God's name had he done?

More important, who was paying attention to him?

    What might have been mere horror turned into terror for he had the weapon.

    The weapon of power-which she and Giovanni innocently, productively

    provided.

They were, indeed, beyond sums.

    Tears fell from her old eyes and that inner consciousness, which afflicts

    all human beings, was taken by surprise. She had not cried in over thirty

    years.

    Elizabeth pushed herself away from the window pd slowly wandered about the

    room. She had a great deal of thinking to do.

    219

CHAPTER 28

In a room in the Home Office, James Derek took out a file. "Jacques Louis

Bertholde, The Fourth Marquis of Chatellerault."

    The dossier custodian entered the room. "Hello, James. Late hours tonight,

    I see."

    "I'm afraid so, Charles. I'm taking out a copy. Did you get my request?"

    "Right here. Fill me in and I'll sign for it. But please make it short.

    I've a card game in my office."

    "Short and simpl6. The Americans suspect their embassy personnel of selling

    Yank securities undercover over here. This Bertholde travels in the

    diplomatic circles. There could be a connection with the Scarlatti fellow."

    The dossier custodian made his appropriate notes. "When did this all take

    place?"

"About a year ago, as I understand it."

    The custodian stopped writing and looked at James Derek. "A year ago?"

"Yes.,'

    "And this American chap wants to confront embassy personnel now? Over

    here?"

"That's right."

    "He's on the wrong side of the Atlantic. All American embassy personnel

    were transferred four months ago. There's no one there now-not even a

    secretary-who was in London a year ago."

"That's very strange," said Derek quietly.

    "I'd say your American friend has a rather poor connection with his State

    Department."

    220

"Which means he's lying."

"Which means he is."

    Janet and Matthew, laughing, got off on the seventh floor and started down

    the corridor toward ELizabeth's suite. The length of their walk was

    approximately one hundred feet and they stopped four times to embrace and

    exchange kisses.

    The girl took a key out of her purse and handed it to the field accountant.

    He inserted it and simultaneously turned the knob before making any lateral

    motion with the key. The door opened and in a split second the field

    accountant was more sober than drunk.

He practically fell into the room.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti was sitting on the Victorian couZh in the dim light

    emanating from the single lamp. She did not move other than to look up at

    Canfield and her daughter-in-law.

"I heard you in the hallway."

"I told you to lock these doorsl"

"I'm sorry, I forgot"

    "The bell you didl I waited until I heard the latch and the bold"

"I ordered some coffee from room service."

"Where's the tray?"

"In my bedroom which I presume to be private."

    "Don't you believe itl" The field accountant ran toward the bedroom door.

    "I apologize againl I cafled to have it taken away. I'm quite confused.

    Forgive me."

"Why? What's the matter?"

    Elizabeth Scarlatti thought quickly and looked at her daughter-in-law as

    she spoke. "I had a most distressing telephone call. A business matter

    completely unrelated to you. It entails a great deal of money and I must

    make a decision before the British exchange opens." She looked at the field

    accountant.

    "May I ask what's so important that you don't follow my instructions?"

    "Several million dollars. Perhaps you'd care to help me. Should the

    Scarlatti Industries conclude the purchase

    221

of the remaining convertible debentures in Sheffield Cutlery and by

exercising the coaversions gain control of the compaany or not?"

    Still uncertain, the field accountant asked, "Why is that so ...

    distressing?"

"Because the company constantly loses money."

    "Then you don't buy. That shouldn't keep you up all night."

    The old woman eyed him coldly. "Sheffield Cutlery is one of the oldest,

    finest firms in England. Their product is superb. The problem is neither

    management nor labor conditions but a heavy influx of Japanese imitations.

    The question is, Will the purchasing public learn in time to reverse the

    trend?"

    Elizabeth Sycarlatti rose from the couch and went into her bedroom, closing

    the door behind her. The field accountant turned to Janet Scarlett. "Does

    she do this sort of thing all the time? Doesn't she have advisers?"

    But Janet was still staring at the bedroom door. She took off her wrap and

    approached the field accountant. She spoke quietly. "She's not telling the

    truth."

"How do you know?"

    "The way she looked at me when she was talking to you. She was trying to

    tell me something."

"Like what?"

    The girl shrugged impatiently and continued in a hushed whisper. "Oh, I

    don't know, but you know what I mean. You're with a group'of people, and

    you start to tell a whopper or exaggerate something, and while you do, you

    look at your husband or a friend who knows better ... and they know they

    shouldn't correct you....

"Was she lying about that company she spoke of?"

    "Oh, no. That's the truth. Chancellor Drews been trying to persuade her to

    buy that firm for months."

"How do you know?"

"She's already turned it down."

"Then why did she lie?"

    As Canheld started to sit down, his attention was drawn to the linen

    antimacassar on the back of the chair. At first be dismissed it and then he

    looked again. The material was crumpled as if it had been mangled or

    bunched together. It was out of place in an immaculate suite. He looked

    closer. There were breaks in the threads

    222

and the imprint of fingertips was unmistakable. Whoever had gripped the

chair had done so with considerable force.

"What is it, Matthew?"

"Nothing. Get me a drink, will you?"

    "Of course, darling." She went to the dry bar as Canfield walked around the

    chair in front of the french w& dow. For no particular reason, he pulled

    apart the curtains and inspected the window itself. He turned the latch

    -and pulled the left side open. He saw what he had begun to look for. The

    wood around the clasp was scratched. On the sill he could see where the

    paint had been discolored by the impression of a heavy coarse object,

    probably a rubber-soled boot or a crepe-soled shoe. Not leather; there were

    no scratches on the enamel. He opened the right side and looked out. Below

    were six stories straight down; above two floors to what he recalled was an

    acutely slanting roof. He pushed the window shut and locked it.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"We've had a visitor. An uninvited guest, you might

    It

say.

The girl stood absolutely still. "Oh, my God!"

    "Don't be frightened. Your mother-in-law wouldn't do anything foolish.

    Believe that."

"I'm -trying to. What are we going to do?"

    "Find out who it was. Now get hold of yourself. I'll need you."

"Why didn't she say something?"

"I don't know, but you may be able to find out."

"How?~'

    "romorrow morning she'll probably bring up the Sheffield business. If she

    does, tell her you remember she refused to buy it for Chancellor. She'll

    have to give you an explanation of some kind."

    "If Mother Scarlatti doesn't want to talk, she just won't. I know."

"Then don't press it. But she'll have to say something."

    Although it was nearly three o'clock, the lobby had a flow of stragglers

    from late parties. They were mostly in evening dress, a great many were

    unbalanced and giggling, all were happily tired.

    223

    Canfield went to the desk clerk and spoke in a gentle, folksy tone. "Say,

    fella, I've got a little problem."

"Yes, sir. May we be of service?"

    "Well, it's a bit touchy. . . . I'm traveling with Madame Elizabeth

    Scarlatti and her daughter ......

"Oh, yes indeed. Mr.... Canfield, isn't it?"

    "Sure. Well, the old girl's getting on, you know, and the people above her

    keep pretty late hours."

    The clerk, who knew the legend of the Scarlatti wealth, was abject in

    apology. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Canfield. I'll go up myself at once.

    This is most embarrassing."

"Oh, no, please, everything's quiet now."

    "Well, I can assure you it won't happen again. They must be loud, indeed.

    As I'm sure you're aware, the Savoy is the soundest of structures."

    "Well, I guess they keep the windows open, but, please, don't say anything.

    She'd be pretty sore at me if she thought I talked to you about it.

"I don't understand, sir."

    "Just tell me who they are and I'll talk to them myself. You know,

    friendly-like, over a drink."

    The clerk couldn't have been happier with the Arnerican's solution. "Well,

    if you insist, sir. . . . In eight west one is the Viscount and Viscountess

    Roxbury, charming couple and quite elderly, I believe. Most unusual. How-

    ever, they could be entertaining."

'Tilho's above them?"

"Above them, Mr. Canfield? I don't think..."

"Just tell me, please."

"Well in nine west one is The clerk turned the

page- ~'Ifs not occupied, sir."

    "Not occupied? That's unusual for this time of year, isn't it?"

    "I should say unavailable, sir. Nine west one has been leased for the month

    for business conferences."

"You mean no one stays there at nightr'

    "Oh, they're certainly entitled to but that hasn't been the case.,,

"Who leased it?"

"The firm is Bertholde et Fils."

    224

CHAPTER 29

The telephone beside James Derek!s bed rang harshly, waking him.

"It's Canfield. I need help and it can't wait."

'That may possible be only your judgment. What is ItT' "Scarlatti's suite

was broken into."

"Whatl What does the hotel say?"

"Mey don't know about it."

"I do think you sbould tell them."

"It's not that simple. She woet admit it."

"She's your problem. Why call mer'

"I think she's frightened.... It was a second-story."

    "My dear fellow, her rooms are on the seventh floorl You7re too fantasticl

    Or do the nasty men fly by themselvesr,

    The American paused just long enough to let the Englishman know he waset

    amused. "rhey figured she wouldn't open the door, which, in itself, is

    intereatin& Whoever it was, was lowered from one of the rooms above and

    used a blade. Did you learn anything about Bertholde?"

    "One thing at a time." Derek began to take Canfield seriously.

    "rhat's the point. I think they are the same thing. Bertholde's company

    leased the rooms two Boors above."

,'I beg your pardonr

    'Thars right. For a month. Daily business conferences, no less..,

"I think we'd better have a talk."

    225

    "The girl knows about it and she's frightened. Can you put a couple of men

    on?"

"You think it's necessary?"

"Not really. But I'd hate to be wrong."

    "Very well. The story will be Anticipated jewel theft. Not uniformed, of

    course. One in the corridor, one in the street.11

"I appreciate it. You beginning to wake up?"

    "I am, confound you. I'll be with you in a half hour. With everything I've

    been able -to dig up on Bertholde. And I think we'd better get at look at

    their suite-"

    Canfield left the phone booth and started back to the hotel. His lack of

    sleep was beginning to take effect and he wished he was in an American city

    where such institutions as all-night diners provided coffee. The English,

    he thought, were wrong in thinking themselves so civflized. No one was

    civilized without all-night diners.

    He entered the opulent lobby and noted that the clock above the desk read

    quarter to four. He walked toward the ancient elevators.

"Oh, Mr. Canfield, sirl" The clerk rushed up.

    "What is it?" Canfield could only think of Janet and his heart stopped.

    "Just after you left, sirl Not two minutes after You leftl ... Most unusual

    this time of night. .

"What the hell are you talking about?"

    This cablegram arrived for you." The clerk handed Canfield an envelope.

    111ank you," said a relieved Canfield as he took the cablegram and entered

    the open-grill elevator. As he rose from the ground floor he pressed the

    cable between his thumb and forefinger. It was thick. Benjamin Reynolds had

    either sent a long abstract lecture or there would be a considerable amount

    of decoding to be done. He Only hoped he could finish it before Derek

    arrived.

    Canfield entered his room, sat down in a chair near a floor lamp, and

    opened the cable.

    No decoding was necessary. It was all written in simple business language

    and easily understood when applied to the current situation. Canfield

    separated the pages. There were three.

    226

    SORRY TO INFORM YOU RAWLINS THOMAS AND LILLLAN IN AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT

    REPEAT ACCIDENT POCONO MOUNTAINS STOP BOTH ARE DEAD STOP K14OW THIS WILL

    UPSET YOUR DEAR FRIEND E S STOP SUGGEST YOU CARE FOR HER IN HER DISTRESS

    STOP TO WIMBLEDON BUSINESS STOP WE HAVE SPARED NO EXPENSE AGAIN SPARED NO

    EXPENSE WITH OUR ENGLISH SUPPLIERS TO OBTAIN MAXIMUM QUOTAS OF MERCHANDISE

    STOP THEY ARE SYMPATHETIC WITH OUR PROBLEMS OF SCANDINAVIAN EXPORTS STOP

    THEY ARE PREPARED TO AID YOU IN YOUR NEGOTIATIONS FOR FAIR REDUCTIONS ON

    MAXIMUM PURCHASES STOP THEY HAVE BEEN TOLD OF OUR COMPETITORS IN

    SWITZERLAND AGAIN SWITZERLAND AND THE COMPANIES REPEAT COMPANIES INVOLVED

    STOP THEY KNOW OF THE THREE BRITISH FIRMS IN COMPETITION STOP THEY WILL

    GIVE YOU ALL ASSISTANCE AND WE EXPECT YOU TO CONCENTRATE AGAIN CONCENTRATE

    ON OUR INTERESTS IN ENGLAND STOP DO NOT AGAIN DO NOT ATTEMPT TO UNDERBID

    OUR COMPETITORS IN SWITZERLAND STOP STAY OUT OF IT STOP NOTHING CAN BE

    ACCOMPLISHED STOP

    J. HAMMER WIMBLEDON NEW YORK

    Canfield lit a thin cigar and placed the three pages on the floor between

    his outstretched legs.-He peered down at them.

    Hammer was Reynolds-'s wde name for messages sent to field accountants when

    he considered the contents to be of the utmost importance. The word again

    was for positive emphasis. The word repeat a simple inversion. It denoted

    the negative of whatever it referred to..

    So the Rawlinses-Canfield had to think for a minute before he remembered

    that the Rawlinses were Boothroyd's in-laws-had been murdered. Not an

    accident. And Reynolds feared for Elizabeth Scarlatti's life. Washington

    had reached an agreement with the British government to gain him unusual

    cooperation-no expense spared -and in return had told the English of the

    Swedish securities and the land purchases in Switzerland, which were

    presumed to be related. However, Reynolds did not specify who the men in

    Zurich were. Only that they existed and three upstanding Englishmen were on

    the list. Canfield recalled their names-Masterson of India fame;

    227

Leacock of the British Stock Exchange; and Innes-Bowen, the textile magnate.

    The main points Hammer made were to protect Elizabeth and stay out of

    Switzerland.

    There was a light tapping on his door. Canfield gathered the pages together

    and put them in his pocket. "Who is it?"

    "Goldilocks, confound youl I'm looking for a bed to sleep in." The crisp

    British accent belonged, of course, to James Derek. Canfield opened the

    door and the Englishman walked in without further greeting. He threw a

    manila envelope on the bed, placed his bowler on the bureau, and sat down

    in the nearest stuffed chair.

"I like the hat, James."

    "I'm just praying that it may keep me from being arrested. A Londoner

    prowling around the Savoy at this hour has to have the look of immense

    respectability."

"You have it, take my word."

    "I wouldn't take your word for a damn thing, you insomniac."

"Can I get you a whiskey?"

    "God, nol . . . Madame Scarlatti didn't mention a thing to you?"

    "Nothing. Less than nothing. She tried to divert my attention, Then she

    just shut up and locked herself in her bedroom."

    "I can't believe it. I thought you two were working together." Derek

    withdrew a hotel key attached to the usual wooden identification tag. "I

    had a chat with the hotel bobby."

-can you trust him?"

    "It doesn't matter. It's a master key and he thinks I'm covering a party on

    the second floor."

    "fhen I'll get going. Wait for me, please. Grab some sleep.

    "Hold on. You're obviously connected with Madame Scarlatti. I should do the

    reconnoiteting."

    The field accountant paused. There was merit in what Derek said. He

    presumed the British operative was far more adept at this kind of sleuthing

    than he was. On the other hand, he could not be sure of the man's confi-

    dence. Neither was he prepared to tell him very much and have the British

    government making decisions.

"17haes brave of you, Derek, but I wouldn't ask it."

    228

    "Not brave at aU. Numerous explanations under the Alien Order."

    "Nevertheless, I'd prefer going myself. Frankly, there's no reason for you

    to be involved. I called you for help, not to do my work."

"Let's compromise. In my favor."

.,Why?,,

"It's safer."

"You've won a point."

    "I'll go in first while you wait in the corridor by the lift. I'll check

    -the rooms and then signal you to join me."

"How?"

    "With as little energy as possible. Perhaps a short whistle."

    Canfield heard the short, shrill whistle and walked quickly down the

    hallway to nine west one.

    He closed the door and went to the source of the flashlight. "Everything

    all right?"

    "It's a well-kept hotel suite. Perhaps not so ostentatious as the American

    variety, but infinitely more homelike."

"That's reassuring."

    "More than you know. I really don't like this sort of work."

"I thought you people were famous for it."

    This small talk covered the start of their rapid but thorough search of the

    premises. The floor plan of the rooms was identical to the Scarlatti suite

    two stories below. However, instead of similar furniture there was a long

    table in the center of the 'Main room with perhaps a dozen chairs around

    it.

"Conference table, I presume," said Derek.

"Let's take a look at the window."

"Which one?"

    Canfield thought. "Over here." He went toward the french windows directly

    in line with those of Elizabeth Scarlatti.

    "Good point. Here." The Englishman edged Canfield out of the way as he

    directed the light.

    On the wooden sill was. a freshly made valley, which had gone through the

    paint to the wood grain. Where

    229

the wood met the outer stone there was a similar semicircle, which had cut

through the layers of dirt and turned that small portion of blackish stone

to light gray. The ridge was approximately an inch and a half thick and

obviously caused by the friction of a wide rope.

"Whoever it was is a cat," said Canfield.

    "Let's look around." The two men walked first through the left bedroom door

    and found a double bed fully made up. The bureaus were empty and nothing

    but the usual stationery and corked pens were on the desk. The closets held

    nothing but hangers and cloth shoe repositories. The bathroom was spotless,

    the fixtures gleaming. The second bedroom to the right was the same except

    that the bedspread was mussed. Someone had slept or rested on it.

    "Large frame. Probably six feet or over," said the Englishman.

"How can you tell?"

    "Imprint of the buttocks. See here, below the half point of the bed."

"I wouldn't have thought of that."

"I have no comment."

"He could have been sitting."

"I said probably."

    The field accountant opened the closet door. "Hey, shine the light here."

"There you are."

"Here it ist"

    On the closet floor was a sloppily coiled pile of rope. Through the coils

    at the bottom were three wide straps of leather attached to the rope by

    metal clasps.

"It's an Alpine rig," said the English agent.

"For mountain climbing?"

    "Precisely. Very secure. The professionals won't use it. Unsporting. Used

    for rescues, mainly."

"God bless 'em. Would it scale a wall at the Savoy?"

"Beautifully. Very quick, very safe. You were correct." "Let's get out of

here," said Canfield.

"I'll take that drink now."

    "My pleasure." Canfield rose from the bed with difficulty. "Scotch whiskey

    and soda, friend?"

    230

    The American walked to a table by the window that served as his bar and

    poured two large quantities of whiskey into glasses. He handed one to James

    Derek and half raised his own in a toast.

"You do good work, James."

    You're quite competent yourself. And I've been thinking, you may be right

    about taking that rig."

"All it can do is cause confusion."

    'Ibars what I mean. ft could be helpful. ... It's such an American device."

"I don't understancL"

    "Nothing personal. Just that you Americans are so equipmew conscious, if

    you know what I mean. When you shoot birds in Scotland, you carry heavy

    milliniew cannon with you into the field... When you fish in the Lowlands,

    you have sfx4~undred artifices in your tackle box. The American's some of

    sportsmanship is equated with his ability to nutster the sport witli his

    purchases, not ilk ski]L-

    "U this is hate-the-Ainerican hour, you should get a radio program"

    'TUase, Matthew. rin trying to ton you that I think you're right. Whoever

    broke mto the Scarlatfl suite was an American. We can Vace the rig to

    someone at your embassy Hasn t that occurred to you?-

"We can do what?"

    "Your embassy N ft is someone at your embassy Someone who knows Bertholde.

    The men you suspect of having been involved with the I securities. ... Even

    an Alpine rig has to be manipulated by a trained mountain climber. How many

    climbers can there be in your embassy? Scotland Yard could check it in a

    clay."

"No... We'll handle ft ounelves."

    "Waste of time, you know After all, embassy personnel have dossiers just as

    Bertbolde has. How many are mountain ciimbenr

    The field accountant turned away from James Derek and refilled his glaw

    'That puts it in a police category. We don't want that. Well make the

    interrogations."

    "Just as you say. It shouldn't be difficult Twenty to thirty people at

    most. You should track it down quickly,"

'We will." Canfield walked to his bed and sat d~wn.

"Tell me," said the Englishman, finishing the last of

    231

his whiskey, "do you have a current list of your embassy personnel?

Up~to-date, that is?"

"Of course."

    "And you're absolutely sure that members of the staff working there now

    were part of this securities swindle last Year?"

    "Yes. I've told you that At least, the State Department think so. I wish

    you'd stop harping on it."

    "I shan't any longer. Ifs late and I have a great deal of work on my desk

    which I've neglected." The British operative rose from the chair and went

    to the bureau where he had put his hat- "Good night, Canfield."

    ,,oh, you,re leaving? . . . Was there anything in the Bertholde file? I'll

    read it but right now rm bushed."

    James Derek stood by the door looking down at the aLhausted field

    accountant. "One AeM I'M Sure YOU'll be interested in. . . . Several

    probably, but one comes to Inind.19

-whars thatr

    S Among the marquis s athletic pursuits is mountain climbing. ne imminent

    sportsman is, in fact, a member of the Matterhorn Club. Hes also one of the

    few hundred whove scaled the north side of the Jungfrau. No mean feat, I

    gather.9-

    Canfield stood up angrily and shouted at the Engrlshman. -why dimt you say

    so, for Chrisfs sake?"

    "I frankly thought you were more interested in his associations with your

    embassy. TWs really what I was looking for.-

    The field accountant stared at Derek. "So it was Bertholde. But why? ...

    Unless he knew she wouldn't open the door for anyone. 19

    "Perhaps. I really woulddt know. Enjoy the dossier, Canfield. it's

    fascinating. . . . However. I don7t think :you'll find much in it related

    to the American embassy. ... But that's not why you wanted it, is it?"

    The Britisber let himself out the door, closing it sharply behind him.

    Canfkeld stared after him, confused but too th-ed to care.

    232

    I\

CHAPTER 30

The telephone awoke hm

"Matthew?"

    les, Janr- He held the phone and the blood drained from his arm and it

    hurt.

    ,,rm in the lobby. I told Mother Scarlatd I had some shopping to do."

    The field accountant looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. He had

    needed the sleep. "What happened?"

    "rve never seen her like dus, Matthew. She's frightftled."

"Thaes new. Did she bring up the Sheffield businessr,

    "No. I had to. She brushed it aside and said the situation had changed."

"Nothing else? Just that?-

    "Yes;... There was something else.. She said she was going to talk with you

    this afternoon. She says there are problains back in Now York that have to

    be attended to. I think she's going to WH you that she's decided to leave

    Ennishad and so home."

'11wes imponiblel What did she say exactlyr'

    "She was vague. Just that Chancellor was a fool and that it was senseless

    throwing away time on a wild-goose chaw"

"me dmnt believe thatr

    I know she doesn't She wasti't oonvim:ing alther. But she mum IL Wha an you

    Wing to do?"

    ftke her by mqxiW I hope. Stay out shopping for at least two hours, will

    you?-

They made plans for a late lunch and said good-bye.

    233

Thirty minutes later the field accountant walked across the Savoy lobby into

the grin and ordered breakfast. It was no time to go without food. Without

energy.

    He carried the Bertholde file with him. ~ He promised himself that he'd

    read through it, or most of it, at the table. He opened it and placed it to

    the left of his plate and started at the top of the tint page.

    Jacques Louis Auniont Bertholde~ fourth marquis of Chatellerault.

    It was a dossier like so many other dossiers on the very wealthy Exhaustive

    details about the family lineage. The positions and titles held by each

    member for several generations in business, government, and society-all im-

    pressive sounding, all meaningless to anyone else. The Bertholde

    holdings-enormous-mainly, as Elizabeth Scarlatti had said, within British

    territories. Ilie specific education of the subject in question and his

    subsequent rise in the world of tomirirce. His clubs-all very correcL His

    hobbies-automobiles, hone breeding, dogs.also correct. The sports he

    excelled in-polo, &%ffing, the Matterhorn and the Jungfrau-not only

    correct, but colorful, fitting. And finally the character estimates elic-

    ited from his contemporaries. The most interesting part and yet the part

    many professionals disregarded. The flattering contributions were generally

    supplied by friends or associates hoping to gam. The unflattering, by

    enenues or competitors with a wish to undermine.

    Canfield withdrew a pencil and made two notations in the dossier.

The first was on page 18, paragraph 5.

    No particular reason other than the fact that it seemed out 'of

    place-unattractive-and it contained the name of a city Canfield recalled

    was on Ulster Scarlett!s European itinerary.

    The Bertholde family had extensive interests in the Ruhr Valley, which were

    sold to the German Ministry of Finance several weeks before the assassina-

    tion at Sarajevo. The Bertholde offices in Stuttgart and Tassing were

    closed. The sale caused considerable comment in French business circles and

    the Bertholde family was criticized by the States General and in numerous

    newspaper editorials. No collusion accused, however, due to explanation

    that the

    234

    German Finance Ministry was paying exorbitant prices. Explanation proved

    out. Following %the war, the Ruhr Valley interests repurchased from the

    Weimar government. Offices in Stuttgart and Tassiag reopened-

    The second, on page 23, paragraph 2, referred to one of Bertholde's more

    recently formed corporations and included the following information.

    The Marquis de Bertholde's partners in the importing firm are Mr. Sydney

    Masterson and Mr. Harold Leacock....

Masterson and Leacock.

    Both were on the Zurich list. Each owned one of the fourteen properties in

    Switzerland.

    No surprise. They tied Bertholde 'to the Zurich contingent.

    No surprise at all. Just comforting-in a professional way-to know that

    another piece of the puzzle fittedL

    As he finished his coffee, an unfamiliar man in a Savoy waistcoat

    approached the field accountant.

"Front desk, sir. I have two messages."

    Canfield was alarmed. He reached for the notes extended to him. "You could

    have had me paged."

"Both parties requested that we not do that, sir."

"I see. Thank you."

    The first message was from Derek. "Imperative you contact me."

    The second was from Elizabeth Scarlatti. "Please come to my suite at two

    thirty. It is most urient. I cannot see you before then."

    Canfield lit one of his thin cigars and settled back into the curved Savoy

    dining chair. Derek could wait. The Englishman probably had gotten word of

    Benjamin Reynolds's new arrangement with the British government and was

    either furious or apologetic. He'd postpone Derek.

    Scarlatti, on the other hand, had made a decision. If Janet was right, she

    was folding up. Forgetting for ' the moment his own potential loss, he

    could never explain her reversal -to Reynolds, or Glover, or anyone else at

    Group Twenty, for that matter. He had spent thousands

    235

of dollars on the premise that he -had Elizabeth's cooperation.

    The field accountant thought about the old woman!s visitor, the fourth

    marquis of Chatellerault, veteran of the Matterhorn and the Jungfrau,

    Jacques Louls Bertholde. Why had he broken into the Scarlath suite the Way

    he had? Was it simply the locked door and the knowledge that it would

    remain locked? Was it to terrify Elizabeth? or was he searching for

    something?

    Just as he and Derek had searched in the darkness two Boors above.

    once confronting her what could Bertholde have said to bend her will? What

    could he possibly say that would frighten Elizabeth Scarlatti?

    He could promise the death of her son if he were still alive. That might do

    it... But would it? Her son had betrayed her. Betrayed the Scarlatti

    IndustrieL Canfield bad the unnatural feeling that Elizabeth would rather

    see her son dead am let him continue that betrayal.

Yet now she was retreating.

    Again Canfield felt the inadequacy he had begun to feel aboard the

    Ca1purnia. An assignment conceived of as theft had been complicated by

    extraordinary occurrences, extraordinary people.

    He forced his mind back to Elizabeth Scarlattie He, was Convinced She could

    16not See" him before two thirty because she was completing arrangements to

    return home.

    Well, he had a shock in store for her. He knew she bad had an early-morning

    visitor. And he had the Bertholde dossier.

    The dossier she could refuse. The Alpine rig would be irresistible.

    ,,I wrote in my note that I couldnt see you before two thirtyl Would you

    please respect my wishes?"

'It cant wait. Ut me in quicklyl"

    She opened the door in disgust, leaving it ajar as she walked back into the

    center of the room. Canfield closed it, loudly inserting the bolt. He spoke

    before she turned around to face bm Ive read the dossier. I know now why

    your visitor diMt have to open the door."

it was as if a pistol had been fired in front of her an-

    236

cient face. The old woman turned and sprang her back forward and arched her

neck. Had she been thirty years younger, she would have leapt upon him in

fury. She spoke with an intensity -he had never heard from her before.

    "You unconscionable bastardl You're a liarl A thiefl Ilarl Liarl I'll have

    you spend the rest of your life in prisont"

    "That's very good. Attack for attackl You've pulled it before but not this

    time. Derek was with me. We found the rig. An Alpine rig, he called

    it-which your visitor let down the side of the building."

    The old woman lurched toward him, unsteady on her feet.

    "For Christ's sake, relaxl I'm on your side." He held her thin shoulders.

    "You've got to buy himl Oh, my Godl You've got to buy hinil Get him herel"

"Why? Buy him how? WhoT'

    "Derek. How long have you known? Mr. Canfield, I ask you in the name of all

    that's holy, how long have you known?.1

~'Since about five o'clock this morning."

    "Men he's talked to othersl Oh, my God, he's talked to othersl" She was

    beside herself, and Canfield was now frightened for her.

    "I'm sure -he has. But only to his immediate superiors and I gather hes

    pretty superior himself. What did you expe

    'WO,

    The old woman tried with what strength she had left to regain control of

    herself. "You may have caused the murder of my entire family. If you've

    done that, Ill see you dead!"

    "Thaes pretty strong languagel You'd better tell me whyll'

    "I'll tell you nothing until you get Derek on that telephone. 11

    The field accountant crossed the room to the telephone and gave the

    operator Derek's number. He talked urgently, quietly, for a few moments and

    turned to the old woman. "He's going in to a meeting in twenty minutes. He

    has a full report and they'll expect him to read iV,

    237

    The old woman walked rapidly toward Canfield. "Give me that phonel"

    He handed her both the stand and the receiver. "Mr. Derekl Elizabeth

    Scarlatti. Whatever this meeting is, do not go to itl I am not in the habit

    of begging, sir, but I implore you, do not gol Please, please do not speak

    to a soul about last nightl If you do, you will be responsible for the

    deaths of a number of innocent people. I can say no more now. . . . Yes,

    yes, whatever you like. . . . I'll see you, of course. In an hour. Thank

    you. Thank you I"

    She replaced the receiver on thehook and slowly, with great relief, put the

    telephone back on the -table. She looked at the field accountanL "Thank

    Godl"

    The field accountant watched her as she spoke. He began to walk toward her.

    "Sweet mother of Jesusl I'm beginning to see. That crazy Alpine thing. The

    acrobatics at two in the morning. It wasn't just to scare you half to

    death-it was necessaryl"

"What are you talking about?"

    "Since early this morning I've thought it was Bertholdel And he'd conie to

    you like that to scare hell out of youl But it didn't make sense. It

    wouldn't accomplish anything. He could have stopped you in the lobby, in a

    store, in the dining room. It had to be someone who couldn't do thatl

    Someone who couldn't take a chance anywherel"

"You're babblingl You're incoherentl"

    "Sure., you're willing to call the whole thing off I Why not? You did what

    you'd set out to dol You found himl You've found your missing son, haven't

    you?"

'I"hat's a liel"

    "Oh, no, it's not. It!s so clear I should have thought of it last night.

    The whole damn thing was so weird I looked for insane explanations. I

    thought it was persuasion by terror. It's been used a lot these past few

    years. But it wasn't that at aRl It was our celebrated war hero come back

    to the land of -the livingl Ulster Stewart Scarlettl The only one who

    couldn't risk stopping you outside, The only one who couldn't take a chance

    that you might not unlatch that boltl"

"Conjecturel I deny itl"

    "Deny all you likel Now I'm giving you a choicel Derek will be here in less

    -than an hour. Either we straighten this out between us before then, or I

    walk out that door

    238

and cable my office that in my highly, regarded professional opinion we've

found Ulster Scarlettl And, incidentally, I'm taking your daughter-in-law

with me."

    The old woman suddenly lowered her voice to nearly a whisper. She walked

    haltingly toward the field accountant. "If you have any feeling whatsoever

    for that girl, you'll do as I ask. If you don't, she'll -be killed."

    It was now the field accountant's turn to raise his voice. It was no longer

    the shout of the angry debater, it was the roar of an angry man. "Don't you

    make any pronouncements to mel Don't you or your rotten bastard son make

    any threats to mel You may buy part of me, but you don't buy at[ of mel You

    tell him I'll kill him if he touches that girll"

    Pleading without shame, Elizabeth Scarlatti touched his arm. He withdrew it

    swiftly from her. "It's not my threat Please, in the name of God, listen to

    me. Try to understand. . . . I'm helpless. And I can not be helpedl"

    The field accountant saw the tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks. Her skin

    was white and the hollows of her eyes were black with exhaustion. He

    thought, quite out of context with the moment, that he was looking at a

    tear-stained corpse. His anger ebbed.

    "Nobody has to be helpless. Don't let anybody tell you that.19

"You love her, don't you?"

    "Yes. And because I do, you don't have to be quite so afraid. I'm a

    committed public servant. But 'far more committed to us than the public."

"Your confidence doesn't change the situation."

"You won't know that until you tell me what it is."

"You leave me no choice? No alternative?"

"None. .0

    "Then God have mercy on you. You have an awesome responsibility. You are

    responsible for our lives."

She told him.

    And Matthew Canfield knew exactly what he would do. It was time to confront

    the Marquis de Bertholde.

    239

    CHAPTER 31

Fifty-seven miles southeast of London is -the seaside resort of Ramsgate.

Near the town, on a field set back from the main road, stood a wooden shack

no more than twenty feet by twenty. It had two small windows and in the

early-morning mist a dim light could be seen sbinin through them. About a

hundred yards to the north was a larger buddmg--*nce a bam-five times the

size of the shack. It was now a hangar for two small monoplanes. One of them

was being wheeled out by three men in gray overalls.

    inside the shack, the man with the shaved head sat at a table drinking

    black coffee and munching bread. The reddish splotch above his right eye

    was sore and inflamed and he touched it continually.

    He read the message in front of him and looked up at the bearer, a man in

    a chauffeues uniform. The conterits of the message infuriated him.

    rhe marquis has gone too far. The instructions from Munich were clear The

    Rawhnses were na to be killed in the States. They were to be brought to

    Zurichl They were to be killed in Zurichr

    rbeWs no need for concern. Their deaths, the man and his wife, were

    engineered above suspicion. The marquis wanted you to know that It has

    appeared as an acC

'ident 99

    L

    "To whom? God damn it, to whom? Go shag, all of youl Munich doesn't want

    risksl In Zurich there would have been no riskl" Ulster Scarlett rose

    from the chair and walked to the small window overlooking the fiel(L

    240

His plane was nearly ready. He hoped his fury would subside before takeoff.

He disliked flying when he was angry. He made mistakes in the air when he

was angry. It had been happening more frequently as the Pressures mounted-

    God damn Bertholdel Certainly Rawlins had to be killed. In his panic over

    Cartwright's discovery Rawlins had ordered his son-in-law to kill Elizabeth

    Scarlatti. A massive errorl Its funny, he reflected. He no longer thought

    of the old woman as his mother. Simply Elmbeth Scarlatti. . . . But to have

    Rawlins murdered three thousand miles away was insaaityl How could they

    know who was asking questions? And how easily might the order be traced

    back to Bertholde?

    "Regardless of what happened . Labishe started to speak-

    "What?" Scarlett turned from the window. He had made up his mind.

    'I'he marquis also wanted you to know that regardless of what happened to

    Boothroyd, all associations with him are buried with the Rawlinses."

    "Not quite, Labishe. Not quite." Scarlett spoke softly but his voice was

    hard. '-Me Marquis de Bertholde was -ordered . . . commanded by Munich to

    have the Rawlinses brought to Switzerland. He disobeyed. That was most

    unfortunate."

"Pardon, monsieur?"

    Scarlett reached for his flying jacket, which hung over the back of his

    chair. Again be spoke quietly, simply. Two words.

'Kill him."

"Monsieurl"

    "Kill himl Kill the Marquis de Bertholde and do it todayl"

"Monsieurl I do not believe what I hearl"

    "Listen to mel I don't give explanationsl By the time I reach Munich I want

    a cable waiting for me telling me that stupid son of a bitch is deadl ...

    And, Labishel Do it so there's no mistake who killed him. Youl We can't

    have any investigations nowl ' . . Get back here to the field. We'll fly

    you out of the country."

    "Monsieur! I have been with le marquis for fifteen years! He has been good

    to mel ... I can not..."

"You what?"

    241

    "Monsieur. . ." The Frenchman sunk to one knee. "DO not ask me. ... ."

"I dcet ask. I commandl Munich commandsl"

    The foyer on the third floor of BerthOlde et Fils was enormous. In the rear

    was an impressive set of white Louis XIV doors that obviously led to the

    sanctum Sancm torum of the Marquis do Bertholde. On the right side were six

    brown leather armchairs in a semicircle--the sort that might be found in

    the study of a wealthy country squire--with a thick rectangular coffee

    table placed in front. On the table were neatly stacked Piles Of chic

    magazine&--chic socially and chic industrially. On the left side of the

    room was a large white desk trimmed in gold. Behind the desk sat a most

    attractive brunet with spit curls silhouetted against her forehead. All

    this Canfield took in with his second impression. It took him several

    moments to get over his first.

    Opening the elevator door, he had been visually overpowered by the color

    scheme of the walls.

    They were magenta red and sweeping from the ceiling moldings were arcs of

    black velvet

    Good Christl he said to himself. rm in a hallway thirty-five hundred miles

    awayl

    Seated in the chairs beside one another were two middle-aged gentlemen in

    Savile Row clothes reading magazines. Standing off to the right was a man

    in a chauffeur's uniform, his hat off, his hands clasped behind his back.

    Canfield approached the desk. The spit-curled secretary greeted him before

    he could speak. "Mr. Canfield?"

"Yes. 11

    "I'lie marquis would like you to go right in, sir." The girl spoke as she

    rose from the chair and started toward the large white doors. Canfield saw

    that the man seated on the left was upset. He uttered a few "Damnsl" and

    went back to his magazine.

    "Good afternoon, Mr. Canfield." The fourth marquis of Chatellerault stood

    behind his large white desk and extended his hand. "We have not met, of

    course, but an emissary from Elizabeth Scarlatti is a welcome guest. Do sit

    down."

Bertholde was almost wnat Canfield expected him to

    242

be, except, perhaps, shorter. He was well-groomed, relatively handsome, very

masculine, with a voice resonant enough to fill an opera house. However, in

spite of his exuding virility-bringing to mind the Matterhom and the

Jungfrau-there was somethmg artificial, slightly effete about the man.

Perhaps the clothing. It was almost too fashionable.

    "How do you dor' Canfield smiled, shaking the Frenchman's hand. " Is it

    Monsieur Bertholde? or Monsieur le Marquis? I'm not sure which I should

    use."

    "I could tell you several uiiflattering names given me by your countrymen."

    The marquis laughed. "But please, use the French custom--.so scorned by our

    proper Anglicans. Plain Bertholde will do. Marquises are such an outof-date

    custom." The Frenchman smiled ingenuously and waited until Canfield sat in

    the chair in front of his desk before returning to his seat. Jacques Louis

    Aumont Bertholde, fourth marquis of Chatellerault, was immensely likable

    and Canfield recognized the fact

"I appreciate your interrupting your schedule."

    "Schedules are made to be broken. Such a dull existence otherwise, yes?"

    .11 won't waste time, sir. Elizabeth Scarlatti wants to negotiate."

    Jacques Bertholde leaned back in his chair and looked startled. "Negotiate?

    . . . I'm afraid I don't comprehend, monsieur... . Negotiate whatr'

    "She knows, Bettholde... She knows as much as she needs to kqow. She wants

    to meet you."

    "I'd be delighted-at any :dme-to meet Madame Scarlatti but I can't imagine

    what we have to discuss. Not in a business sense, monsieur, which I presume

    to be your ... errand."

"Maybe the key is her son. Ulster Scarlett."

    Bertholde leveled his gaze intently on the field accountant. "It is a key

    for which I 'have no lock, monsieur. I have not had the pleasure. . . . I

    know, as most who read newspapers know, that he vanished a number of months

    ago. But that is all I know."

"And you don't know a thing about Zurich?"

    Jacques Bertholde abruptly sat up in his chair. 'Vuoi? Zurich?"

"We know about Zurich."

"Is this a joke?"

    243

    -No. Fourteen men in Zurich. Maybe you've got the fifteenth.... Elizabeth

    ScarlattL"

    Canfield could hear Bertholde's breathing. 'Where did you get this

    information? What do you refer to?"

"Uster Scarlettl Why do you think I'm here?"

    "I don't believe youl I don7t know what you are talking abouti" Bertholde

    got out of his chair.

    For God's sakel She's interested. . . . Not bemuse of himi Because of youl

    And the othersl She's got something to offer, and if I were. you, rd listen

    to her."

    "But you are not me, monsieurl Im afraid I must ask you to leave. There is

    no business between Madame Scarlatti and the Bertholde companies."

    Canfield did not move. He remained in the chair and spoke quietly. "Then

    I'd better put it another way. I think you'll have to see her. Talk with

    her. For your own good. For Zurich's good."

"You threaten me?"

    "If you don't, it's my opinion -that she'll do something drastic. I don't

    have to tell you she's a powerful woman. ... You're linked with her son.

    And she met with her son last nightt"

    Bertholde stood motionless. Canfield couldn't decide whether the

    Frenchman's look of disbelief was over the revelation of Scarlett!s visit

    or his--the field accountanes-knowledge of it.

    After a few moments Bertholde replied, "I know nothing of what you speak.

    It has nothing to do with me."

    "Oh, come onl I found the rigl The Alpine rigl I found it at the bottom of

    a closet in your conference suite at the Savoyl"

"You whatr'

"You heard me! Now, let's stop kidding each otherl"

"You broke into my firm's private quarters?"

    "I didl And that's just the beginning. We've got a list You might know some

    of the names on it. . . . Daudet and D'Almeida, fellow countrymen, I think

    .... Olaffsen, I.andor, Thyssen, von Schnitzler, Kindorf . . . . And, oh

    yesl Mr. Masterson and Mr. Leacockl Current partners of yours, I believel

    There are several others, but I'm sure you know their names better than I

    do I"

    'T.noughl Enough, monsieurl" The Marquis de Bertholde sat down again,

    slowly, deliberately. He stared at CanfiekL "I will clear my office and we

    will talk further.

    244

People have been waiting. It does not look good. Wait outside. I will

dispense with them quickly."

    The field accountant got out of the chair as BerthOlde picked up the

    telephone and pressed the button for his secretary.

    "Monsieur Canfield will remain. I wish to ifinisli the afternoon's businen

    as rapidly as possible. With each person interrupt me in five minutes if I

    have not concluded by then. What? Labishe? Very well. send him in. I'll

    give them to him." The Frenchman reached into his pocket and withdrew a set

    of keys.

    Canfield crossed to the large white double dwrs. Betore his hand touched

    the bran knob, the door on his left opened swiftly, with great fmce-

"So sorry, monsieur," the man in uniform said.

"Voici les clefs, Labishe,"

    "Merci, Monsieur le Marquisl Je regrette.... Fai un billet. . ."

    The chauffeur closed the door and Canfield, smiled at the secretary.

    He wandered over to the semicircle of chairs, and as the two gentlemen

    looked up, he nodded pleasantly. He sat down on the end chair nearest the

    entmnce to Bertholde's office and picked up the London Illustrated News. He

    noted that the man nearest him was fidgeting, irritable, quite impatient He

    was turning the pages of Punch but he was not reading. The other man was

    engrossed in an article in the Quarterly Review.

    Suddenly, Canfield was diverted by an insignificant action on the part of

    the impatient man. The extended his left hand through his coat sleeve,

    turned his wrist, and looked at the watch. A perfectly normal 0=11717ence

    under the circumstances. What startled the field acoountant was the sight

    of the man's cuff link. It was made of cloth and it was square with two

    stripes running diagonally from corner to corner. Tie small stripes were

    deep red and black. It was a replica of the cuff link that had identified

    the hulking, masked Charles Boothro~d in Elizabeth Scarlatti's stateroom on

    board the Calpurnia. The colors were the same as the paper on the marquis'

    walls and the black velvet drapes arcing from the ceiling.

    The impatient man noticed Canfield's stare. He abruptly withdrew his hand

    into his jacket and placed his arm at his side.

    245

    "I was trying to read the time on your watch. Mine's been running fast."

"Four twenty."

"I'lianks.-O

    The impatient gentleman folded his arms and leaned back, looking

    exasperated. The other man spoke.

"Basil, you'll have a stroke if you don!t relax."

    'Veil and good for you, Arthurl But I'm late for a meetingl I told Jacques

    it was a hectic day, but he insisted I come over."

d1k can be insistent."'

"He can be bloody rude, tool"

    There followed five minutes of silence except for the rustling of papers at

    the secretary's desk.

    The large left panel of the white double doors opened and the chauffeur

    emerged. He closed the door, and Canfield noticed that once'it was shut,

    the chauffeur twisted the knob to make sure it was secure. It was a curious

    motion.

    The uniformed man went to the secretary and leaned over her desk,

    whispering. She reacted to his information vnth resigned annoyance. He

    shrugged his shoulders and walked quickly to a door to the right of the

    elevator. Canfield saw through the slowly closing door the flight of stairs

    he had presumed to be there.

    The secretary placed some papers into a manila folder and looked over at

    the three men. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, the Marquis de Bertbolde can not see

    anyone further this afternoon. We apologize for any inconvenience."

    "Now see here, young ladyl" The impatient gentleman was on his feet. 'This

    is preposterousl I've been here for three-quarters of an hour at the

    explicit request of the Marquisl ... Request be damnedl At his

    instructionsl"

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll convey your displeasure."

    "You'll do more than thatl You'll convey to Monsieur Bertholde that I am

    waiting right here until he sees mel" He sat down pompously.

    The man named Arthur rose and walked toward the elevator.

    "For heaven's sake, man, youtll not improve French manners. People have

    been trying for centuries. Come along, Basil. We'll stop at the Dorchester

    and start the evening.,,

"Can't do it, Arthur. I'm staying right where I am."

    - 246

"Have it your way. Be in touch."

    Canfield remained in his seat next to the unpatient BasiL He knew only that

    he would not leave until Bertholde came out. Basil was his best weapon.

"Ring the marquis again, please, miss," said Basil.

She did so.

A number of times. And there was no response.

    The field accountant was alarmed. He rose. from his chair and walked to the

    large double doors and knocked. There was no answer. He tried opening both

    doors; they were locked.

    Basil unfolded his arms and got out of his chair. The spit-curled secretary

    stood up behind her white desk. She automatically picked up the phone and

    started pressing the buzzer, finally holding her finger down upon it.

"Unlock the door," commanded the field accountant.

"Oh, I don't know. . ."

"I dot Get me a keyl"

    The girl started to open the top drawer of her desk and then looked up at

    the American. "Perhaps we should wait . . . ...

"Damn itl Give me the keyl"

    "Yes, sirl" She picked up a ring of keys and selecting one, separated it

    from the others, and gave the key to Canfield. He rapidly unlocked the

    doors and flung them open-

    There in front of them was the Frenchman sprawled across the top of his

    white desk, blood trickling from his mouth; his tongue was Wended and

    swollen; his eyes bulged from their sockets; his neck was inflated and lac-

    erated just below the chin line. He had been expertly garroted.

    The girl kept screaming but did not oollapse-a fact that Canfield wasn't

    sure was fortunate. Basil began to shake and repeated "Oh, my God!" over

    and over again. The field accountant approached the desk and lifted the

    dead man's wrist by the coat sleeve. He let it go and the hand fell back.

    The girrs screams grew louder and two middle-aged executives burst through

    the staircase doorway into the outer room. Through the double doors the

    scene was clear to both men. One ran back to the stairway, shouting at the

    top of his voice, while the other slowly, fearfully walked into Bertholde's

    room.

    247

"Le bon Dieul"

    Within a minute, a stream of employees had run down and up the staircase,

    log-jammin themselves in the doorway. As each group squeezed through,

    subsequent screa

and oaths followed. Within two minutes twenty five people were shouting

instructions to nonexistent subordbiatm

    Canfield sbook the spit-curled secretary in an attempt to stop her

    screaming. He kept telling her to phone the police, but she could not

    accept the order. Canfield did not want to make the call himself because it

    would have required separate concentration. He wished to keep his full

    attention on everyone in sight, especially Basil, if that was possible.

    A tall, distinguished-looking, gray-baired man in a double-breasted

    pin-stripe suit came rushing through the crowd up to the secretary and

    Canfield. "Miss Richardsl Miss Richardsl What in Gods name happened?"

    "We opened his door and found him like thist Thats what happened," shouted

    the field accountant over the growing din of excited voices.

    And then Canfield looked closely at the questioner. Where had he seen him

    before? Or had he? The man was like so many in the Scarlatti world. Even to

    the per~ fectly waxed moustache.

"Have you phoned the poucer' asked the gentleman.

    Canfield saw Basil pushing his way -through the hysterical mob gathered by

    the office doors. "No, the police haven't been called," yelled the American

    as he watched Basil making headway through the crowd. "Call theml . . . It

    might be a good idea to close these doors." He started after Basil as if to

    push the doors shut The distinguished-looking man with the waxed moustache

    held him firmly by the lapel.

"You say you found him?"

"Yes. Let go of mel"

"What's your name, young man?-

"What?"

"I asked you your namel"

'Derek, James Derekl Now, phone the policel"

    Canfield took the man's wrist and pressed hard against the vein. The arm

    withdrew in pain and Canfield ran into the crowd after Basil.

The man in the pin-striped suit winced and turned to

    248

the secretary. "Did you get his name, Miss Richards? I couldn't hear."

    The girl was sobbing. "Yes, sir. It was Darren, or Derrick. First name,

    James."

    The man with the waxed moustache looked carefully at the secretary. She had

    heard. "The police, Miss Richards. Phone the polibel"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Poole."

    The man named Poole pushed his way through the crowd. He had to get to his

    office, he had to be by himself. They had done itl The men of Zurich had

    ordered Jacques' deathl His dearest, friend, his mentor, closer to him than

    anyone in the world. The man who'd given him everything, made everything

    possible for him.

The man he'd killed for-willingly.

They'd payl They'd pay and pay and payl

    He, Poole, had never failed Bertholde in life. He'd not fail him in death

    eitherl

But there were questions. So many questions.

    This Canfield who'd just lied about his name. The old woman, Elizabeth

    Scarlatti.

    Most of all the misshapen Heinrich Kroeger. The man Poole knew beyond a

    doubt was Elizabeth Scarlatti's son. He knew because Bertholde had told

    him.

He wondered if anyone else knew.

    On the third-floor landing, which was now completely filled with Bertholde

    employees in varying stages of hys~ teria, Canfield could see Basil one

    floor below pulling himself downward by the railing. Canfield began

    yelling.

    "Get clearl Get clearl The doctor's waitingl I've got to bring him upl Get

    clearl"

    To some degree the ruse worked and he made swifter headway. By the time he

    reached the first-floor lobby, Basil was no longer in sight. Canfield ran

    out the front entrance onto the sidewalk. There was Basil about half a

    block south, limping in the middle of Vauxhall Road, waving,.trying to hail

    a taxi. The knees of his trousers were coated with mud where he had fallen

    in his haste.

    Shouts were still coming from various windows of Bertholde et Fils, drawing

    dozens of pedestrians to the foot of the company's steps.

    Canfield walked against the crowd toward the limping figure,

A taxi stopped and Basil grabbed for the door handle.

    249

As he pulled the door open and climbed in, Canfield reached the side of the

cab and prevented -the Englishman from pulling the door shut. He moved in

alongside Basil, pushing hun sideway to make room.

    "I sayl What are you doing?" Basil was frightened but he did not rain his

    voice. The driver kept turning his head back and forth from the street in

    front of Inm to the gathering crowds receding behind him. Basil I did not

    wish to draw additional attention.

    Before Basil could think further, the American grasped the Englishman's

    right hand and pulled the coat above his wrist. He twisted Basil's arm

    revealing the red and black cuff link.

"Zurich, Basill" the field accountant whispered.

"What are you talking aboutr'

    "You dsinin fool, I'm with yout Or I will be, if they let you livel"

"Oh, my Godl Oh, my Godt" Basil babbled.

    The American released Basil's band by throwing it downward. He looked

    straight ahead as if ignoring the Englishman. "You're an idiot. You realize

    that, don't

YOU?,,

    "I don't know you, sirl I don't know youl" The Englishman was near

    collapse.

    "Tben we'd better change that-I may be all you bave left-$

    "Now see here. I had nothing to do with itl I was in the waiting room with

    you. I had nothing to do with id"

    "of course, you didn't. It's pretty damned obvious that it was the

    chauffeur. But a number of people are going to want to know why you ran.

    Maybe you were just making sure the job was done."

I-rhat's preposterousl"

    rhen why did you run away?-

"I ... 1. . ."

    1,L_-tls not talk now. Where can we go where we'll be seen for about ten or

    fifteen minutes? I don't want it -to look as though we dropped out of

    sighL"

"My club ... I suppose."

"Give him the addressl"

    250

CHAPTER 32

"What the devil do you mean I was there?" James Derek shouted into the

phone. "I've been here at the Savoy since midafternoonl . . . Yes, of course

I am. Since three or thereabouts. . . . No, she's here with me." The

Englishman suddenly caught his breath. When he spoke again his words were

barely audible, drawn out in disbelief. "Good Lordl How horrible. . . . Yes.

Yes, I heard YoU. It

, Elizabeth Scarlatti sat across the room on the Victorian couch, absorbed

in the Bertholde dossier. At the sound of Derek's voice she looked up at the

Englishman. He was staring at her. He spoke again into the phone.

    "Yes. He left here roughly at three thu-ty. With Ferguson, from our office.

    They were to meet Mrs. Scarlett at Tippin's and he was to proceed from

    there to Bertholde's. ... I doet know. His instructions were that she

    remain in Ferguson's custody until he returned. Ferguson7s to call im . .

    . I see. For heaveres sake, keep me posted. I'll phone you if there're any

    developments here."

    He replaced the telephone receiver on the hook and remained at the table.

    "Bertholde's been killed."

"Good Godl Where's my daughterr,

    "With our man. She's all right. He reported in an hour ago.19

"Canfieldt Where's Canfieldr,

"I wish I knew."

"Is he all right?"

"How can I answer that if I don't know where he is?

    251

We can presume he's functioning. He identified himself as nxe and left the

scenel"

    How did it happen?"

"He was garroted. A wire around his throat"

    "Ohl" Elizabeth suddenly, vividly recalled the picture of Matthew Canfield

    thrusting the cord in her face after Boothroyd's attempt on her life aboard

    the Calpurm& "If be killed him, he must have had a reasonl"

-For killing him. He must have w tor

67bafs most interesting."

'What isr'

"That you would tbink Canfield bad to kill him."

"It couldn't have happened otherwisel He's no killer."

"He didn't kill Bertholde either, if Ws any comfort to

YOU. 9.

Her relief was visible. "Do they know who didT'

    -11my believe so. Apparently it was Bertholde's chauffeur.19

"That's odd."

    Very. The maes been with him for yeam"

Verhaps Canfield's gone after him."

    "Not likely. The man left some ten to twelve minutes before they found

    Bertholde."

    James Derek walked from the telephone table toward Flizabeth. it was

    obvious that -he was upset. "In the light of what!s just happened, rd like

    to ask you a question. But, of course, you needn't answer. . .

"What is it?"

    'Td like to know how-or perhaps why-Mr. Canfield received a full clearance

    from the British Foreign Off!="

"I don't know what that is."

    "Come, madame. If you doift care to answer, I respect that. But since my

    names been used in the killing of an bfitiential man, I believe rin

    entitled -to something more than another ... falsehood."

"Another ... falsehood? ThaiVs insulting, Mr. Derek."

    'Is it? And are you and Mr. Canfield still setting elaborate traps for

    embassy personnel who returned to the United States over four months agor

    "Oh." Eizabeth sat down again on the couch. She was not concerned with the

    Englishmans complaint; she only wished Canfield was there to answer him

    What she

    252

was concerned with was the agent's reference to the Foreign Office. "An

unfortunate necessity."

    "Most unfortunate. . . . I gather, then, that you don1 care to answer."

    "On the contrary, I have answered you." Elizabeth looked up at the

    Britisher. "I wish you'd explain. What is full clearance?"

    "Extraordinary cooperation from the highest echelons of our government. And

    such decisions from the British Foreign Office are generally reserved for

    major political crisesl Not a stocks-and-bonds struggle between squabbling

    millionaires.... Or, if you'll pardon me, a private citizeifs personal

    'tragedy."

Elizabeth Scarlatti froze.

    What James Derek bad just said was abhorrent to the head of Scarlatti. More

    than anything else she had to operate outside the boundaries of "highest

    echelon " scrutiny. For the sake of Scarlatti itself. Canfield's minor

    agency had seemed heaven-sent. Her arrangement with him gave her the

    facilities of official cooperation without answering to anyone of

    consequence, If she had wanted it otherwise, she would have commanded any

    number of men in either or both the legislative and executive branches of

    the United States government. it would not have been difficult. . . . Now,

    it seemed, Canfield's relatively unimportant department had grown in

    significance- Or perhaps her son had Involved himself in an undertaking far

    more ominous than she had conceived.

    Was the answer in the Bertholde dossier? Elizabeth wondered. "i gather from

    your tone that this full ckarance is a new developmejit"

"I was informed this morning."

    Then it must be in the Bertholde dossier, thought Elizabeth... of course it

    wasi Even Matthew Canfield had begun to perceive itl Only his perception

    had been based solely on the recognition of certain words, names. He had

    marked the pages. Elizabeth picked up the file.

    ,Touowing the war, the Ruhr Valley interests repurchased... offices in

    Stuttgart and Tassing

Tassin&

Germany.

An economic crisis.

The Weimar Republic.

    253

    A series of economic crisesl A major and constant political crisis I

    ". . . partners in the importing firm are Mr. Sydney Masterson and Mr.

    Harold Leacock .....

Masterson and Leacock. Zurichl

Tassingl

"Does the city of Tassing mean anything to you?"

    "It's not a city. It is an outlying district of Munich. In Bavaria. Why do

    you ask?"

    "My son spent a good deal of time and money there ... among other places.

    Does it have-any special meaning for you?"

"Munich?"

"I suppose so."

    "Hotbed of radicalism. Breeding ground of malcontents."

"Malcontents? ... Communi ts?"

    "Hardly. They'd shoot a Red on sight. Or a Jew. Call themselves

    Schutzstaflel. Go around clubbing people. Consider themselves a race apart

    from the rest of the world."

A race apart.

0h, Godl

    Elizabeth looked at the dossier in her hands. Slowly she replaced it in the

    manila -envelope and stood up. Without saving a word to the Englishman, she

    crossed to her bedroom door and let herself in. She closed the door behind

    her.

    James Derek remained in the center of the room. He didn't understand.

    Inside her bedroom Elizabeth went to her writing desk where papers were

    scattered across the top. She sorted them out until she found the Zurich

    Est.

She read each name carefully.

    AvERY LANDoR, U.S.A.--Oil. Louis GIBSON, U.S.A.--Oil.

    THOMAS RAwLiNs, U.S.A.-Securities.

    HowARD THORNTON, U.S.A.-Industrial Construction. SYDNEY MASTERSON, GREAT

    BRITAIN-Imports. DAvm INNEs-BowEN, GREAT BRITAiN-Textiles. HAROLD LEACOCK,

    GRP-AT BRiTAiN-Securities.

    Louis FRANgois DALMMA, FRANcE-Railroady. PIERRE DAUDET, FRANcE--Ship lines.

    INGMAR MYRDAL, SwEDEN--Securities.

    254

    CHRISTIAN OLAIFFSEN, SWEDEN-Steel. OTTO VON ScHNrrZLER, GERMANY-1. G.

    Farben.

    FRiTz THYSSEN, GERMANY-Steel. ERicH KINDORF, GERmANY-Coal.

    One might say that the Zurich list was a cross-section of the most powerful

    men in the Western hemisphere.

    Elizabeth put the list down and reached for a leatherbound notebook in

    which she kept telephone numbers and addresses. She thumbed to the letter

    0.

    Ogilvie and Storm, Ltd., Publishers, Bayswater Road, London.

    She would phone Thomas Ogilvie and have him send her whatever information

    he could unearth on the Schutzstaflel.

    She knew something about it already. She remembered reading its political

    name was the National Socialists and they were led by a man named Adolph

    11itler.

255

CHAPTER 33

The man's name was Basil Hawkwood, and Canfield quickly pictured the

trademark hawkwood-small letter h-as it appeared on a variety of leather

goods. Hawkwood Leather was one of the largest firms in England, only a

short distance behind Mark Cross.

    The nervous Basil led Canfield in-to the huge reading room of his club,

    Knights. They chose two chairs by the Knightsbridge window, where there

    were no other members within earshot.

    Basil's fear caused him to stutter, and when his words came, the phrases

    tumbled over one another. He assumed, because he wanted to assume, that the

    young man facing him would help him.

    Canfield sat back in the comfortable chair and listened with incredulity to

    Hawkwood's-story.

    The chairman of Hawkwood Leather had been sending shipment aftei shipment

    of "damaged" leather goods to a little-known firm in Munith. For over a

    year the directors of Hawkwood accepted the losses on the basis of the

    -damage.XI classification. Now, however, they had ordered a complete report

    on the excess malfunctions of the pknts. The Hawkwood heir was trapped.

    There could be no more shipments for an indeterminate time.

    He pleaded with Matthew Canfield to understand. He begged the young man to

    report and confirm his loyalty, but the boots, the belts, the holsters

    Would have to come from someone else.

'Vhy do you wear the cuff Unksr' asked Canfield.

    256

    "I wore them today to remind Bertholde of my contribution. He presented

    them to me himself. You're not wearing yours."

"My oontribution doesn't call for them."

    "Well, damn it, mine doesl I haven't stinted in the past and I won't in the

    futurel" Hawkwood leaned forward -in his chair. 'The present circumstances

    don't change my feelingst You can report that God damn Jewsl Radir-alsl

    Bolshevikst All over Buropel A conspiracy to destroy every decent principle

    good Christian men have lived by for centuriest They'll murder us in our

    bedsl Rape our daughtprsl Pollute the -racesl I've never doubted itl I'll

    help again. You have my wordl Soon there'll be millions at our disposall"

    Matthew Canfield suddenly felt sick. What in God's name had he done? He got

    out of the chair and his legs felt weak.

"I'll report what you said, Mr. Hawkwood."

"Good fellow. Knew you'd understand."

    "I'm beginning to." He walked rapidly away from the Englishman toward the

    arch to the outer hallway.

    As he stood on the curb under the Knights' canopy waiting for a taxi,

    Canfield was numb with fear. He was no longer dealing with a world he

    understood. He was dealing with giants, with concepts, with commitments be-

    yond his comprehension.

257

CHAPTER 34

Elizabeth had the newspaper and magazine articles spread over the couch.

Ogilvie and Storm, publishers, had done an excellent job. There was more

material here than Elizabeth or Canfield could digest in a week.

    The National Socialist German Workers party emerged as ragtail fanatics.

    The Schutzstaftel were brutes but no one took them seriously. The articles,

    the photographs, even the short headlines were slanted in such a way as to

    give a comic-opera effea

Why Work in the Fatherland

if You Can Dress Up

and Pretend IVs Wagner?

    Canfield picked up a portion of a Sunday supplement and read the names of

    the leaders. Adolf Hitler, Erich Ludendorff, Rudolf Hess, Gregor Strasser.

    They read like a team of vaudeville jugglers. Adolf, Erich, Rudolf, and

    Gregor. However, toward the end of the article his amusement waned. There

    were the phrases.

    conspiracy of Jews and Communists . . daughters raped by Bolshevik

    terrorists I. . Aryan blood soiled by scheming Semites I . . a plan for

    a thousand yearst . . ."

    Canfield could see the face of Basil Hawkwood, owner of one of the largest

    industries in England, whispering with great intensity many of these same

    words. He thought of the shipments of leather to Munich. The leather

    without the trademark hawkwoot4 but the leather

    258

that became part of the uniforms in these photographs. He recalled the

manipulations of the dead Bertholde. the road in Wales, the mass murders at

York.

    Elizabeth was sitting at the desk jotting down notes from an article. A

    picture was beginning to emerge for her. But it was incomplete, as if part

    of a background was missing. It bothered her, but she'd learned enough.

    "It staggers your imagination, doesn't it?" said Elizabeth, rising from her

    chair.

"What do you make of itT'

    "Enough to frighten me. An obscure but volatile political organization is

    being quietly, slowly financed by a number of the wealthiest men on eartlL

    The men of Zurich. And my son is part of them."

"But why?"

    "I'm not sure yet" Elizabeth walked to the window. "Theres more to learn.

    However, one thing is clear. If this band of fanatics make solid progress

    in Germanyin the Reicbstag-the men of Zurich could control unheard-of

    economic power. It's a long-range concept, I think It could be - brilliant

    strategy."

"Then I've got to get back to Washingtonl"

"They may already know or suspeot."

"Then we've got to move inl"

    '-Y,ou can't move ini" Elizabeth turned back to Canfield, raising her

    voice. "No government has the right to interfere with the internal politics

    of another. No government has that nghL Theres another way. A far more

    effective way. But there's an enormous risk and I must consider it." The

    old woman brought her cupped hands up to her lips and walked away from

    Canfield.

"What is it? What's the risk?"

    Elizabeth, however, did not hear him. She was concentrating deeply. After

    several minutes she spoke to him from across the room.

    '-Fhere is an island in a remote lake in Canada. My husband, in a rash

    moment, bought it years and years ago. There are several dwellings on it,

    primitive but habitable. . . . If I put at your disposal whatever funds

    were necessary, could you have this island so guarded that it would be

    impregnableT'

"I think $0.11

    "That's not good enough. There can be no element of doubt. The lives of my

    entire family would depend on

    259

total isolation. The funds I mention are, frankly, limitless.11

"All right, then. Yes, I could."

    "Could you have them taken there in complete secrecy?"

"Yes."

"Could you set all this up within a weekr,

"Yes, again."

    "Very well. I'll outline what I propose. Believe me when I tell you it is

    the only way."

"Whaes your proposal?"

    '9?ut simply, the Scarlatti Industries will economically destroy every

    investor in Zurich. Force them into financial ruin."

    Canfield looked at the prepossessing, confident old woman- . For several

    seconds he said nothing, merely sucked breath through his teeth as if

    trying to formulate a reply.

    "You're a lunatic," he said quietly. "You're one person. They're fourteen

    . . . no, now thirteen stinking rich fatcats. You're no match for them"

    "It's not what one's worth that counts, Mr. Canfield. Not after a point.

    It's how rapidly one can manipulate his holdings. The time factor is the

    ultimate weapon in economics, and don't let anyone tell you otherwLse. In

    my case, one judgment prevails."

"Wbat does that meanT'

    Efflzabeth stood motionless in front of Canfield. Her speech was measured.

    "If I were to liquidate -the entire Scariatti, Industries, there Is no one

    on earth who could MOP Me."

    1-m field accountant waWt sure he understood her Impficadon. He looked at

    her for a few seconds before speakin& "Oh? So?"

    "You fooll . . . Outside of the Rothschilds and, perhaps a few Indian

    maharajas, I doubt there's another person in my position, or in our

    civRization, who can say thati"

    "Why not? Why can't any of the men in Zurich do the same thing?"

    The old woman was wrasperate& She clasped her hands and brought the

    clenched fingers to her chin. 'Tor a man whose imagination far efcceds, his

    inteU*VAX,

    260

you astonish me. Or is it only fear that provokes your perception of larger

things?"

"No question for a questiottl I want an answerl"

    "It's all related, I assure you. The primary reason why the operation in

    Zurich can not and will not do as I ran do is their own fear. Fear of the

    laws binding -their commitments; fear of the investments, investors; fear

    of extraordinary decisions; fear of the panic which always results from

    such decisions. Most important of all, fear of financial ruin."

    "And none of that bothers you? Is that what you're saying?"

    "No commitments bind ScarlattL Until I die, there is only one voice. I am

    Scarlatti."

    'T,rhat about the rest of it? The decisions, the pamcs, the ruin?"

    "As always my decisions will be executed with precision and foresight.

    Panic will be avoided."

    "And so will financial ruin, huh? . . . You are the God damnedest,

    self-confident old ladyl"

    "Again you fail to understand. At this juncture I anticipate the collapse

    of Scarlatti as inevitable should I be called. There will be no quarter

    given."

Matthew Canfield now understood. "Ill be damned."

    "I must have vast sums. Amounts inconceivable to you, which can be

    allocated by a single command. Money which can. purchase massive holdings,

    inflate or depress entire markets. Once that kind of manipulation has been

    exercised, I doubt that all the capital on earth could put Scarlatti back

    together. It would never be Misted again."

"Then you'd be finished."

"hTevocably."

    The old woman moved in front of Canfield. She looked at him but not in the

    manner to which he was accustomed. She might have been a womed grandmother

    from the dry plains of Kansas asking the preacher if the Lord would allow

    the rains to come.

    "I have no arguments left. Please allow me my last battle. My final gestm,

    as it were."

"You7re asking an awful lot."

    "Not when you think of iL If you return, it'll take you a week to reach

    Washington. Another week to compile everything we've been through. Days

    before you reach

    261

those in government who should listen to you, if you can get them to listen

to you at all. By my calculations that would be at least three or four

weeks. Do you agree?"

    Canfield felt foolish standing in front of Elizabeth. For no reason other

    dian to increase the distance between them he walked to the center of the

    room. "God damn it, I doret know what I agree withl"

"Give me four weeks. Just four weeks from today. . .

If I fail well do as you wish. . . . More than that ru come to Washington

with you. 1711 testify, if need be, in front of one of those committees. IM

do whatever You and your associates think necessary. Further, I'll settle

our personal account three times above that agreed upon."

"Suppose you fail?"

    "What possible difference can it make to anyone but myself? There's little

    sympathy in this world for fallen LIMonaires."

    "What about your family then? They caret spend the rest of their lives in

    some remote lake in Canada?"

    'That won't be necessary. Regardless of the larger outconic, rn destroy my

    son. I shall expose Ulster Scarleft for what he is. r1l sentence him to

    death at Zuricli."

    The field accountant fell silent for a moment and looked at Elizabeth.

    "Have you considered the fact that you might be killed?"

$I have.'9

    "You'd risk that ... Sell out Scarlatti Industries. Destroy everything

    you've builL Is it worth that to YOU? Do you hate him that much?"

    "Yes. As one hates a disease. magnified because rm responsible for its

    flourishing."

    Canfield put his glassdown, tempted to pour himself another drink. "That's

    going a little far."

    I didn't say I invented the disease. I said that rm remonmsibie for

    sipreadmg it. Not simply because I Provided

    oney bu infinitely more important, because I im-

    ridea. An idea which has become warped in the f maturing."

    "I don't believe that. You're no saint, but you dont think like that." He

    pointed toward the papers on the couch.

The old woman's weary eyes closed.

    'There's a little of ... that in each of us. lies all paft of tbe idea...

    The twisted idea. My husband and I do-

    262

voted years to the building of an industrial empire. Since his death, I've

fought in the marketplac"oubling, redoubling, adding, building-always

acquiring. . . . Its been a stimulating, all-consuming game. . . . Ive

played it well. And sometime during all those years, my son teamed what many

observers failed to learn-that it was never the acquisition of profits or

material gain that mattared-they were merely the by-products. It was the ac-

quisition of power. . . . I wanted that power because I sincerely believed

that I was equipped for the responsibility. The more convinced I became, it

had to follow that others were not equipped. . . . The quest for power

becomes a personal crusade, I think. The more success one has, the more

personal it becomes. Whether he understood it or not, that's what my son saw

happe i

    There may be similarities of purpose, even of motive, a great gulf divides

    us-my son and me."

    -rn give you the four weeks. Jesus Christ only knows why. But you still

    haven't made it clear to me why you want to risk all this. Throw away

    everything."

    "I've tried to... You're slow at times. If I offend, ifs because I think

    you do understand. You're deliberately asking me to spell out an unpleasant

    reality." She carried her notes to the table by her bedroom door. As the

    light had grown dim, she turned on the lamp, causing the fringe on the

    shade to shimmy. She seemed fascinated by the movement "I imagine that all

    of us-the Bible cans us the rich and mighty-wish to leave this world

    somewhat different from the way it was before us. As the years go by, this

    vague, ill-defined instinct becomes really quite important How many of us

    have -toyed with the phrases of our own obituaries?" She turned from the

    lamp and looked at the field accountant. "Considering everything we now

    know, would you care to speculate on my not-ioo-distant obituary?"

'No deal. Thats another question.-

    "It's a snap, you know. . . . The wealth is taken forgranted. Every

    agonizing decision, every nerve-racking gamble-they become simple, expected

    accomplishmentL Accomplishments more to be scomed than admired be* cause rm

    both a woman and a highly competitive speculator. An unattractive

    combination. . . . One son log in the Great War. Another rapidly emerging

    as a pompous mcompetent, sought after for every wrong reason, dis-

    263

carded and laughed at whenever feasible. And now this. A madman leading or

at least a part of a growing band of psychopathic malcontents. . . . This is

what I bequeath. What Scarlatti bequeaths, Mr. Canfield. . . . Not a very

enviable suMt is it?"

"No, it isn't.'s

    "Consequently, Ill stop at nothing to prevent this final madness . . ." She

    picked up her notes and went into the bedroom. She closed the door behind

    her, leaving Canfield in the large sitting room by himself. He thought for

    a moment that the old woman was on the verge of team

264

CHAPTER 35

The monoplane's fight over the channel had been uneventful-the wind calm,

the visibility excellent. It was fortunate for Scarlett that such was the

case, for the stinging irritation of his unhealed surgery coupled with the

pitch of his fury would have made a difficult trip a disastrous one. He was

hardly capable of keeping his mind on the compass bearings and when he first

saw the Normandy coast, it looked unfamiliar to him. Yet he had made these

very same sightings a dozen times.

    He was met at the small airfield outside of Lisieux by the Paris

    contingent, consisting of two Germans and a French Gascon, whose guttural

    dialect nearly matched that of his associates.

    The three Europeans anticipated that the man-they did not know his

    namo-would instruct them to return to Paris. To await further orders.

    The man had other intentions, insisting that they all sit uncoigifortably

    together in the front seat while he occupied the entire space in the back.

    He ordered the Car to Vernon, where two got out and were told to mak

their own way back to Pans. The driver was to remain.

    Tbe driver vaguely protested- when Scarlett ordered him to proceed west to

    Montb6liard, a small town near the Swiss border.

    "Mein Herrl Tliat's a four-hundred-kilometer trip? It will take ten hours

    or more on these abysmal roads I"

    "rhen we should be there by dinner time, And be quied"

    265

    "It might have been simpler for mein Herr to refuel and fly - . ."

    "I do not fly when I am tired. Relax. IT And you some ,seafood' in

    Montb6liard. Vary your diet, Kircher. It excites the palate."

    "Jawohl, mein Herrl" Kircher grimed, knowing the man was really a fine

    OberfArer.

    scariett refiected. The misfitsl One day they'd be rid of the misfits.

    Montb6liard was not much more oomplex than an oversized village. The

    principal livelihood of its citizens was farm produce, much of which was

    shipped into Switzerland and Germany. Its currency. as in many towns on the

    border, was a mixture of francs, marks, and Swiss francs.

    Scarlett and his driver reached it a little after nine in the evening.

    However, except for several stops for petrol and a midafternoon lunch, they

    had pushed forward with no conversation between them. This quiet acted as

    a sedative to Scarletfs anxiety. He was able to think without anger,

    although his anger was ever present The driver had been right when he had

    pointed out that a flight from Lisieux to Montb6liard would have been

    simpler and less arduous, but Scarlett could not risk any explosions of

    temper brought on by exhaustion.

    SometAme that day or evening-the time was left open -be was meeting with

    the Prussian, the all-important man who could deliver what few others

    could. He had to be up to that meeting, every brain cell working. He

    couldn't allow recent problems to distort his concentration. The conference

    with the Prussian was the culminawn of months, years of work. From the

    first macabre meeting with Gregor Strasser to the convemon of his millions

    to Swiss capital. He, Heinrich Kroeger, possessed the finances so

    desperately needed by the National Socialists. His importance to the party

    was now acknowledged.

    The problems. Irritating problernsl But he'd made his decisions. Wd have

    Howard Tbornton isolated, perhaps killed. The San Franciscan had betrayed

    them. If the Stockholm manipulation had been uncovered, it had to

    266

be laid at Thornton's feet. They'd used his Swedish contacts and obviously

he maneuvered large blocks of securities back into his own hands at the

depressed price.

Thornton would be taken care of.

As was the French dandy, Jacques Bertholde.

    Thornton and Bertholdel Both misfits! Greedy, stupid misfits!

    What had happened to Boothroyd? Obviously killed on the Ca1purnia. But how?

    Why? Regardless, he deserved to diel So did his father-in-law. Rawlins'

    order to kill Elizabeth Scarlatti was stupidl The timing had been insanel

    Couldn't Rawlins understand that she would have left letters behind,

    documents? She was far more dangerous dead than alive. At least until she'd

    been reachedas he had reached her, threatened her precious Scarlattis. Now,

    she could diel Now it wouldn't matter. And with Bertholde gone, Rawlins

    gone, and Thornton about to be killed, there'd be no one left who knew who

    he was. No onel'He was Heinrich Kroeger, a leader of the new orderl

    They pulled up at I:Auberge des Moineaux, a small restaurant with a buvette

    and lodgings for the traveler or for those desiring privacy for other

    reasons. For Scarlett it was the appointed meeting place.

    "Take the car down the road and park it," he told Kh-cher. "I'll be in one

    of the moms. Have dinner. ru call for you later. . . . I haven't forgotten

    my promise." Kircher grinned. ,

    Ulster Scarlett got out of the car and stretched. He felt better, his skin

    bothered him less, and the impending conference filled him with a sense of

    anticipation. This was the kind of work he should always dol Matters of

    vast consequences. Matters of power.

    He waited until the car was far enough down the street to obscure Kircher's

    rear-mirror view of him. He then walked back, away from the door, to the

    cobblestone path and turned into it. Misfits were never to be told anything

    that wasn't essential to their specific usefulness.

    He reached an unlighted door and knocked several times.

    The door opened and a moderately tall man with thick, wavy black hair and

    prominent, dark eyebrows stood in the center of the frame as if guarding an

    entrance, not welcoming a guest. He was dressed in a Bavarian-cut gray

    267

coat and brown knickers. The face was darkly cherubic, the eyes wide and

staring. His name was Rudolf Hess.

    "Where have you beenr' Hess motioned Scarlett to enter and close the door.

    ne room was small; there was a table with chain around it, a sideboard, and

    two floor lamps, which gave the room its light Another man who had been

    looking out the window, obviously to identify the one outside, nodded to

    Scarle4t. He was a tiny, ugly man with birdlike features, even to the

    hawknose. He walked with a limp.

    'Joseph?" said Scarlett to him. "I didn't expect you hem"

    Joseph Goebbels looked over at Hess. His knowledge of English was poor.

    Hess translated Scarletts words rapidly and Goebbels shrugged his

    shoulders.

"I asked you where you have beenl"

    "I had trouble in Lisieux. I couldn't get another plane so I had to drive.

    Ifs been a long day so don't aggravate me, please."

    "Achl From Lisieux? A long trip. I'll order you some food, but you'll have

    to be quick. Rheinhart's been waiting since noon."

    Scarlett took off his flying jacket and threw it on the sideboard shelf.

    "How is he?"

    Goebbels understood just enough to interrupt "Rheinhart? ... Im-pa-tientl"

    He mispronounced the word, and Scarlett grinned. Goebbels thought to

    himself that this giant was a horrible-looking creature. The opinion was

    mutuaL

    "Never mind the food. Rheinhart's been warting too long... Where is he?"

    'In his room. Number two, down the corridor. He went for a walk this

    afternoon but he keeps thinking someone will recognize him so he came back

    in ten minutes. I think he's upset."

    "Go get him. ... And bring back some whiskey." He looked at Goebbels

    wishing that this unattractive little inan would leave. It wasn't good that

    Goebbels be there while Hess and he talked with the Prussian aristocrat.

    Goebbels looked like an inagnificant Jmbh accountant.

    But Scarlett knew he could do nothing. Hitler was taken with Goebbels.

    Joseph Goebbels seemed to be reading the tall man's thoughts.

    268

    "Ich werde dabei sitzen wiffirend Sie sprechen." He pulled a chair back to

    the wall and sat down.

    Hess had gone out the corridor door and the two men were in the room alone.

    Neither spoke.

    Four minutes later Hess returned. Following him was an aging, overweight

    German several inches shorter than Hess, dressed in a black double-breasted

    suit and a high collar. His face was puffed with excess fat, his white bair

    cropped short. He stood perfectly erect and in spite of his imposing

    appearance, Scarlett thought there was something soft about him, not

    associated with his bulk. He strutted into the room. Hess closed the door

    and locked it.

    "Gentlemen. General Rheinhart." Hess stood at attention.

    Goebbels rose from the chair and bowed, clicking his heels.

Rheinhart looked at him unimpressed.

    Scarlett noticed Rheinhart's expression. He approached the elderly general

    and held out his hand.

"Herr General."

    Rheinhart faced Scarlett, and although he concealed it well, his reaction

    to Scarlett's appearance was obvious. The two men shook hands perfunctorily

    "Please sit down, Herr General." Hess was enormously impressed with -their

    company and did not hide the fact Rheinhart sat in a chair at the end of

    the table. Scarlett was momentarily upset He had wanted to sit in that

    particular chair for it was the commanding position.

    Hess asked Rheinhart ff he preferred whiskey, gin, or Wine. The zeneM waved

    his hand, refusing.

    'Wothing for me, either," added Ulster Scarlett as he sat in the chair to

    the left of Rheinhart. Hess ignored the tray and also took his seat.

    Goebbels retreated with his limp to the chair by the wall.

    Scarlett spoke. "I apolq&e for the delay. Unforgivable but, I'm afraid,

    unavoldablc There was pressing business with our associates In London."

    "Your name., please?" Rheinhart interrupted, speaking RnpJish with a thick

    Teutonic a nt.

    Scarlett looked briefly at Hen before replying. "Kroemar, Herr General.

    Heinrich Kroeger."

Rheinhart did not take his eyes off Scarlem "I do not

    269

think that is your name, sir. You are not German." His voice was flat.

    "My sympathies are German. So much so that Heinrich Kroeger is the name I

    have chosen to be known by."

    Hess interrupted. "Herr Kroeger has been invaluable to us all. Without him

    we would never have made the progress we have, sir."

    "Amerikaner. . . . He is the reason we do not speak German?"

    "That will be corrected in time," Scarlett said. In fact~ -he spoke nearly

    flawless German, but still felt at a disadvantage in the language.

    "I am not an American, General. Scarlett returned Rheinhart's stare and

    gave no quarter. "I am a citizen of the new orderl ... I have given as

    much, if not more than anyone else alive or dead to see it come to pass....

    Please remember that in our conversation."

    Rheinhart shrugged. "I'm sure you have your reasons, as I have, for being

    at this table."

    "You may be assured of that." Scarlett relaxed and pulled his chair up.

    "Very well, gentlemen, to business. If it is possible, I should like to

    leave Montb6liard tonight." Rheinhart reached into his jacket pocket and

    took out a page of folded stationery. "Your party has made certain not in-

    consequential strides in the Reichsta& After your Munich fiasco, one might

    even say remarkable progress - - ."

    Hess broke in enthusiastically. "We have only begunI From the ignominy of

    treacherous defeat, Germany Will risel We will be masters of all Europel"

    Rheinhart held the folded paper in his hand and watched Hess. He replied

    quietly, authoritatively. "To be masters of but Germany itself would be

    sufficient for us. To be able to defend our country is all we ask."

    'That will be the least of your guarantees from us, General." Scarletts

    voice rose no higher than Rheinhaes.

    "It is the only guarantee we wish. We are not interested in the excesses

    your Adolf Hitler preaches."

    At the mention of Hitlers name, Goebbels sat forward in his chair. He was

    anger~d -by the fact that he could not comprehend.

"Was gibfs mit Hitler? Was sagen sie Uber ihn?"

    Rheinhart answered Goebbels in his own tongue. "Er ist ein sehr storener

    geriosse."

    270

    "Hitler ist der Wegl Hitler ist die Hoffnung filr Deutschland!"

"Vielleicht Mr Sie."

    Ulster Scarlett looked over at Goebbels. The little man's eyes shone with

    hatred and Scarlett guessed that one day Rheinhart would pay for his words.

    The general continued as he unfolded the paper.

    "The times our nation lives through call for unusual alliances.... I have

    spoken with von Schnitzler and Kindorf. Krupp will not discuss the subject

    as I'm sure you are aware.... German industry is no better off than the

    army. We are both pawns for the Allied Controls Commission. The Versailles

    restrictions inflate us one minute, puncture us the next. There is no

    stability. There is nothing we can oount on. We have a common objective,

    gentlemen. The Versailles treaty."

    "It is only ont of the objectives. There are others." Scarlett was pleased,

    but his pleasure was short-lived.

    "It is the only objective which has brought me to Montb6liardl As German

    industry must be allowed to breathe, to export unencumbered, so must the

    German army be allowed to maintain adequate strengthl The limitation of one

    hundred thousand troops with over sixteen hundred miles of borders to

    protect is ludicrousl . . . There are promises, always promises--then

    threats. Nothing to count on. No comprehension. No alliDwance for necessary

    growth."

    "We were betrayedl We were viciously betrayed in

nineteen eighteen and that betrayal continuesl Traitors

stia exist throughout Germanyl" Hess wanted more thm

his life to be counted among the friends of Rheinhart

and his officers. Rheinhart understood and was not im

pressed. I

    "Ja.. Ludendorff still holds to that theory. The MeuseArgonne is not easy

    for him to live with."

    Ulster Scarlett smiled his grotesque smile. 'It is for some of us, General

    Rheirihart."

Rheinh looked at him. "I will not pursue that

with

Y011- 11

"One day you should. Its why I'm here-4n part."

    "To repeat, Herr Kroeger. You have your reasons; have mine. I am not

    interested in yours but you are forced to be interested in mine." He looked

    at Hess and

    271

then over at the shadowed figure of Joseph Goebbels by the wall.

    "I will be blunt, gentlemen. it is, at best, an ill-kept secret. . . .

    Across the Polish borders in the lands of the Bolshevik are thousands of

    frustrated German officers. Men without professions in their own country.

    They train the Russian field commanderst They discipline the Red peasant

    army. . . . Why? Some for simple employment. Others justify themselves

    because a few Russian factories smuggle us cannon, armaments prohibited by

    the Allied Commission... I do not like this state of affairs, gentlemen. I

    do not trust the Russians. . . . Weimar is ineffectual. Ebert couldWt face

    the truth. Hindenburg is worsel He lives in a monarchial past. The

    politicians must be made to face the Versailles issuel We must be liberated

    from withinl"

    Rudolf Hess placed both his hands, palms down, on the table.

    "You have the word of Adolf Hider and those of us in this room that the

    first item on the political agenda of the National Socialist German Workers

    party is the unconditional repudiation of the Versailles treaty and its

    restrictionsl"

    'I assume that. My concern is whether you are capable of effectively

    uniting the diverse political camps of the Reichstag. I will not deny that

    you have appeal. Far more than the others. . . . The question we would like

    answered, as I'm sure would our equals in commerce, Do you have the staying

    power? Can you last? Will you last? . . . You were outlawed a few years

    ago. We can not afford to be allied with a political comet which bums

    itseff out'%

    Ulster Scarlett rose from his chair and looked down at the aging German

    generaL 'TIhat would you say if I told you that we have financial resources

    surpassing those of any political organization in Europe? Possibly the

    Westeirn hemisphere."

"I would say that you exaggerate."

    "Or if I told you that we possess territory-4and---sufficiently large

    enough to train thousands upon thousands of elite troops beyond the

    scrutiny of the Versailles inspection teams."

"You would have to prove all this to me."

"I can do just that."

    272

Rheinhart rose and faced Heinrich Kroeger.

    "If you speak the truth . . . you will have the support of the imperial

    German generals."

273

CHAPTER 36

Janet Saxon Scarlett, eyes still shut, reached under the sheets for the body

of her lover. He was not there, so she opened her eyes and raised her head,

and the room spun around. Her lids were heavy and her stomach hurt. She was

still exhausted, still a bit drunk.

    Matthew Canfield sat at the writing desk in his undershorts. His elbows

    were on the desk, his chin cupped in his hands. He was staring down at a

    paper in front of him.

    Janet watched him, aware that he was oblivious to her. She rolled onto her

    side so that she could observe him.

    He was not an ordinary man, she thought, but on the other hand neither was

    he particularly outstanding. except that she loved him. What, she wondered,

    did she find so attractive about hun? He was not like the men from her

    world-even her recently expanded world. Most of the men she knew were

    quick, polished, overly groomed and only concerned with appearances. But

    Matthew Canfield could not fit into this world. His quickness was an

    intuitive alertness not related to the graces. And in other respects there

    was a degree of awkwardness; what confidence he had was bom of considered

    judgment, not simply born.

    Others, too, were far more handsome, although he could be placed in the

    category of "good-looking" in a rough-hewn way. . . . That was it, she

    mused; he gave the appearance both in actions and in looks of secure

    independence, but his private behavior was different. In private he was

    extraordinarily gentle, almost weaL . . .

    274

She wondered if he was weak. She knew he was deeply upset and she suspected

that Elizabeth had given himmoney to do her bidding.... He didn't really

know how to be at ease with money. She'd learned that during their two weeks

together in New York. He'd obviously been told to spend without worrying

about surns in order to establish their relationship-he'd suggested as much-

and they'd both laughed because what they were doing on government funds

was, in essence, spelling out the truth.... She would have been happy to pay

the freight herself. She'd paid for others, and none were as dear to her as

Matthew Canfield. No one would ever be so dear to her. He didn't belong to

her world. He preferred a simpler, less cosmopolitan one, she thought. But

Janet Saxon Scarlett knew she would adjust if it meant keeping him.

    Perhaps, when it was all over, if it was ever to be an over, they would

    find a way. There had to be a way for this good, rough, gentle young man

    who was a better man than any she had ever known before. She loved him very

    much and she found herself concerned for him. That was remarkable for Janet

    Saxon Scarlett.

    When she had returned the night before at seven o'clock, escorted by

    Derek's man Ferguson, she found Canfield alone in Elizabeth's sitting room.

    He'd seemed tense, edgy, even angry, and she didn't know why. Hed made

    feeble excuses for his temper and finally, without warning, he had ushered

    her out of the suite and out of the hotel.

    They had eaten at a small restaurant in Soho. They both drank heavily, his

    fear infecting her. Yet he would not tell her what bothered him.

    They'd returned -to his room with a bottle of whiskey. Alone, in the quiet,

    -they had made love. Janet knew he was a man holding on to some mythical

    rope, afraid to let go for fear of plunging downward.

    As she watched him. at the writing desk, she also instinctively knew the

    tzuth-the unwanted tru-th-which she had suspected since that terrible

    moment more than a day ago when he had said to her, "Janet I'm afraid we've

    had a visitor."

That visitor had been her husband.

She raised herself on her elbow. "Matthewr

"OIL ... Morning, Wend."

    275

"Matthew ... are you afraid of him?"

Canfield's stomach muscles grew taut

She knew.

But, of course, she knew.

"I don't think I will be ... when I find him."

    "fbat's always the way, isn't it? We're afraid of someone or something we

    don't know or catet find." Jances eyes began to ache.

'7hat's what Elizabeth said."

    She sat up, pulling the blanket over her shoulders, and leaned back against

    the headrest. She felt cold, and the ache in her eyes intensified. "Did she

    tell your,

    'Finally. . . . She didn't want to. I didn't give her an alternative... She

    had to."

    Janet stared straight ahead, at nothing "I knew It," she said quietly. "I'm

    frightened."

    "Of course you am. But you don't have to be. He can't touch YOU. 9.

    'Vhy are you so sum? I don't think you were so sure last night." She was

    not aware of it, but bar hands began to shake.

    "No, I wasn!t... But only because he existed at all. . . . The unholy

    specter alive and breathing. . . . No matter how much we expected it, it

    was a shock- But the suifs up now." He reached for his pencil and made a

    note on the paper.

    Suddenly Janet Scarlett Bung herself down across the bed. "Oh, God, God,

    Godl" Hex head was buried in the pillow.

    At fiM Canfield did not recognize the appeal in her voice, for she did not

    scream. or shout out and his concentration was ok_)m notes. Her muffled cry

    was one of agony. not desperatim

    "Jan." he began casually. "Janetr The field accountant threw down his

    pencil and rus1wd to the bed. "Janetl ... Honey, please dont. Don% please.

    Janeir He cradled bw in his a=% doing his bw to comfort her. And then

    slowly his attention was drawn to her eyes.

    The tears were streaming down her face, uncontrollably, yet she did not cry

    out but only Sasped for breath. Vlbw disturbed him were her eyeL

    Instead of blinking from the flow of tems, they remained wide open, as if

    she were in a trance. A trance of borror.

    276

He spoke her name over and over again.

"Jana Janet. Janet. Jana . . ."

    She did not respond. She seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the fear

    which controlled her. She began to moan, at first quietly, then louder and

    louder.

"Janed Stop itl Stop itl Darling, stop itl"

She did not hew him.

    Instead she tried to push him away, to disengage herself from him Her naked

    body writhed on the bed; her arms lashed out, striking him.

    He tightened his grip, afraid for a moment that he might hurt her.

    Suddenly she stopped. She threw her head back and spoke in a choked voice

    he had not heard before.

"God damn you to heUl ... God damn you to heURI"

She drew out the word "bell" until it became a scream.

    Her legs spread slowly, reluctantly, apart On top Of the sheet

    In that same choked, guttural voice she whispered, -You pigl PigI Pigl

    Pigl"

    canfield watched her in dread. She was assuming a position of sexual

    intercourse., steeling herself against the terror which had enveloped her

    and which would progressively worsen.

    "Janet, for God's sake, Jan... DoWtl Don'tl No one's going to touch youl

    Please, darlingl"

The girl laughed horridly, hysterically-

    -You're the card, Uisterl You're the God damn lack of . . . jack of . . ."

    She quickly crossed her legs, one emphatically on top of the other, and

    brought her hands up to oover her breasts. "Leave me alone, Ulsterl Please,

    dear God, uisterl Leave me alonel . . . You're gojng to icave me aioner,

    she curled herself up like an infant and began to sob.

    canfield reached down to the foot of the bed and pulled the blanket over

    Janet

He was afraid.

    That she could suddenly, without warning, reduce herself to Scarlett's

    unwilling whore was frightening.

But it was there, and he had to accept it.

    She needed help. Perhaps far more help than be oould provide, He gently

    stroked her hair and lay dawn beside her.

Her sobs evened off into deep breathing as she closed

    277

her eyes. He hoped she was sleeping but he could not be sum At any rate, he

would let her rest. It would give him the time to figure out a way to tell

her everything she had to know.

The next four weeks would be terrible for her.

For the three of them.

    But now there was an element which had been absent before, and Canfield was

    grateful for it. He knew he shouldn't have been, for it was against every

    professional instinct he had.

It was hate. His own personal hate.

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett was no longer the quarry in an international hunt.

    He was now the man Matthew Canfield intended to kill.

278

CHAPTER 37

Ulster Scarlett watched the flushed, angry face of Adolf Hitler. He reaaed

that in spite of his fury, Hitler had a capacity for control that was

nothing short of miraculous. But then the man himself was a miracle. A

historic man-miracle who would take them into the finest world imaginable on

earth.

    The three of them-Hess, Goebbels, and Kroegerhad driven through the night

    from Montbiliard to Munich, where Hitler and Ludendorff awaited a report of

    their meeting with Rheinhart. If the conference had gone well, Ludendorff's

    plan was to be set in motion. Each faction of the Reichstag possessing any

    serious following would be alerted that a coalition was imminent. Promises

    would be made, threats implied. As the Reichstag's sole member of the

    National Socialist party and its candidate for president the previous year,

    Ludendorff would be listened to. He was the soldier-thinker. He was slowly

    regaining the stature he had thrown away in defeat at the Meuse-Argonne.

    Simultaneously and in twelve different cities anti-Versailles

    demonstrations would be staged, where the police had been paid handsomely

    not to interfere. Hitler was to travel to Oldenburg, in the center of the

    northwest Prussian territory, where the great military estates were slowly

    going to seed-massive remembrances of past glorie& A huge rally would be

    mounted and it was planned that Rheinhart himself would make an appearance.

    Rheinhart was enough to give credence to the party's military support. It

    was more than enough; it would be a

    279

momentary climax fitting their current progress. Rheinhart's recognition of

Hitler would leave no room for doubt as to where the generals were leaning.

    Ludendorff looked upon the act as a political neces~ sity. Hitler looked

    upon it as a political coup. The Austrian lance corporal was never unmoved

    by the anticipation of Junker approval. He knew that it was his destiny to

    have it-demand itl-but nonetheless it filled him with pride, which was why

    he was furious now.

    The ugly little Goebbels bad just finished telling Ludendorff and Hitler of

    RheinharAt remarks about the Austrian.

    In the large rented office overlooking the Sedlingerstrasse, Hitler gripped

    the arms of his chair -and pushed himself up. He stood for a moment glaring

    at Goebbels, but the thin cripple knew that Hitler's anger was not directed

    at him, only at his news.

    "Pettes Schweinl Wir werden ffin zu seinen Landsort zur(Ick isendenl Lass

    ilun zu scinen Kfihen zurtick gehenl"

    Scarlett was leaning against the wall next to Hess. As usual when the

    conversations taking place were in German- the willing Hess turned to

    Ulster and spoke quietly.

"He's very upset. Rheinhart may be an obstacle."

"Wh3qv

    "Goebbels doesn't believe Rheinhart will openly support the movement. He

    wants all the advantages without getting his tunic dirtyll'

    "Rheinhart said he would. In Montb6liard he said he wouldl What's Goebbels

    talking about?" Scarlett found it necessary to watch hiniself. He really

    didn t like Goebbels.

    "He's just told them what Rheinhart said about Hitler. Remember?" Hen

    whispered with his band cupped in front of his mouth.

    Scarlett raised his voim "Tbey should tell Rhemhart --no Hitler, no

    marblesl Let him go shagl"

    "Was ist los?" Hitler glowered at Hess and Sc~arlett. "Was sagt er, Hess?"

"Lass Rheinhart zurn Teufel gehenl"

    Ludendorff laughed out of the comer of his mouth. "Das ist naivl"

    "rell Rheinhart to do as we say or hes outl No troopsl No weaponsl No

    uniformsl No one to pay for it allf I don't payl No place to ft-ain them

    without the inspection

    280

team on his backl Hell listenl" Scarlett ignored Hess, who was rapidly

translating everything the former said.

Ludendorff broke in on Hess as he finished interpreting~

    "Man kann einen Mann wie Rheinhart nicht drohen. Er ist ein einflussreich

    Preussel"

    Hess turned to Ulster Scarlett. "Herr Ludendorff says that Rheinhart will

    not be threatened. He is a Junker."

    "He's a frightened, overstuffed tin soldier, that's what he ist He's

    running scared. He's got the Russian shakesl He needs us and he knows itl"

    Hess repeated ScadWs remarks. Ludendorff snapped his fingen in the

    Heidelberg fashion, as if mocking a ridiculous statement

    'Von't laugh at met I talked with him, not youl Ifs my moneyl Not yoursl"

    Hess did not need to tritnslat& Ludendorff rose from his chair, as angry as

    Scarlett.

    Sag dem Amerikaw dass sem Gelt gibt thin noch Imp nicht das Recht uns

    Befelile zu geben."

    Hess hesitate& "Herr IAUWDdorff does not believe dud yaw financud

    conu*edons . . . as welcome as they

    OY*u don't have to finishl Tell him to go sha& tool Hes acting just the way

    Rheinhaft otpectsf- Scarlett, who had not moved from his position against

    the wall, pushed himed away and sprang forward affortlessly to his full

    height

    For a moment the &&& Intellectual Ludendorff was physirAlly afraid. He did

    not bug the motives of this neurotic American. Ludendorff had often

    suggested to Hitler and the others that this man who called himself

    Bleinrich Krueger was a dangerous addition to their working drde. But be

    had been consistently ovaTuled because Kroepr not only pommed what appeared

    to be unlimited financial rmurces, but seemed to be able to enlist the

    support. or at least the Interest, of incredibly Influaixtial

WIL he did not bug hinL

    Etesantiany because Ludendorff was convinced that this KroW was stupid.

    "May I remind you, Herr Kivegar, that I po~ a. working knowledge of the

    English janguager

'llien why don't you we kr

    aI do not feel it b-4xm is it said?-entimly necessay."

    281

^It is now, damn id"

    Adolf Hitler'suddenly clapped his hands twice. sW3ifying an order of

    silence. It was an irksome gesture to Ludendorff, but his respect for

    Hitices talents-which bordered on awe-made -him accept such aggravations.

"Hald Beidel"

    Hitler stepped away from the table. turning his back on all of them. He

    stretched his arms, then clasped his hands behind hun. He said nothing for

    several Moment96 yet no one interrupted his silence. For it was his

    silence, and Goebbels, whose love of dwatrics was paramount. watched with

    satisfaction the effect Hitler was having 04 the others.

    Ludendorff, on the other hand, played the Same but remained annoyed. The

    Hitler be, knew well was capable of poor judgment. Great vision, perhaps,

    but often slipshod in decisions of everyday practical realitie& It was

    unfortunate that he also resented debate on such mattem It made A difficult

    for Rosenberg and himself, who know they were the true architects of the

    new order. Ludendorff hoped that this particular instance was not 9OMS to

    be another caw when HrUer overrode bus sound analysis. Like himself,

    Rhemhart was -a Junket, proud and unbending. He had to be handled artfully

    Who could know this better than the former field marshal of the imperial

    army who was forced to maintam, his dignity in the midst of tragic defeat.

    Ludendorff understood.

    Adolf Hiner spoke quietly ,Nvir werden wie Herr Kroeger sast tum"

    Herr Hitler agrees with you, Kroegerl" Hess touched Scarlett% sleeve,

    delighted. He was forever being condescended to by the arrogant Ludendorff,

    and this was not a small vIctory over hm Rheinhart was a prom If Kroeger

    was correct, Ludendorff would look foolish.

    Warum? Es ist sehr SeShrlich.-

    Ludendorff had to argue aW=gh he knew at once it was no use.

    Sie sind zu Vorsichtig die unnihigen Ziete% Ludendorff. Kroeger hat recht.

    Aber wit werden einen Schft weiter gehen."

    Rudolf Hess expanded his chCSL He looked Pointedly at Ludendorff and

    Goebbels as he nudged SWIett with his elbow.

,,Herr Hitler says that our friend Ludendorff is mis-

    282

takenly cautious. He is fight Ludendorff is always cautious. . . . But Herr

Hitler wishes to elaborate on your suggestion. . . ."

    Adolf Hitler began speaking slowly but firmly, lending a finality to each

    German phrase. As he continued he watched with satisfaction the faces of

    those listening. When he reached the end of his diatribe he spat out the

    words.

"Da ist Montb6liardl"

    For each it was a different' evaluation with an underlying common

    denominator-the man was a genius.

    For Hess, Hitlees conclusion was equated with a startling flash of

    political insight.

    For Goebbels, Hitler had once again demonstratecr his ability to capitalize

    on an opponent's fundamental weakness.

    For Ludendorff, the Atitrian had taken a mediocre idea, added his own

    boldness, and emerged with a pkce of brilliant strategy.

    Heinrich Kroeger--Scarlett---spoke. "What did he say, Hess?"

    But it was not Rudolf Hess who answeicd. It was Erich Ludendorff, who did

    not take his eyes off Adolf Hitler. "Herr Hitler has just . . . solidified

    the military for us, Ktoeger. In a brief statement he has won us the

    reluctant Prussians."

"'What?"

    Rudolf Hess turned to Scarlett. "General Rheinhart will be told that unless

    he does as we demand, the Versailles officials will be informed that he is

    secretly negotiating illegal procurements. It is the truth. Montb6liard can

    not be denied.1"

    "He is a Junkerl" Ludendorff added. "Montb6liard is the key because it is

    the truthl Rheinhart can not disavow what he has donel Even if he should be

    tempted, there am too many who know-von Schnitzler, Kindorf. Even Kruppl

    Rheinhart has broken his word." And then Ludendorff laughed harshly. "Ibe

    holy word of a Junkerl"

    Hitler sniffed, briefly and spoke rapidly to Hess, gesturing his head

    toward Ulster Scarlett.

    "Der Fiihrer admires and appreciates you, Heinrich," said Hess. "He asks

    what of our friends in Zurich?"

"Everything is proceeding on schedule. Several errors

    283

have been corrected. We may lose one of the rem thirteen... It's no loss;

he's a thief."

    "Nho is thatT' Ludendorff exercised his very acceptable working knowledge

    of English.

    Thornton.09

"What of his land?" Ludendorff again.

    Scarlett, now Kreeger, looked at the academic Ludendorff, the military

    intellectual, with the contempt born of money. "I intend to buy it.-

    "13 that not dangerousr' Has was watching Ludendorff, who had quietly

    translated what Scarlett said to Hitler. Both men showed signs of alarm.

"Not at all."

    "Perhaps not to you personally, my dashing young friend." Ludendoiffs tone

    was blandly incriminating. 'TVho knows where your sympathies will lie six

    months from now?"

"I resent thatl"

"YoWre not a German. This isn't your battle."

    "I don't have to be a Germanl And I don't have to Justify myself to youl

    ... You want me out? Finel I'm outl ... And with me go a dozen of the

    richest men on earth ... Oill Steell Industryl Steamship linest-

    Hess no longer tried to be tactful. He looked toward Hitler, throwinghis

    arms up in exasperation.

    Hitler did not need to be prompted for he knew exactly what to do. He

    crossed rapidly to the former general of the imperial German army and

    struck the old mskn lightly across the mouth with the back of his band. It

    was an insulting action-the very lightness of the blow was akm to

    disciplining a small child. The two men exchanged words and Scarlett knew

    the old Ludendorff had been severely, cruelly rebuked.

    "My motives seem to be questioned, Herr Kroeger. I was merely-how is it

    said?-testing you." He lifted his hand to his mouth. The memory of ffitlees

    insult was difficult for him. He struggled to suppress it.

    'I was quite sincere, however, about the Swiss propertY. Your ... work with

    us has been most impressive and undoubtedly noticed by many. Should the

    purchase be traced through you to the party, it might-how is it said-make

    useless the whole arrangement."

Ulster Scarlett answered with confident nonchalance.

    284

He enjoyed putting the thinkers in their place. "No problems. . .. . The

transaction will be made in Madrid."

    "Madrid?" Joseph Goebbels did not fully understand what Scarlett said, but

    the city of Madrid had a special connotation for him. '

    The four Germans looked at each other. None was pleased.

    "Why is ... Madrid so safe?" Hess was concerned that his friend had done

    something rash.

    "Papal attach6. Very Catholic. Very much beyond reproach. Satisfied?"

Hess automatically spoke Scarlett's words in German.

    Hitter smiled while Ludendorff snapped his fingers, now in sincere

    applause.

"How is this accomplished?"

    "Very simple. Alfonso's court will be told that the land is being bought

    with White Russian money. Unless it's done quickly, the capital could be

    manipulated back into Moscow. The Vatican is sympathetic. So is Rivera.

    This won1 be the first time such an arrangement's been made.st

    I Hen explained to Adolf Hitler as Joseph Goebbels lisfened intently.

    "My congratulations, Herr Kroeger. Be . . . cautious." Ludendorff was

    impressed.

    Suddenly Goebbels began chattering, waving his hands in exaggerated

    gestures. The Germans all laughed and Scarlett wasn't sure whether the

    unattractive little fascist was making fun of him or not.

    Hen translated. ,Herr Goebbels says that if you tell the Vatican you can

    keep four hungry Communists from having a loaf of bread, the pope will let

    You repaint the Sistine chapeir

    Hitler broke in on the laughter. 'Was h6rst du aus 7-Rrichr'

    Ludendorff turned to Scarlett. "You were saying about our friends in

    Switzerland?"

    "on schedule. By the end of next month five weeks say, the buildings will

    be completed... Here, I'll show YOU. "

    KroWr approached the table, taking a folded map from his jacket pocket. He

    spread it on the table. "This heavy blue line is the perimeter Of the

    adjacent properties. This

    285

section . . . in the south is ThOrnt0n!s. We extend west to here, north here

to Baden, east to the outskirts of PfffIkon. Approxiinately every mile and

a quarter is a structure which can house fift troops---eighteeri in all.

Nine hundred men. The water lines are down, the foundations are in. Each

structure looks like a barn or a granary. You couldn't tell the difference

unless YOU were inside."

    -Excenentr Ludendorff inserted a monocle in his left eye and looked closely

    at the map. Hess translated for a curious Hitler and a skeptical Goebbels.

    Ilrbis ... perimeter between the . . . Keserne barracks is it fenced?"

    -rwelve feet high. Wired by generators in each building for alarms. Patrols

    Will be maintained twenty-four -hours a day. Men and dogs. ... Fve paid for

    everything."

"Excellent. Excellentl"

    S=Iett looked over at Hitler. He knew that Ludendorff's approval was never

    granted easily and in spite of their unpleasant encounter a few moments

    ago, Scarlett also realized that Hitler valued Ludendorffs opinion, perhaps

    above all others. -It seemed to Scarleft that Hitler's penetrating stare,

    which was now directed at him., was a look of admiration. Kroeger,

    controlled his own elation and quickly continued.

    "The indoctrinations will be, ooncentrated---each lasting four weeks with

    several days between sessions for transportation and housing. Each

    contingent has nine hundred men... At the end of one year . . ."

    Hess interrupted. "Prachtvolll At the end of a year ten thousand trained

    menl"

    'Ready to spread throughout the country as military units. Trained for

    insurgencyl" Scarlett was fairly bursting with energy.

    "No longer rabble, but the basis of an elite corpsl Perhaps the elite corps

    itselfl" Ludendorff himself was catching -the younger maes enthusiasm. "Our

    own private arinyll.

    "That's itl A skilled machine capable of moving fast, hitting hard, and

    regrouping swiftly and ser-retlY."

    As Kroeger spoke, it was Ludendorff who now turned his phrases into the

    German language for the benefit of Hitler and Goebbels.

But Goebbels was bothered. He spoke quietly, as if

    286

this Kroeger might somehow catch the shaded meaning of his observations.

Goebbels was still suspicious. This huge, strange American was too glib, too

casual in spite of his fervor. In spite of the power of his money. Adolf

Hitler nodded his head in agreement.

    Hess spoke. "Quite rightly, Heinrich, Herr Goebbels is ooncerned. These men

    in Zurich, their demands are so

. nebulous."

    "Not to them they're not They're very specific. These men are businessmen.

    And besides, they're sympathetic."

    Kroeger is correcL" Ludendorff looked at Ulster Scarlett, knowing that Hess

    would use the German tongue for the others. He was thinking as he spoke,

    not wishing Kroeger to have any time to formulate answers or comments. This

    Kroeger, although be did not speak their language fluently, understood far

    more than he let on, Ludendorff believed. "We have gone so far as to sign

    agreements, have we not? ... Pacts, if you like, that with the emergence

    of our power on the political scene in Germany, our friends in Zurich will

    be given - - - certain priorities. . . . Economic priorities. . . . We are

    corn mitted, are we not." There was no hint of a question in Ludendorff's

    last remark.

,1rhat's right."

    "What happens, Herr Kroeger, if we do not honor those coniraitments?"

    Ulster Scarlett paused, returning Ludendorffs now questioning gaze. "Tbey'd

    yell like sons of bitches and try to ruin us."

"HowT'

    "Any means they could, Ludendorff. And their means are oonsiderable.

'Does that bother you?"

    "Only if they succeeded. Thornton7s not the only one. They're all thieves.

    The difference is that the rest of them am smart. They know were right.

    We'll winI Ev eryone likes to do business with the winnerl They know what

    they're doing. They want to work with usl"

"I believe you're convinced."

    "You're damn right I am. Between us well Tun things our way. The right wayl

    The way we want to. We'll get rid of the garbagel The Jews, the Reds, the

    stinking little bourgeois bootlickersl"

    287

    Ludendorff watched the confident American closely. He was right, Kroeger

    was stupid. His description of the lesser breeds was emotional, not based

    upon the sound principles of racial integrity. Hitler and Goebbels had

    similar blind.spots but theirs was a pyramid logic in spite of

    themselves--they knew because they saw; they had studied as had Rosenberg

    and himselL This Kroeger had a child!s mentality. He was actually a bigot

    "Ibere is much in what you say. Everyone who thin will support his own

    kind. . . . Do business with his own kind." Ludendorff would watch Heinrich

    Kroegees acbons carefully. Such a high-strung man could do great damage. He

    was a feven4idden cknm

    But then, their court had need of such a jester And his money.

    As usuaL Hitler was right They dare not lose him now.

    IIrM going to Madrid in the morning. rve already sent out the orders

    concerning Thornton. The whole business shouldn't take any longer than two

    or dime weeks, and then IM be in Zurich."

    Hess told Hitler and Goebbeh what Kroeger had said. Der Ffihrer barked out

    a sharp question.

    'T&m can you be reached in Zurichr, interpreted Ludendorff. "Yow schedule,

    if it proceeds as it has, will require Commun with YOM "

    paused before giving his answer He knew ft questm would be asked

    agam. It was always asked whenever he went to Zurkh. Yet he was

    always evasim He reWhed that pan of his mystique, his charisma

    whitin tha party, was due to his obscuring do specift individguas

    or Arnig with which he M business. In the past he had left a sWe

    phone numba or a pod office bm cc perhaps am the nam of one of

    the fourteen mexi in Zurich widi instrucdow to ask him for a Code

    name.

Now direct and open.

    Tim did not understand Oat identities, addressesAm numbers w= unimportant

    OWY the ability to delWer was essenfiaL

Zuxich understood.

    Then Gonaft of ft woflft great fmftm underdood. The international

    financines with their angled labyzhidn of nuinipulatiotis understood

    perfeady.

    ns

He had delivered.

    Their agreements with Germany's emerging new order insured markets and

    controls beyond belief.

And none cared who he was or where he came from.

    But now, at this moment, Ulster Stewart Scarlett realized that these

    titans of the new order needed to be reminded of Heinrich Kroegees

    importance.

He would tell them the truth.

    He would say the name of the one man in Germany sought by all who drove

    for power. The one man who refused to talk, refused to be involved,

    refused to meet with any faction.

    The only man in Germany who lived behind a wall of total secrecy.

    Complete political isolation.

The most feared and revered man in all Europe.

"I'll be with Krupp. Ewen will know where to reach

Mfg

289

CHAPTER 38

Elizabeth Scarlatti sat up in her bed. A card table had been placed at her

side, and papers were strewn a over the Immediate vicinity-the bed, the

table, the entire walking area of the room. Some were in neat piles, others

scattered. Some were clipped together and labeled by index cards; others

discarded, ready for the trash basket.

    It was four o'clock in the afternoon and she had left her room only once.

    That was to let in Janet and Matthew. She noted that they looked terrible;

    exhausted, a perhaps. She knew what had happened. The pressure had become

    too much for the government man He had to break out, got relieL Now that he

    bad, be would be better prepared for her proposaL

    Elizabeth gave a final look at the pages she held in her hand.

    So this was itt The picture was now clear, the background filled in.

    She had said that the men of Zurich might have created an extraordmary

    strategy She know Dow that they had.

    Had it not been so grotesquely evil she miglit, have agreed with her son.

    She might have been proud of his part in iL Under the circumstances, She

    could only be tffd&&

    She wondered if Matthew Canfield would understand. No matter. R was now

    dine for Zurich.

    she got up from the bed, taking the pages with her, and went to the door.

    290

    Janet was at the desk writing letters. Canfield sat in a chair nervously

    reading a newspaper. Both were startled when Elizabeth walked into the

    room.

    "Do you have any knowledge of the Versailles treaty?" she asked him "The

    mtrictions, the reparations paymentsr,

"As much as the average guy, I guess."

    "Are you aware of the Dawes Plan? That wholly imperfect document?"

"I thought it made the reparations livable with."

    "Only temporarily. it was grasped at by the politicians who needed

    temporary solutions. Economically it's a disaster. Nowhere does it give a

    final figure. If, at any time, a final figure is given, German industry-who

    pays the bill-might collapse."

'Tvlat's your point?"

"Bear with me a minute. I want you to under-stand.

Do you realize who executes the Versailles treaty? Do you know whose voice

is strongest in the decisions under the Dawes Plan? Who ultimately controls

the internal economics of Germanyr,

    Canfield put the newspaper down on the floor. "Yes. Some committee."

'The Allied Controls Commission."

    'Vhat are you driving atr Canfield got out of his chair.

    .,Just what you're beginning to suspect 'Ihree of the Zunch contingent are

    members of the Allied Controls Commission. The Vemailles treaty is being

    executed by these men.-Workmg together, the men of Zurich can literally

    manipulate the German economy. Leading in dustrialists from the major

    powers to the north, the West, and the southwest Completed by the most

    powerful financiers within Germany itself. A wolf pack. They'll make sure

    that the forces at work in Germany remain on a collision course. When the

    explosion takes placeas surely it mu t--4hey'll be there to pick up the

    pieces. To complete this . . . master plan, they need only a political base

    of operation. Believe me when I tell you they've found it. With Adolf

    Hitler and his Nazis. . . . With my son, Ulster Stewart Searlett."

"My Godl" Canfield spoke quietly, staring at Eliza-

    291

beth. He had not fully understood the details of her recital, but he

recognized the implications. "It's time for Switzerland, Mr. Canfield." He

would ask his questions on the way.

292

CHAPTER 39

The cablegrams were all in English and except for the names and addresses of

the designees, the words were identical. Each was sent to the company or

corporation in which the person specified held the highest position. Tune

zones were respected, each cable was to arrive at its destination at twelve

noon, on Monday, and each was to be hand-delivered to the individual

addressee upon a signed receipt of acceptance.

    Elizabeth Scarlatt wanted those illustrious corpomtions identified in

    writing. She wanted those receiving her cables to know that this was, above

    all, business.

Each cable read as follows:

    THROUGH THE LATE MARQUIS DE BERTHOLDE THE SCARLATTI INDUSTRIES THROUGH THE

    UNDERSIGNED ALONE HAVE BEEN INFORMED OF YOUR CONSOLIDA11ON STOP AS THE

    SINGLE SPOKESMAN FOR SCARLATTI THE UNDERSIGNED BELIEVES THERE EJUST AREAS

    OF MUTUAL INTEREST STOP THE ASSETS OF SCARLATTI COULD BE AT YOUR DISPOSAL

    UNDER PROPER CIRCUMSTANCES STOP THE UNDERSIGNED WILL ARRIVE IN ZURICH IWO

    WEEKS HENCE ON THE EVENING OF NOVEMBER 3 AT THE HOUR OF NINE 07CLOCK STOP

    THE CONFERENCE WILL TAKE PLACE AT FALKE HAUS

    ELIZABETH WYCKHAM SCARLATTI

    There were thirteen reactions, all separate, in many different languages,

    but each with a single ingredient cOMmon to all.

    293

Fear.

    There was a fourteenth reaction, and it took place in the suite of rooms

    reserved for Heinrich Kroeger at Madrid's Hotel Emperador. The reaction was

    fury.

    "I won't have itl It can't take placel They're all deadl Deadl,Deadl Deadl

    She was warnedl They're deadl Every God damned one of theml Dead. My orders

    go out tonightl Nowl"

    Charles Pennington, sent by Ludendorff to act as Kroeger's bodyguard, stood

    across the room looking out the balcony at the reddish, fan-shaped rays of

    the Spanish sun.

    "Gloriousl Simply gloriousl . . . Don't be an ass." He didn't like to look

    at Heinrich Kroeger. In repose that tissued, patched face was bad enough.

    Angered, it was repulsive. It was now orimson with rage.

"DoWt you -tell me . . ."

    "Oh, stop itl" Pennington saw that Kroeger continued to crush in his fist

    the telegram fporn Howard Thornton, which spelled out the Scarlatti

    conference in Zurich. 'T,Fhat bloody difference does it make to you? To any

    of us?" Pennington had opened the envelope and read the message because, as

    he told Kroeger, he had no idea when Kroeger would return from his meeting

    with the papal attach& It might have been urgent. What he did not tell

    Kroeger was that Ludendorff had instructed him to screen all letters, phone

    calls-whatever-received by this animal. It was a pleasure.

    "We doiet want anyone else involved. We can't have anyone elsel We cantt

    Zurich will panicl They'll run out on usl"

    11rhey've an got the cables. If Zurich's going to run, you won't stop them

    now. Besides, this Scarlatti's the oat's whiskers if it's the same one rm

    thinking of. She has millions.... Damned fortunate for us she wants to come

    inI didnJ think much of Bertholde--probably less than you did, smelly

    French Jew-but if he pulled this off, I doff myh,a;L Anyway, I repeat,

    what's it to you?"

    Heinrich Kroeger glared at the stylish, effeminate Englishman who pulled at

    his cuffs, making sure they fen just below his jacket sleeve. The red and

    black cuff links were surrounded by the soft linen of his light blue shirt.

    Kroeger knew this appearance was deceptive. Like the social Boothroyd,

    Pennington was a killer who took emo-

    294

tional sustenance from his work. He also was held in high esteem by Hitler,

even more so by Joseph Goebbels. Nevertheless, Kroeger had made up his mind.

He could not risk itl

    'This meeting won't take placel She'll be killed. ru have her killed."

    "Then I'll have to remind you that such a decision must be multilateral.

    You can not make it yourself.

And I don't think you'll find anyone else consenting."

"You're not here to tell me what to dol"

    "Oh, but I am.... My instructions come from Ludendorff. And, of course, he

    knows about your message from Thornton. I wired him several hours ago."

    Pennington casually looked at his wristwatch. "~I'm going out for dinner...

    Frankly, I'd prefer eating alone but if you insist upon joining me, I'll

    tolerate your company."

"You little prickl I could break your God damn neckl"

    Pennington bristled. He knew that Kroeger was unarmed, his revolver lay on

    the bureau in his bedroom, and the temptation was there. He could kill him,

    use the telegram as proof, and say that Kroeger had disobeyed. But then

    there were the Spanish authorities and a hasty retreat. And Kroeger did

    have a job to do. Strange that it involved Howard Thornton so completely.

    "I'hat's possible, of course, But then we could, no doubt, do each other in

    any number of ways, couldn7t we?" Pennington withdrew a thin pistol from

    his chest holster. "For instance, I might fire a single bullet directly

    into your mouth right now. . . . But I wouldn't do it in spite of your

    provocation because the order is larger than either of us. I'd have to

    answer for my action-no doubt be executed for it. You11 be shot if you take

    matters into your own hands."

"You don't know this Scarlatti, Pennington. I do_ 11.

    How could she have known about Bertholde? What could she have learned from

    him?

    "Of course, you're old friendsl" The Englishman put away his pistol and

    laughed.

    Howl How? She wouldn't dare challenge himl The only thing she valued was

    the Scarlatti name, its heritage, its future. She knew beyond a doubt that

    he would stamp it outt Howl Why?

"That woman can't be trusWl She can't be trustedi"

Charles Pennington pulled down his blazer so the

    295

shoulders fell correctly, the jacket cloth concealing the slight bulge of

his holster. He walked to the door in calm anticipation of chorizo. "Really,

Heinrich? . . . Can any of us?"

    The Englishman closed the door leaving only a faint aronig -of Yardley's.

    Heinrich Kroeger uncrumpled the telegram in his palm

    Thornton was panic-stricken. Each of the remaining thirteen in Zurich had

    received identical cablegrams, from Elizabeth Soarlatti. But none save

    Thornton knew who he was.

    Kroeger had to move quickly. Pennington hadn't lied. He would be shot if he

    ordered Elizabeth Scarlatti's death. That did not, however, Preclude such

    an order after Zurich. Indeed, after Zurich it would be mandatory.

    But first the Thornton land. He had instructed Thornton for his own safety

    to let it go. The frightened Thornton had not argued, and the idiot attach6

    was playing right into his hands. For the glory of Jesus and another blow

    against atheistic- communism.

    The money and title would be transferred within a week. Thornton was

    sending his attorney from San Francisco to conclude the negotiations by

    signatum

    As soon as the land was his, Heinrich Kroeger would issue a warrant for

    death that no one could deny.

    And when that misfit life was snuffed out, Heinrich Kroeger was free. He

    would be a true light of the new order. None would know that Ulster

    Scarlett existed.

Except one.

He would confront her -at Zurich.

He would kill her at Zurich.

296

CHAPTER 40

The embassy limousine climbed the small hill to the front of the Georgian

house in Fairfax, Virginia. It was the elegant residence of Erich Rheinhart,

attach6 of the Weimar Republic, nephew of the sole imperial general who had

thrown his support to the German radical movement given the name of Nazi, by

philosophy, a fullHedged Nazi himself.

    The well-tailored man with the waxed moustache got out of the back seat and

    stepped onto the driveway. He looked up at the ornate facade.

"A lovely home."

    "I'm pleased, Poole," said Rheinhart, smiling at the man from Bertholde et

    Fils.

    The two men walked into the house and Erich Rheinhart led his guest to a

    book-lined study off the living r6om. He indicated a chair for ~oole and

    went to a cabinet, taking out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

    "ro business. You come three thousand miles at a loathsome time of year for

    ocean travel. You tell me I am the object of your visiL I'm flattered, Of

    course, but what can. - ."

"WU ordered Bertholde's death?" Poole said harshly.

    Erich Rheinhart was astonished. He hunched his padded shoulders, placed his

    glass on the small table, and extended his hand,% palms up. He spoke

    slowly, in consternation.

.My - dear man, why do you think it concerns me?

mean---in all candor-you are either deluded as to my infliience or you need

a long rest."

    297

    I

    "Labishe wouldn't have killed him without having been ordered,to do it.

    Some one of enormous authority had to issue that order."

    "Well, to begin with I have no such authority, and secondly I would have no

    reason. I was fond of that Frenchman."

"You hardly knew him."

    Rheinhart laughed. "Very well. . . . All the -less reason. . ."

    "I didn't say you personally. I'm asking who did and why." Poole was

    betraying his normal calm. He had good reason. This arrogant Prussian held

    the key if Poole was right, and he wasn!t going to let him go until he

    found out. He would have to prom nearer the truth, yet not disclose it.

    "Did Bertholde know something the rest of you didn't want him to know?"

"Now, you're preposterous."

"Did he?"

    "Jacques Bertholde was our London contactl He enjoyed a unique position in

    England that approached diPlomatic immunity. His influence was felt in a

    dozen countries among scores of the industrial elite. His death is a great

    loss to usl How dare you imply that any of us was responsiblel"

    "I find it interesting that you haven't answered my question." Poole was

    exasperated. "Did he know sonmthing the men in Munich might consider

    dangerous?"

"If he did, I have no idea what it might bel"

    But Poole knew. Perhaps he was the only oue who did know. if he could only

    be sure.

    1Td like another drink, please. Forgive MY temper." He smiled.

    Rhembart laughed. "You're impossible. Give me your glass.... You're.

    satisfied?" The German crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured. "You

    travel three thousand miles for nothing. It's been a bad trip for you."

    Poole shrugged. He was used to the trips---some good, some bad. Bertholde

    and his odd friend, the Misshapen Heinrich Kroeger, had ordered him over

    barely six months ago. His orders had bien simple then. Pick up the girl,

    find out what she had learned from old Scarlatti. Held failed. The

    -Canfield -an had stopped him. The golicitous lackey, the

    salesman-cum-escort had prevented

    298

it. But he hadn't failed his other orders. He'd followed the banker named

Cartwright. He'd killed him and broken into the railroad station locker and

gotten the banker's agreement with Elizabeth Scarlatti.

    It was then that he had learned the truth of Heinrich Kroeger's identity.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti's son had needed an ally and Jacques Bertholde was that

    ally. And in return for that precious friendship, Ulster Scarlett had or-

    dered Bertholde's death. The fanatic had commanded the death of the man who

    had made everything possible for him.

    He, Poole, would avenge that terrible murder. But before he did, he had to

    confirm what he suspected was the truth. That neither the Nazi leaders nor

    the men in Zurich knew who Kroeger was. If that was the case, then Kroeger

    had murdered Bertholde to keep that identity secret.

    The revelation might cost the movement millions. The Munich Nazis would

    know this, if they knew anything.

    Erich Rheinhart stood over Poole. "A penny for your thoughts, -my dear

    fellow? Here, a bourbon. You do not speak to me."

    "Oh? . . . Yes, it's been a bad trip, Erich. You were right." Poole bent

    his neck back, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. Rheinhart returned

    to his chair.

    "You need a rest. .- . . Do you know what I think? I think you're right. I

    think some damned fool did issue that order." Poole opened his eyes,

    startled by Erich Rheinhart's words. "Jal In my opinion you are correct.

    And it must stop I . . . Strasser fights Hitler and Ludendorff. Ekhart

    rambles on like a madman. Attackingl Attackingl Kindorf screams in the

    Ruhr. Jodl betrays the Black Wehrinacht in Bavaria. Graefe makes a mess in

    the north. Even my own uncle, the illustrious Wilhelm Rheinhart, makes an

    idiot of himself. He speaks, and I hear the laughter behind my back in

    America. I tell you we are split in ten factions. Wolves at each other's

    throats. We will accomplish nothing! Nothing, if this does not stopl" Erich

    Rheinhart's anger was undisguised. He &Wt care. He rose again from his

    chair. "What is most asinine is the most obvious I We can lose -the men in

    Zurich. if we can not agree among ourselves, how long do you think they

    will 4tay with us? I tell you, these men are not interested in who has next

    week's power base in

    299

the RCICIStag-not for its own sake, They donI care a Deutschemark for the

glories of the new Germany. Or the ambitions of any nation. Their wealth

puts them above political boundaries. They are with us for one rea. son

a10116-dwir own power If we give them a single doubt that we we not what we

claim to be, that we are not the emerging order of Germany, they will

abandon us. They will leave us with nothingi Even the Germans among thenil"

    Rheinhares fury abated. He tried to smile but instead drained his glass

    quickly and crossed to the cabineL

    It Poole could only be sure. "I understand," he said quietly.

    "Ja. I think you do. You've worked long and hard with Bertholde. You've

    accomplished a great deal . . " He turned around facing Poole. "That's what

    I mean. Everything that all of us have worked for can be lost by these

    internal hictions. The achievements of Funke, Bertholde, von Schnitzler,

    Thyssen, even Kroeger, will be wiped out if we can not come together. We

    must unite behind one, possibly two, acceptable leaders . . ."

    That was id That was the sign. Poole was now sure. Rheinhart had said the

    namet Kroegerl

    "Maybe, Erich, but whor, Would Rheinhart say the name again? It was not

    possible,. for Kroeger was no German. But could he get Rheinh to use the

    name, just the name, once more without the slightest betrayal of concern.

    "Strasser, perhaps. Hes strong, attractive. Ludendorff naturally has the

    aura, of national fame, but he's too old now But mark me, Poole, watch this

    Hitlerl Have you read the transcripts of the Munich trialrl

"No. Should 1?"

"Yesl He's electricl Positively eloquentl And sound."

    "He has a lot of enemies. I He's banned from speaking in almost every

    gratshatt in Germany."

    'The necessary excesses in a march to power. The bans on him are being

    removed. Were seeing to that"

Poole now watched Rheinhart carefully as he spoke,

"Hitlees a friend of Kroeger, isn't he?"

    "Achl Wouldn't you be? Kroeger has millionsl It is through Kroeger that

    Hitler gets his automobiles, his chauffeur, the castle at Berchtesgaden,

    God knows what else. You don't think he buys them with his royalties, do

    300

you? Most amusing. Last year Heft Hitler declared an income which could not

possibly purchase two tires for his Niercedes." Rheinhart laughed. "We

managed to have the inquiry suspended in Munich, fortunately. Ja, Kroeger is

good to Hitler.

    Poole was now absolutely sure. The men in Zurich did not know who Heinrich

    Kroeger wasl

    "Erich, I must go. Can you have your man drive me back to Washington?"

"But of course, my dear fellow."

    Poole opened the door of his room at the Ambassador Hotel. Upon hearing the

    sound of the key, the man inside stood up, practically at attention.

"Oh, it's you, Bush."

    "Cable from London, Mr. Poole. I thought it best that I take the train down

    rather than using the telephone." He handed Poole the cable.

    Poole opened the envelope and extracted the message. He read it

    DUCHESS HAS LEFT LONDON STOP DESTINATION ASCERTAINED GENEVA STOP RUMORS OF

    ZURICH CONFERENCE STOP CABLE INSTRUCTIONS PARIS OFFICE

    Poole pinched his aristocratic lips together, nearly biting into his own

    flesh in an attempt to suppress his anger.

    "Duchess" was the code name of Elizabeth Scarlatti. So she headed for

    Geneva. A hundred and ten miles from Zurich. This was no pleasure trip. It

    was not another leg on her journey of mourning.

    Whatever Jacques Bertholde had feared-plot or counterplot-it was happening

    now. Elizabeth Scarlatti and her son "Heinrich Kroegee, were making their

    moves. Separately or together, who could know.

Poole made his decision.

    "Send the following to the Paris office. Tliminate Duchess from the market.

    Her bid is to be taken off our lists at once. Repeat, eliminate Duchess'."

    Poole dismissed the courier and went to the telephone. He had to make

    reservations immediately. He had to get to Zurich.

    301

    There'd be no conference. Hq'd stop it. He'd kill the mother, expose the

    killer sonl Kroeger's death would follow quickly!

It was the least he could do for Bertholde.

302

PART THREE

CHAPTER 41

The tram clanged over the antiquated bridge sp - 9 the none River. into the

Geneva station. Elizabeth Scarlath sat in her compartment looking fnt down

at -the river barges, then at the rising banks and into the large railroad

yard. Geneva was clean. There was a scrubbed look about it, which helped -to

hide the fact that scores of nations and a thousand score of business giants

used this neutral city to further intensify confficting interestL As the

train neared the city, she thought that someone like herself belonged in

Geneva. Or, perhaps, Geneva belonged to someone like herself.

    She eyed the luggage piled on the seat facing her. One sintcas& contairted

    the clothes she needed, and three smaller bags were jamined with papers.

    Papers that contained a thousand conclusions, totaling up to a battery of

    weapons. The data included figures on the complete worth of every man in

    the. Zurich gmup. Every resource

    , each possessed. Additional infoirnaaon

    awaited her in Geneva. But that was a different

    sort of musketry. it was not unlike the

    Domesday Book. For what awaited her in Gene. va

    was the complete breakdown of the Scarlatti

    interests. The legally assessed value of every

    asset controlled by the Scarlatti Industries.

    What made it deadly was her maneuVerability.

    And opposite each block of wealth was a com-

    nutinent to purchase These commitments were

    spelled out, and they could be executed

    irwantaneously by a cable to her attorneys.

And well they should be.

Each block was followed-not by the usual two col.

    305

unins designating assessed value and sales value-but three columns. This

third column was an across-the-board cut, which guaranteed the buyer a minor

fortune with each transaction. Each signified a mandate to purchase that

could not be refused. It was the highest level of finance, returned through

the complexities of banking to the fundamental basis of economic incentive.

Profit.

    And Elizabeth counted on one last factor. It was the reverse of her

    instructions but that, too, was calculated.

    In her sealed orders sent across the Atlantic was the emphatic stipulation

    that every contact, made--to complete the -task teams of administrators had

    to work twelve-hour shifts night and day-was to be carried out in the

    utmost secrecy and only with those whose authority extended to great

    financial commitments. The guaranteed gains absolved all from charges of

    irresponsibility. Each would emerge a hero to himself or to his economic

    constituency. But the price was consummate security until the act was done.

    The rewards matched the price. Millionaires, merchant princes, and bankers

    in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Palm Beach found themselves

    quartered in conference rooms with their dignified counterparts from one of

    New York's most prestigious law firms. The tones were hushed and the looks

    knowing. Financial killings were being made. Signatures were affixed.

And, of course, it had to happen.

    Unbelievable good fortune leads to ebullience, and ebullience is no mate

    for secrecy.

    Two or three began to talk. Then four or five. Then a down. But no more

    than that. . . The price.

    Phone calls were made, almost none from offices, nearly all from the quiet

    seclusion of libraries or dens. Most were made at night under the soft

    light of desk lamps with good pre-Volstead whiskey an arm's length away.

    in the highest economic circles, there was a rumor that something most

    unusual was happening at SCarlatti.

    it was just enough. Elizabeth knew it would be just enough. After all, the

    price.... And the rumors reached the men in Zurich.

    306

    Matthew Canfield stretched out across the seats in his own compartment, his

    legs propped over his single suitcase, his feet resting on the cushions

    facing him. He, too, looked out the window at the approaching city of

    Geneva. He had just finished one of his thin cigars and the smoke rested in

    suspended layers above him. in the still air of the small room. He

    contemplated opening a window, but he was too depressed to move.

    It had been two weeks to the day since he had granted Elizabeth Scarlatti

    her reprieve of one month. Fourteen days of chaos made painful by the

    knowledge-of his own uselessness. More than uselessness, more akin to per-

    sonal futility. He could do nothing, and nothing was expected of him.

    Elizabeth hadift wanted him to "work closely" with her. She di4wt want

    anyone to work with Ler--closely or otherwise. She soloed. She soared

    alone, a crusty, patrician eagle sweeping the infinite meadows of her own

    particular heaven.

    His most demanding chore was the purcbase of office supplies such as reams

    of paper, pencils, notebooks, and endless boxes of paper clips.

    Even the. publisher Thomas Ogilvie had refused to see him, obviously so

    instructed by Elizabeth.

    Canfield had been dismissed as he was being dismissed by Elizabeth. Even

    Janet treated him with a degree of aloofness, always apologizing for her

    manner but by apologizing, acknowledging iiL He began to realize what had

    happened. He was the whore now. He had sold himself,

    rs taken and paid for. They had very little use his fave, for him now.

    They knew he could be had again as one knows a whore can be had.

    He understood so much more completely what Janet had felt.

    Would it be finished with Janet? Could it ever be finished with her? He

    told himself no. She told him the same. She asked him- to be strong enough

    for both of them, but was she fooling herself and letting him pay for it?

    He began to wonder if he was capable of judgment. He had been idle and the

    rot inside of him frightened him. What had he done? Could -he undo it? He

    was operating in a world he couldn't come -to grips with.

    Except Janet. She didn't belong to that world either. She belonged to him.

    She had tol

    307

    The whistle on the train's roof screeched twice and the huge

    metal-against-metal slabs on the wheels began to grind. The train was

    entering the Geneva station, and Canfield heard Elizabet&s rapid knocking

    on the wall between their compartments. The knocking annoyed him. It

    sounded like. an impatient master of the house rapping for a servant.

Which is exactly what it was.

    "I can manage this one, you take the other two. Let the redcaps handle the

    rest."

    Dutifully Canfield instructed the porter, gathered up the two bags, and

    followed EUabeth off the train.

    Because he had to juggle the two suitcases in the small exit area, he was

    several feet behind Elizabeth as they stepped off the metal stairway and

    started down the concrete platform to the center of the station. Because of

    those two suitcases they were alive one minute later.

    At first it was only a speck of dark movement in the comer of his eye. Then

    it was the gasps of several travelers behind him. Then the screams. And

    then he saw it.

    Bearing down from the right was a massive freight doily with a huge steel

    slab across the front used to scoop up heavy crates. The metal plate was

    about four feet off the ground and had the appearance of a giant, ugly

    blade.

    Canfield jumped forward as the rushing monster came directly at them. He

    threw his right arm around her waist and pushed-pulled her out of the way

    of the mammoth steel plate. It crashed into the side of the train less than

    a foot from both their bodies.

    Many in the crowd were hysterical. No one could be sure whether anyone had

    been injured or killed. Porters came running. The shouts and screams echoed

    throughout the platform.

    Elizabeth, breathless, spoke into Canfield's ear. "The suitcases! Do you

    have the suitcases?"

    Canfield found to his amazement that he still held one in his left hand. It

    was pressed between Elizabeth's back and the train. He had dropped the

    suitcase in his right hand.

"I've got one. I let the other go."

    308

"Find itl"

"For Christ's sakel"

"Find it, you fooll"

    Canfield pushed at the crowd gathering in front of them. He scanned his

    eyes downward and saw the leather case. It had been ran over by the heavy

    front wheels of the dolly, cnished but still intact. He shouldered his way

    against a dozen undriffs and reached down. Simul taneously another arm.

    with a fat, uncommonly large hand thrust itself toward the crumpled piece

    of leather. The arm was clothed in a tweed JackaL A woman!s jacket Canfield

    pushed harder and touched the case with his fingers and began pulling it

    forward. Instinctively, amid the panorama of trousers and overcoats, be

    grabbed the wrist of the fat, hand and looked up.

    Bending down, eyes in blind fury, was a Jowled face Canfield could never

    forget It belonged in that hideous foyer of red and black four thousand

    miles away. It was Hannah. Janet!shousekeeperl

    Their eyes met in recognition. The woman's iron-gray head was covered

    tightly by a dark green Tyrolean fedora, which set off the bulges of facial

    flesh. Her immense body was crouched, ugly, ominous. With enormous strength

    she whipped her band out of Canfield's grasp, pushing him as she did so, so

    that he fell back into the dolly and the bodies surrounding him. She

    disappeared rapidly into the crowd toward the station.

    Canfield rose, clutching the crushed suitcase under his arm. He looked

    after her, but she could not be seen. He stood there for a mornen4 people

    pressing around him, bewildered.

He worked his way back to Elizabeth.

"rake me out of here. Quicklyl"

    They started down the platform, Elizabeth holding his left arm with more

    strength than Canfield thought she possessed. She was actually hurting him.

    They left the excited crowd behind them.

    "It has begun." She looked straight ahead as she spoke. .

    They reached the interior of the crowded dome. Canfield kept moving his

    head in every direction, trying to find an irregular break in the human

    pattern, trying to find a pair of eyes, a still shape, a waiting figure. A

    fat woman in a Tyrolean hat.

    309

    They reached the south entrance on Eisenbahn Platz and found a fine of

    taxis.

    Canfield held Elizabeth back from the first cab. She was alarmed. She

    wanted to keep moving.

'They'll send our luggage."

    He didn't reply. Instead he propelled her to the left toward the second car

    and then, to her mounting concern, signaled the driver of a third vehicle.

    He pulled the cab door shut and looked at the crushed, expensive Mark Cross

    suitcase. He pictured Hannah's wrathful, puffed face. If there was ever a

    female archangel of darkness, she was it. He gave the driver the name of

    their hotel.

"Il ny a plus de bagage, monsieur?"

"No. It will follow," answered Elizabeth in English.

    The old woman had just gone through a horrifying experience, so he decided

    not to mention Hannah until they reached the hotel. Let her calm down. And

    yet he wondered whether it was him or Elizabeth who needed the calm. His

    hands were still shaking. He looked over at Elizabeth. She continued to

    stare straight ahead, but she was not seeing anything anyone else would

    see.

11.4

    Are you all rightr'

She did not answer him for nearly a minute.

"Mr. Canfield, you have a terrible responsibility facing

YOU.,.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

    She turned and looked at him. Gone was the grandeur, gone the haughty

    superiority.

    "Don't 'let them kill me, Mr. Canfield. Don't let them kill me now. Make

    them wait till Zurich.... After Zurich they can do anything they wish."

310

CHAPTER 42

Elizabeth and Canfield spent three days and nights in their rooms at the

Hotel D' Accord. Only once had Canfield gone out-and he had spotted two men

following him. They did not try to take him, and it occurred to him that

they considered him so secondary to the prime target, Elizabeth, that they

dared not risk a call out of the Geneva police, reported to be an alarmingly

belligerent force, hostile to those who upset the delicate equilibrium of

their neutral city. The experience taught him that the moment they appeared

together he could expect an attack no less vicious than the one made on them

at the Geneva station. He wished he could send word to Ben Reynolds. But he

couldn't, and he knew it He had been ordered to stay out of Switzerland. He

had withheld every piece of vital information from his reports. Elizabeth

had seen to that. Group Twenty knew next to nothing about the immediate

situation and the motives of those involved. ff he did send an urgent

request for assistance, he would have to explain, at least partially, and

that explanation would lead to prompt interference by the embassy. Reynolds

wouldn't wait upon legalities. He would have Canfield seized by force and

held incommunicado.

    The results were predictable. With him finished, Elizabeth wouldn't have a

    chance of. reaching Zurich. She'd be killed by Scarlett in Geneva. And the

    secondary target would then be Janet back in London. She couldn't stay at

    the Savoy indefinitely. Derek couldn't continue his security precautions ad

    infinitum. She would eventually

    311

leave, or Derek would become exasperated and careless. She, -too, would be

killed. Finally, there was Chancellor Drew, his wife, and- seven children.

There would be a hundred valid reasons for all to leave the remote Canadian

refuge. They'd be massacred. Ulster Stewart Scarlett would win.

    At the thought of Scarlett, Canfield was -able to summon up what anger was

    left in him. It was almost enough to match his fear and depression. Almost.

    He walked into the sitting room Elizabeth had converted into an office. She

    was writing on the center table.

    "Do you remember the housekeeper at your son's house?" he said.

    Elizabeth put down her pencil. It was momentary courtesy, not concern. "rve

    seen her on the few occasions rve visited, yes."

"Where did she come from?"

    "As I -recall, Ulster brought her back from Europe. She ran a hunting lodge

    in . . . southern Germany." Elizabeth looked up at the field accountant.

    "Why do you ask?"

    Years later Canfield would reflect that it was because he had been trying

    to find the words to tell Elizabeth Scarlatti that Hannah was in Geneva

    that caused him to do what he did. To physically move from one place to

    another at that particular instant. To cross between Elizabeth and the

    window. He would carry the remembrance of it as long as he lived.

    There was a shattering of glass and a sharp, terrible stinging pain in his

    left shoulder. Actually the pain seemed to come first. The jolt was so

    powerful that it spun Canfield around, throwing him across the table,

    scattering papers, and crashing the lamp to the floor A second and third

    shot followed, splintering the thick wood around his body and Canfield, in

    panic, lurched to one side, toppling Elizabeth off her chair onto the floof

    The pain in his shoulder was overpowering, and a huge splotch of blood

    spread across his shirt.

It was allover in five seconds.

    Elizabeth was crouched against the paneling of the wall. She was at once

    frightened and grateful. She looked at the field acoountant lying in front

    of her trying to hold his shoulder. She was convinced'he had thrown himself

    over her -to' protect -her from -the bullets. He never explained otherwise.

    312

"How badly are you hurt?"

    "I'm not sure. It hurts like hell. I've never been hit before. Never shot

    before. . . ." He was finding it difficult to speak. Elizabeth started to

    move toward him"God damn itl Stay where you are!" He looked up and saw that

    he was out of the sight line of the window. They both were. "Look, can you

    reach the phone? Go on the floor. Stay down! . . . I think I need a doctor.

    . . . A doctor." He passed out.

    Thirty minutes later Canfield awoke. He was on his own bed with the whole

    upper left part of his chest encased in an uncomfortable bandage. He could

    barely move. He could see, blurredly to be sure, a number of' figures

    around him. As his eyes came into focus, he saw Elizabeth at the foot of

    the bed looking down at him. To her right was a man in an overcoat, behind

    him a uniformed policeman. Bending over him on his left was a balding,

    stem-faced man in his shirt sleeves, obviously a doctor. He spoke to

    Canfield. His accent was French.

"Move your left hand, please."

Canfield obeyed.

"Your feet, please."

Again he complied.

:'Can you roll your head?"

'What? Where?"

    "Move your head back and forth. Don't try to be amu, mg." Elizabeth was

    possibly the most relieved person within twenty miles of the Hotel D'

    Accord. She even smiled.

Canfield swung his head back and forth.

"You are not seriously hum" The doctor stood erect.

    "You sound disappointed," answered the field accountaliL

    "May I ask him questions, Herr Doktor?" said the Swiss next to Elizabeth.

    The doctor replied in his broken English. "Yes. The bullet passed him

    througIL"

    What one had to do with the other perplexed Canfield, but he had no time to

    think about it Elizabeth spoke.

    "I've explained to this gentleman that you're merely accompanying me while

    -1 conduct business affairs. We're totally bewildered by whafs happened."

    313

    "I would appreciate this man answering for himself, madame."

    "Damned if I can tell you anything, mister. And then Canfield stopped.

    There was no point in being a fool. He was going to need help. "On second

    thought, maybe I ~an." He looked toward the doctor, who was putting on his

    suit coat. The Swiss understood.

"Very well. We shall wait."

"Mr. Canfield, what can you possibly add?"

"Passage to Zurich."

Elizabeth understood.

    The doctor left and Canfield found that he could lie on his right side. The

    Swiss Geheirnpolizist walked around to be nearer.

    "Sit down, sir," said Canfield as the man drew up a chair. "What I'm going

    to tell you will seem foolish to someone like you and me who have to work

    for our livings." The field accountant winked. "It's a private matter -no

    harm to anyone outside the family, family business, but you can help....

    Does your man speak English?"

The Swiss looked briefly at the uniformed policeman.

"No, monsieur."

    "Good. As I say, you can help. Both the clean record of your fair city ...

    and yourself." (

The Swiss Geheimpolizist drew up his chair closer.

He was delighted.

    The afternoon arrived. They had timed the train schedules to the quarter

    'hour and had telephoned ahead for a limousine and chauffeur. Their train

    tickets had been purchased by the hotel, claasly spelling out the name of

    Scarlatti for preferred treatment and the finest accommodations available

    for the short trip to Zurich. Their luggage was sent downstairs an hour

    beforehand -and deposited by the 'front entrance. The tags were legibly

    marked, the train compartments specified, and even the limousine service

    noted -for the Zurich porters. Canfield figured that the lowest IQ in

    Europe could know the immediate itinerary of Elizabeth Scarlatti if he

    wished to.

    The ride from the hotel to the station took about twelve minutes. One-half

    hour before the -train for Zurich departed an old woman, with a heavy black

    veil, ac-

    314

    i

oompanied by a youngish man in a brand-new fedora, his left arm in a white

sling, got into a limousine. They were escorted by two members of the Geneva

police, who kept their hands on their holstered pistols.

    No incident occurred, and the two travelers rushed into the station and

    immediately onto the train.

    As the train left the Geneva platform, another elderly woman accompanied

    by. a youngish man, this one in a Brooks Brothers hat, and also with his

    left arm in a sling but hidden by a topcoat, left the service entrance of

    the Hotel D'Accord. The elderly woman was dressed in the uniform of a Red

    Cross colonel, female division, complete with a garrison cap. The man

    driving was also a member of the International Red Cross. The two people

    rushed into the back seat, and the young man closed the door. He

    immediately took the cellophane off a thin cigar and said to the driver,

    "Let's go."

    As the car sped out the narrow driveway, the old woman spoke disparagingly.

    "Really, Mr. Canfieldl Must you smoke one of those awful things?"

    "Gevena rules, lady. Prisoners are allowed packages from home."

    a

315

CHAPTER 43

Twent"even miles from Zurich is the town of Menziken. The Geneva tram

stopped for precisely four minutes, the time allotW for the leading of the

railway post and then proceeded on its inevitable, exact, fated zide up the

tracks to its destingtion.

    Five minutes out of Menziken, compartments D4 and D5 on Pullman car six

    were broken into simultaneously by two men in masks. Because neither

    compartment contained any passengers, and both toilet doors were locked,

    the masked men fired their pistols into the thin panels of the commodes,

    expecting to find the bodies when they opened the doors.

They found no one. Nothing.

    As if predetermined, both masked men ran out mto the narrow corridor and

    nearly collided with one another.

    .Haltl Stopt" The shouts came from both ends of the Pullman corridor The

    men calling were dressed in the uniforms of the Geneva police

    The two masked men did not stop. histead they fired wildly in both

    directions.

Their shots were returned andthetwo men fell.

    They wen searched; no identifications were found. The Geneva police were

    pleased about that They did not wish to get involved.

    One of the fallen men, however, had a tattoo on his forearm: an insignia,

    recently given the term of swastika. And a third man unseen, nninasked, not

    fallen, Was first off the train at Zurich, and hurried to a telephone.

    316

    "Here We are at Aarau. You can rest up here for a while. Your clothes are

    in a flat on the second floor. I believe your car is parked in the rear and

    the keys are under the left seat." Ileir driver was English and Canfield

    liked that. The driver hadn't spoken a word since Geneva. The field

    accountant withdrew a large bill from his pocket and offered it to the man.

    "Hardly necessary, sir," said the driver as he waved the bill aside without

    turning.

    They waited until eight fifteen. It was a dark night with only half a moon

    shrouded by low clouds. Canfield had tried the car, driving it up and down

    a country road to get the feel of it, to get used to driving with only his

    right hand. The gas gauge registered rempli and they were ready.

More precisely, Elizabeth Scarlatti was ready.

    She was like a gladiator, prepared to bleed or let blood. She was cold but

    intense. She was a killer.

    And her weapons were paper-infinitely more danger. ous than maces or

    triforks to her adversaries. She was also, as a fine gladiator must be,

    supremely confident.

    It was more -than her last grande geste, it was the culmination of a

    lifetime. Hers and Giovanni's. She would not fail hirn.

    Canfield had studied and restudied the map; he knew the roads he had to

    take to reach Falke Haus. They would skirt the center of Zurich and head

    toward Kloten, turning right at the Schlieren tOrk and follow the central

    road toward Bulach. One mile to the left on the Winterthurstrasse would be

    the gates of Falke Haus.

    He had pushed the car up to eigJay-five miles an hour, and he had stopped

    at sixty within the space of fifty feet without causing a dislocation of

    the seats. The Geneva Geheimpolizist had done his job well. But then he was

    well paA Damn near two years' wages at the going Swiss rate of Civil

    Service. And the car was licensed with the numbers no one would stop-for

    any reason-the Zurich

    317

police. How he had done it, Canfield didn't ask. Elizabeth suggested that it

might have been the money.

    "Is that all?" asked Canfield as he led Elizabeth Scarlatti toward the car.

    He referred to her single briefcase.

    "It's enough," said the old woman as she followed him downthe path.

    "You had a couple of thousand pages, a hundred thousarid figuresl"

    "They're meaningless now." Elizabeth held the briefcase on her lap as

    Canfield shut the car door.

    "Suppose they ask you questions?" The field accouxitant inserted the key in

    the ignition.

    "No doubt they will. And if they do, IT answer." She didn't wish to taUL

    They drove for twenty minutes and the roads were coming out right. Canfield

    was pleased with himsel~ He was a satisfied navigator. Suddenly Elizabeth

    spoke.

    "There is one thing I haven't told you, nor have you seen fit to bring it

    up. It's only fair that I mention it now. P,

'1nat?"

    "Ws conceivable that neither of us will emerge from this conference alive.

    Have you considered that?"

    Canfield had, of course, considered iL He had assumed the risk, if that was

    the justifiable word, since the Boothroyd incident. It had escalated to

    pronounced danger when he realized that Janet was possibly his for'life. He

    became committed when he know what her husband had done to her.

    With the bullet through his shoulder, two inches from death, Matthew

    Canfield in his own way had become a gladiator in much the same manner as

    Elizabeth. His anger was paramount now.

    "You worry about your problems, 1711 worry about mine, okay?"

    "Okay. . . . May I say that you've become quite dear to, me. . . . Oh, stop

    that little-boy lookl Save it for the ladiest I'm hardly one of theml Drive

    oril"

    On Winterthurstrasse, three-tenths of a mile from Falke Haus there is a

    stretch of straight road paralleled on

    318

both sides by towering pine trees. Matthew Canfield pushed the accelerator

down and drove the automobile as fast as it would go. It was five minutes to

nine and he was determined that his passenger meet her appointment on time.

    Suddenly in the far-off illumination of the head lamps, a man was

    signaling. He waved his hands, crisscrossing above his head, standing in

    the middle of the road. He was violently making the universal sign,

    stop---emergencY. He did not move from the middle of the road in spite of

    Canfield's speed.

    "Hold onl" Canfield riushed on, oblivious to the human being in his path.

    As he did so, there were bursts of gunfire from. both sides of the road.

    "Get downl" shouted Canfield. He continued to push the gas pedal, ducking

    as he did so, bobbing his head, watching the straight road as best he

    could. There was a piercing scream-pitched in a death not&-from. the far

    side of the road. One. of the ambushers had been caught in the crossfire.

    They passed the area, pieces of glass and metal scattered all over the

    seats.

'~You okay?" Canfield had notime for sympathy-

"Yes. rm all right. How much longer?"

    "Not much. If we can make it. TheY may have gotten a tire."

"Even if they did, we can still driver

    I'Don% you worryl rm not about to stop and ask for a jacki"

    The gates of Falke Hans appeared and Canfield turned sharply into the road.

    It was a descending grade leading gently into a huge circle in front of an

    enormous flagstone porch with statuary placed every several feet. The front

    entrance, a large wooden door, was situated twenty [ad beyond the center

    steps. Canfield could not get near it.

    For there were at least a dozen long, black limousines lined up around the

    circle. Chauffeurs stood near them. idly chatting.

    319

    Canfield checked his revolver, placed it in his righthand pocket, and

    ordered Elizabeth out of the car. He insisted that she slide across the

    seat and emerge from his side of the automobile.

    He walked slightly behind her, nodding to the chauffeurs.

    It was one minute after nine when a servant, formally dressed, opened the

    large wooden door.

    They entered the great hall, a massive tabernacle of architectural

    indulgence. A second servant, also formally attired, gestured them toward

    another door. He opened it.

    Inside was the longest table Matthew Canfield thought possible to build. It

    must have been fifty feet from end to end. And a good six to seven feet

    wide.

    Seated around the massive table were fifteen or twenty men. All ages, from

    forty to seventy. All dressed in expensive suits. AU looking toward

    Elizabeth Scarlatti. At the head of the table, half a room away, was an

    empty chair. It cried out to be fi1led, and Canfield wondered for a moment

    whether Elizabeth was to fill it. Then he realized that was not so. Her

    chair was at the foot of -the table closest to then-L

Who was to fill the empty chair?

    No matter. There was no chair for him. He would stay by the wall and watch.

Elizabeth approached the table.

    "Good evening, gentlemen. A number of us have met before. The rest of you

    I know by reputation, I can assure you."

    The entire complement around the table rose as one body.

    The man to the left of Elizabeth's chair circled and held it for her.

She sat down, and the men returned to their seats.

    "I thank you. . . . But there seems to be one of us missing." Elizdbeth

    stared at the chair fifty feet away directly in front of her eyes.

    At that moment a door at the far end of the room opened and a tall man

    strutted in. He was dressed mi the crisp, cold uniform of the German

    revolutionary. The dark brown shirt, the shining black belt across his

    chest and around his waist, the starched tan jodhpurs above the thick,

    heavy boots that came just below his knees.

    320

    7be man's head was shaven, his face a distorted replica

Of itself. I

'The chair is now taken. Does that satisfy you?"

    'Not entirely. . . . Since I know, through one means or another, every

    person of consequence at this table, I should like to know who you are,

    sir."

    'I(roeger. Heinrich Kroegerl Anything else, Madame Scarlatti?"

"Not a -thing. Not a single thing ... Herr Kroeser."

321

CHAPTER 44

"Against my wishes and my better judgment, Madame Scarlatti, my associates

are determined to hear what you have to say." The grotesque shaven-headed

Heinrich Kroeger spoke. "My position has been made clear to YOIL I trust

your memory serves you well about it.,,

    There were whispers around the table. Looks were exchanged. None of the men

    were prepared for the news that Heinrich Kroeger had had prior contact with

    Eli7abeth Scarlatti.

    -My memory serves me very well. Your associates represent an aggregate of

    much wisdom and several centuries of experience. I suspect far in excess of

    your own on both counts---collectively and individually."

    Most of the men simply lowered their eyes, some pressing their lips in

    slight smiles. Elizabeth slowly looked at each face around the table.

    "We have an interesting board here, I see. Well represented. Well

    diversified. Some of us were enemies in war a few short years ago, but such

    memories, by necessity, are shom . . . Let's see." Without singling out any

    one individual, Elizabeth Scarlatti spoke rapidly, almost in a cadence. "My

    own country has lost two members, I'm sad to note. But I doWt believe

    prayers are in order for Messrs. Boothroyd and Thornton. If they are, I'm

    not the one to deliver them But still, the United States is splendidly

    represented by Mr. Gibson and Mr. Landon Between them, they account for

    nearly twenty percent of the vast oil interests m the American. Southwest.

    To say nothing of a joint expansion in the Canadian North-

    322

West Territories. Combined per, _,~a assets~-two hundred and twenty-five

million. . . . Car recent adversary, Germany, brings us Herr von Schnitzler,

Herr Kindorf, and Herr Thyssen. L G. Farben; the baron of Ruhr coal; the

great steel companies. Personal assets? Who can really tell these days in

the Weimar? Perhaps one hundred and seventy-five million, at the outside. .

. . But someone's missing from this group. I trust he's successfully being

recruited. I speak of Gustave Krupp. He would raise the ante considerably.

. . . England sends us Messrs. Masterson, Leacock, and Imes-Bowen. As

powerful a triumvirate as can be found in the British Empire, Mr. Masterson

with half of the India imports, also Ceylon now, I understand; Mr. Imacock's

major portion of the British Stock Exchange; and Mr Innes-Bowen. He owns the

largest single textile industry throughout Scotland and the Hebrides.

Personal assets I place at three hundred million. . . . France has been

generous, too. Monsieur D'Alineida; I now realize that he is the true owner

of the Franco-Italian rail system, partially due to his Italian lineage, rm

sum And Monsieur Daudet. Is there any among us who have not used some part

of his merchant fleet? Personal assets, one hundred and fifty million... And

lastly, our neighbors to the north, Sweden. Herr Myrdal and Herr Olaffsen.

Understandably'~here Elizabeth looked pointedly at the strange-faced man,

her son, at the head of the table---"one of these gentlemen, Herr Myrdal,

has controlling interest in Donnenfeld, the most impressive firm on the

Stockholm exchange. While Herr Olaffsens many companies merely control the

export of Swedish iron and steel. Personal assets are calculated at one

hundred and twenty-five million... Incidentally, gentlemen, the term

personal assets denotes those holdings which can be converted easily,

quickly, and without endangering Yom markets. .* . . Otherwise, I would not

insiult you by placing such meager limits on your fortunes.99

    Elizabeth paused to plum her briefcase directly in front of her. The-men

    around the table were aroused, apprehensive. Several were shocked at the

    casual mention of what they beheved was highly confidential information.

    The Americans, Gibson and I.Andor, had quietly owe into the Canadian

    venture unannounced, without legal unction, violating the U.S.-Canadian

    treafte& The Ger.

    323

mans, von Schnitzler and Kindorf, had held secret conferences with Gustave

Krupp-who was fighting desperately to remain neutral for fear of a Weimar

takeover. If these conferences were made known, Krupp had sworn to expose

them. The Frenchman, Louis Frangois DAlmeida, guarded with his very life the

extent of his ownership of the Franco-Italian rails. If it were known, it

might well be confiscated by the republic. He had purchased the majority

shares from the Italian government through plain bribery.

    And MyrdaI, the heavyset Swede, bulged his eyes in disbelief when Elizabeth

    Scarlatti spoke so knowingly about the Stockholm exchange. His own company

    had covertly absorbed Donnenfeld in one of the most complicated mergers

    imaginable, made possible by -the illegal transaction of the American

    securities. If it became public knowledge, the Swedish law would step in,

    and he'd be ruined. Only the Englishmen seemed totally poised, totally

    proud of their achievements. But even this measure of equanimity was

    misleading. For Sydney Masterson, undisputed heir to the merchant domain of

    Sir Robert Clive, had only recently concluded the Ceylon arrangements, They

    were unknown in the import-export world and there were certain agreements

    subject to question. Some might even say they constituted fraud.

    Huddled, quiet-toned conferences took place around the table in the four

    languages. Elizabeth raised her voice sufficiently to be heard.

    "I gather some of you are conferring with Your aides -1 assume they are

    your aides. If I'd realized this meeting made provisions for seoond-level

    negotiators, I'd have brought along my attorneys. They could have gossiped

    among themselves while we continue. The decisions we reach tonight,

    gentlemen, must be our ownl"

    Hemnch Kioeger sat on the edge of his chair He spoke harshly, unpleasantly.

    "I wouldn't be so-sure of any decisions. There are none to be madel You've

    told us nothing which couldn't be learned by any major accounting firml-

    A number of the men around the table--4pecificallY the two Germans,

    D'Almekla, Gibson, Landor, Myrdal, and masterson-avoided looking at him.

    For Kroeger was wrong.

'-fou think so? Perhaps. But then rve overlooked You.

    324

haven't I? ... I shouldn't do that, you're obviously terribly important."

Again, a number of the men around the tablc-~Iuding those mentioned-had tram

of miles on their lips.

    "Your wit is as dull as you are." Elizabeth was pleased with herself. She

    was succeeding in this most unportant aspect of her appearance. She was

    reaching, provoking Ulster Stewart Scarlett. She'continued without acknowl-

    edging his remark.

    "Sa-angely obtained assets of two hundred and seventy million gold under

    the most questionable circumstances would necessitate a loss of at least

    fifty percent, possibly sixty percent of market value. ru grant you the

    least, so I shall hazard an estimate of one hundred and thirty-five

    million'dollars at the current rates of exchange. One hundred and eight, ff

    you've been weak."

    Matthew Canfield lurched from the wall, then held his place.

    The men around the table were astonished. The hum of voices increased

    perceptibly Aides were shaking their heads, nodding in agreement, raising

    their eyebrows unable to answer Each participant thought he knew something

    of the others. Obviously, none were this knowledgeable of Heinrich Kroeger.

    They had not even been sure of his status at this table. Elizabeth

    interrupted the commotion.

    "However, Mister Kroeger, surely you know that theft, when eminently

    provable, is merely subject to proper iden6fication before steps can be

    taken. There are international courts of extradition. Therefore, it is

    conceivable that your assets might be calculated at ... zerol"

    A silence fell over the table as the gentlemen, along with their

    assistants, gave Heinrich Kroeger their full attention. The words theft,

    courts, and extradition were words they could not accept at this table.

    They were dangerous words. Kroeger, the man many of them vaguely feared for

    reasons solely associated with his enormous influence wrthm. both camps,

    was now warned.

    "Doift threaten me, old woman." Kroegees voice was low, confident He sat

    back in his chair and glared at his mother at the opposite end of the long

    table. "Don% make charges unless you can substantiate them. If you're

    prepared to attempt that, rin ready to counter. . . . If you or your

    colleagues were outnegotiated, this is no

    325

place to cry. You won't get sympathy herel I might even go so far as to say

you're on treacherous ground. Remember thatl" He kept staring until

Elizabeth could no longer stand the sight of his eyes. She looked away.

    She was not prepared to do anything--not with him, not with Heinrich

    Kroeger. She would not gamble the lives of her family more than she had

    already. She would not wager at this table the name of Scarlatti. Not that

    way. Not now. There was another way.

    Kroeger had won the point. It was obvious to all, and Elizabeth had to rush

    headlong on so that none would dwell upon her loss.

"Keep your assets. They are quite immaterial."

    Around the table the phrase "quite immaterial" when applied to such

    millions was impressive. Elizabeth knew it would be.

    "Gentlemen. Before we were interrupted, I gave you all, by national

    groupings, the personal assets calculated to the nearest five million for

    each contingent. I felt it was -more courteous than breaking down each

    individual's specific worth--some things are sacred, after all. However, I

    was quite unfair, as several of you know. I alluded to a number of--shall

    we say, delicate negotiatigns, I'm sure you believed were inviolate.

    Treacherous to you -to use Mr. Kroeger's words--if they were known within

    your own countries."

    Seven of the Zurich twelve were silent. Five were curiOus.

    "I refer to my cocitizens, Mr. Gibson and Mr. Landor. To Monsieur

    D'Almeida, Sydney Masterson, and of course, to the brilliant Herr Myrdal.

    I should also include twothirds of Germany's investors-Herr von Schnitzler

    and Herr Kindorf, but for different reasons, as I'm sure they realize.11

    No one spoke, No one turned to his aides. All eyes were upon Elizabeth.

    "I don't intend to remain unfair in this fashion, gentlemen. I have

    something for each of you."

    A voice other than Kroeger's spoke up. It was the Englishman, Sydney

    Masterson.

    "May I ask the point of all this? All this ... incidental intelligence? I'm

    sure you've been most industrioushighly accurate, too, speaking for myself.

    But none of us

    326

ere ~ve entered the race for a Jesus medal. Surely, yoL now that."

    "I do, indeed. If it were otherwise, I wouldn't be here tonight."

    "Then why? Why this?" The accent was German. The voice belonged to the

    blustering baron of the Ruhr Valley, Kiadorf.

    Masterson continued. "Your cablegram, madame-we all received the

    same--specifically alluded to areas of mutual interest. I believe you went

    so far as to say the Scarlatti assets might be at our joint disposal. Most

    generous,indeed... But now I must agree with Mr. Kroe,ger. You sound as

    though you're threatening us, and I'm not at all sure I like it."

    "Oh, come, Mr. Mastersonl You've never held out promises of English gold to

    half the minor potentates in the backwaters of India? Herr Kindorf has not

    openly bribed his unions to strike with pledges of increased wages once the

    French are out of the Ruhr? Please! You insult all of ust Of course, I'm

    here to threaten youl And I can assure you, you'll like it less as I go

    onl"

    Masterson rose from the table. Several others moved their chairs. The air

    was hostile. "I shall not listen further," said Masterson.

    "Then tomorrow at noon the Foreign Office, the British Stock Exchange, and

    the board of directors of the English Importers Collective will receive

    detailed specifics of your highly illegal agreements in Ceylonl Your com-

    mitments are enormoust The news might just initiate a considerable run on

    your holdings["

    Masterson stood by his chair. "Be damned!" were the only words he uttered

    as he returned to his chair. The table -once again fell silent. Elizabeth

    opened her briefcase.

    "I have here an envelope for each -of you. Your names are typed on the

    front. Inside each envelope is an accounting of your individual worths.

    Your strengths. Your weaknesses.... There is one envelope missing. The ...

    influential, very important Mr. Kroeger does not have one. Frankly, it's

    insignificant."

"I warn youl"

    "So very sorry, Mr. Kroeger." Again the words were rapidly spoken, but this

    time no one was listening. Each

    327

one!s concentration was on Elizabeth Scarlatti and her briefcase. "Some

envelopes are thicker than others, but none should place too gmat an

emphasis on this factor. We all know the negligibility of wide

diversification after a certain point." Elizabeth reached into her leather

case.

    "You are a witchl" Kindorfs heavy accent was now guttural, the veins stood

    out in his temples.

    "Here. I shall pass them out And as each of you pe~ ruse your miniature

    portfolios I shall continue talking, which, I know, will please you."

    The envelopes were passed down both sides of the table. Some were torn open

    miniediately, hungrily Others, like the cards of experienced poker players,

    were handled carefully, cautiously.

    Matthew Canfield stood by the wall, his left arm smarting badly in the

    sling, his right hand in his pocket, sweatily clutching his revolver. Since

    Elizabeth had identified Ulster Scarlett with the 270 million, he could not

    take his eyes off him. This man called Heinrich Kroeger. This ludeous,

    arrogant son of a bitch was the man be wantedl This was the filthy bastard

    who had done it allt This was Janefs personal hell.

    "I see you all have your envelopes. Except, of course, the ubiquitous Mr.

    Kroeger. Gentlemen, I promised you I would not be unfair and I shan't be.

    There are five of you who can not begin to appreciate the influence of

    Scarlatti unless you have, as they say in cheap merchandising, samples

    applicable to you alone. Therefore, as you read the contents of yow

    envelopes, I shall briefly touch on these sensitive areas."

    Several of the men who had been reading shifted their eyes toward Elizabeth

    without moving their heads. Others put the papers down defiantly. Some

    handed the pages to aides and stared at the old woman. Elizabeth glanced

    over her shoulder at Matthew Canfield. She was worried about him She knew

    he, at last, faced Ulster Scarlett, and the pressure on him was immense.

    She tried to catch his eye. She tried to reassure him with a look, a confi-

    dent smile.

    He would not look at her. She saw only the hatred in his eyes as he stared

    at the man called Heinrich Kroeger.

    "I shall delineate alphabetically, gentlemen. . . . Monsieur Daudet, the

    Republic of France would be reluctant

    328

to continue awarding franchises to your fleet if they were aware of those

ships under Paraguayan flag which carried supplies to France's enemies in

time of war." Daudet remained motionless, but Elizabeth was amused to see

the three Englishmen bristle at the Frenchman. The predictable,

contradictory Britishl

    "Oh, come, Mr. Innes-Bowen. You may not have run ammunition, but how many

    neutral ships were loaded off how many piers in India with textile cargoes

    bound for Bremerhaven and Cuxhaven during the same period? ... And Mr.

    Leacock. You can't really forget your fine Iriih heritage, can you? The

    Sinn F6in has prospered well under your tutelage. Momes funneled through

    you to the Irish rebellion cost the lives of thousands of British soldiers

    at a time when England could least afford theml And quiet, calm Herr

    Olaffsen. The crown prince of Swedish steel. Or is he the kingnow? He might

    well be, for the Swedish government paid him several fortunes for untold

    hundreds of tons of low-earbon ingot. However, they didn't come from his

    own superior factories. They were shipped from inferior mills half a world

    awayfrom Japarit"

    Elizabeth reached into her briefcase once again. The men around the table

    were like corpses, immobile, only their minds were working. For Heinrich

    Kroeger, Elizabeth Scarlatti had placed the seal of approval on her own

    death warrant. He sat back and relaxed. Elizabeth withdrew a thin booklet

    from her briefcase.

    "Lastly we come to Herr Thyssen. He emerges with

the least pain. No grand fraud, no -treason, only minor il

legality and major embarrassment. Hardly a fitting tribute

to the house of August Thyssen." She threw the booklet

into the center of the table. "Filth, gentlemen, just plain

filth. Fritz Thyssen, pornographerl Purveyor of obscenity.

Books, pamphlets, even motion pictures. Printe ' d and.

filmed in Thyssen warehouses in Cairo. Every govern

ment on the Continent has condemned the unknown

source, There he is, gentlemen. Your associate."

    For a long moment no one spoke. Each man was concerned with himself Each

    calculated the damage that could result from old Scarlattis disclosures. In

    every instance the loss was accompanied by degrees of disgrace. Reputations

    could hang in balance. The old woman had

    329

Issued twelve indictments and personally returned twelve verdicts of guilty.

Somehow, no one considered the thirteenth, Heinrich Kroeger.

    Sydney Masterson pierced the belligerent air with a loud, manufactured

    cough. "Very well, Madame Scarlatti, you've made the point I referred to

    earlier. However, I think I should remind you that we are not impotent men.

    Charges and countercharges are parts of our lives. Solicitors can refute

    every accusation you've made, and I can assure you that lawsuits for

    uninifigated slander would be in the forefront. . . . After all, when

    gutter tactics are employed, there are expedieftt replies.... If you think

    we fear disdam, believe me when I tell you that public opinion has been

    molded by far less money than is represented at this tablel"

    The gentlemen of Zurich took confidence in Masterson!s words. There were

    nods of agreement.

    "I don!t for one second doubt you, Mr. Masterson. Any

of you. . . . Missing personnel files, opportunistic execu

tives --- sacrificial goats. Please, gentlemenl I only contend

that you wouldn't welcome the trouble. Or the anxiety

which goes with such distasteful matters." -

    "Non, madame." Claude Daudet was outwardly cool but inwardly petrified.

    Perha]pG his Zurich associatis did not know the French people- A firing

    squad was not out of the question. "You are corre&L Such troubles are to be

    avoided. So, then what is next? What is it you prepare for us, ch?"

    Elizabeth paused. She waset quite sure why. It was an instinct, an

    intuitive need to turn around and look at the field accountant.

    Matthew Canfield had not budged from his position by the wall. He was a

    pathetic sight. His jacket had fallen ,away from his left shoulder

    revealing the dark black sling, his right hand still plunged in his pocket

    He seemed to be swallowing continuously, trying to keep himself aware of

    his surroundings. Elizabeth noticed that he now avoided looking at Ulster

    Scarlett. He, seemed, in essence, to be trying to hang on to his sanity.

    "Excuse me, gentlemen." Elizabeth rose from her chair and crossed to

    Canfield. She whispered quietly to him. ITake hold of yourself. I demand id

    There$ nothing to fear. Not in this rooml"

Canfield spoke slowly, Without Moving his lips. She

    330

could barely hear him, but what she heard startled her. Not for its content,

but for the way in which he said it. Matthew Canfield was now among the

ranks in this room in Zurich. He had joined them; he had become a killer,

too.

    "Say what you have to say and get it over with.... I want him. I'm sorry,

    but I want him. Look at him now, lady, because he's a dead man."

    "Control yourselfl Such talk will serve neither of us." She turned and

    walked back to her chair. She stood behind it while she spoke. "As you may

    have noticed, gentlemen, my young friend has been seriously wounded. Thanks

    to all of you ... or one of you, in an attempt to prevent my reaching

    Zurich. The act was cowardly and provocative in the extreme."

The men looked at each other.

    Daudet, whose imagination would not stop conjuring pictures of national

    disgrace or the firing squad, answered quickly. "Why would any here take

    such action, Madame Scarlatti? We are not maniacs. We are businessmen. No

    one sought to prevent your coming to Zurich. Witness, madame, we are all

    hem"

Elizabeth looked at the m-nn called Kroeger.

    "One of you violently opposed this conferetim We were fired upon less than

    a half hour ago "

    The men looked at Heinrich Kroeger. Some were becoming angry. This Kroeger

    was, perhaps, too reckless.

    "No." He answered simply and emphatically, returning their stares. 'I

    agreed to your coming. If I'd wanted to stop you, I'd have stopped you."

    For the first time since the meeting began, Heinrich Kroeger looked at the

    sporting goods salesman at the far end of the room, half concealed in the

    poor light He had reacted with only moderate surprise when he realized

    Elizabeth Scarlatti had brought him to Zurich. Moderate because he knew

    Elizabeth's penchant for employing the unusual, both in methods and

    personnel, and because the probably had no one else around she could

    browbeat into silence as easily as this money-hungry social gadfly. Hed be

    a convenient chauffeur, a manservant. Kroeger hated the type.

Or was he anything eLw?

Why had the salesman stared at him? Had Elizabeth

    331

told him anything? She wouldn7t be that big a fool. The -n was the sort whod

blackmail in a minute.

One thing was sure. Hed have to be killed.

    But who had tried. to kin him previously? Who had trW to stop Elizabeth?

    And why?

    The same question was being considered by Elizabeth Scarlatti. For she

    believed Kroeger when he disavowed the attempts on their lives.

    "Please continue, Madame ScariattLI, it was Fritz Thyssen, his cherubic

    face still flushed with anger over Elizabeth's disclosure of his Cawo

    trade. He had removed the booklet ftom the center of the table.

    "I shall." She approached the side of her chair but did not sit down.

    instead, she reached once more into her briefcase. "I have one thing

    further, gentlemen. With it we can conclude our business, and decisions can

    be made. There is a copy for each of the twelve remamiag investorL Those

    with aides will have to share themL My apolo. sh:s, Mr. Kroeger. I find I

    haven't one for you." From her position at the end of the table she

    distributed twelve slender -nila envelopeL They were sealed, and as the men

    passed them down, the investors taking one apiece, it was apparent that

    each found it difficult not to rip open the top and withdraw the contents

    at owe. But none wished to betray such obvious aninety

    Finally, as each of the twelve held his envelope in hxmt of him. one by one

    the men began to open them.

    For nearly two minutes the only sound was the nading of pages. Otherwise,

    silence. Even breathing was seemingly suspended. The men from Zurich were

    mesmerized by what they saw. Elizabeth spoke.

    "Yes. gentlemen. What yon hold in your hands is the scheduled liquidation

    of the Scarlatti Industries. . . . So that you have no illusions of doubt

    concerning the validity of this document, you will note that after each

    subdivision of holdings is typed the names of the individuals,

    corporations, or syndicates who we the purchasers. . . . Every one of those

    mentioned, the individuals as well as the organizatiom are known to each of

    you. if not personally, then certainly by reputation. You know their

    capabilities, and rm sure you're not unaware of their ambitions. Within the

    next twenty four hours they will own ScarlattL-

For most of the Zurich men Ebzabeth!s sealed infor.

    332

mation was the confirmation of the whispered rumors. Word had reached them

that something unusual was taking place at ScarlattL Some sort of unloading

under Wange circumstances.

So this was it. The head of Scarlatti was getting out.

    "A massiye operation, Madame Scarlatti." Olaffsen!s low Swedish voice

    vibrated throughout the room. "But to repeat Daudet's question, what is it

    you prepare us for?"

    "Please take note of the bottom figure on the last page, gentlemen.

    Although I'm quite sure you all have." The rustle of pages. Each man had

    turned swiftly to the final p4ge. "It reads seven hundred and fifteen

    million dollars. . . . The combined, immediately convertible assets of this

    table, placed at the highest figure is one billion, one hundred and ten

    million. . . . Therefore, a disparity of three hundred and ninety-five

    million exists between us. . . . Another way to approach this difference is

    to calculate it from the opposite direction. The Scarlatti liquidation will

    realize sixty-four point four percent of this table's holdings-if, indeed,

    you gentlemen could convert your personal assets in such a manner as to

    preclude financial panics."

Silence.

    A number of the Zurich men reached for their first envelopes. The

    breakdowns of their own worth.

    One of these was Sydney Masterson, who turned to Elizabeth with an unamused

    smile. "And what you're saying, I presume, Madame ScarlattL is that this

    sixtyfour point plus percent is the club you hold over our headsr,

"Precisely, Mr. Masterson."

"My dear lady, I really must question your sanity . .

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

    "Then I &hall, Frau ScarlattL" 1. G. Farben's Von Schnitzler spoke in a

    dWq;reeable manner, lounging back in his chair as if toying verbally with

    an imbecile, "To accomplish what you have must have been a costly sacri-

    fice. . .,. I wonder to what purpose? You can not buy what there is not to

    sell. . . . We are not a public corpombon. You can not force into defeat

    something which does not existl" His German lisp was pronounced, his ar-

    rogance every bit as unattractive as reputed. Elizabeth disliked him

    intensely.

    ezirre

    .,C4 voit Schnitzler."

    333

    'Then, perhaps'~--the German Mughed---you have been a foolish woman. I

    would not wish to absorb your losses. I mean, really, you can not go to

    some mythical Baumeister and tell him you have more funds than wotherefore,

    he must drive us out into the streetsl"

Several of the Zurich men laughed.

    'That, of oourse, would be the simplest, would it not? The appeal to one

    entity, negotiating with one power It's a shame that I can't do that. It

    would be so much e

    I

    .asier, so much less costly . . . . But I'm

    forced to take another road, an expensive one

    . . . . I should put that another way. I have

    taken it, gentlemen. It has been accomplished.

    The time is nmning out for its execution."

    Elizabeth looked at the men at Zurich. Some had their eyes riveted on

    her-watching for the slightest waver of confidence, the smallest sign of

    bluff. Others fixed their stares on manimate objects-,caring only to filter

    the words, the tone of her voice, for a false statement or a lapse of

    judgment. These were men who moved nations with a single gesture, a

    solitary word.

    'At the start of toniorrow's business, subject to time zones, enormous

    transfers of Scarlatti capital will have been made to the financial centers

    of the five nations represented at this table, In Berlin, Paris, Stockholm,

    London, and New York, negotiations have already been completed for massive

    purchases on the open market of the outstanding shares of your central

    companies... Before noon of the next business day, gentlemen. Scaflatti

    will have considerable though, of course, minority owner ship in many of

    your vast enterpriseL . . . Six hundred and seventy million dollars' worthl

    . . . Do you realize what this means, sentlemenr'

    Kindorf roared. "Jal You will drive up the prices and makes us fortunesl

    You will own nothingl"

    "My dear lady, you are extraordinary." Innes-Rowen's textile prices had

    remained conservativ& He was overjoyed at the prospects.

    D'Almeida, who realized she could not enter his FrancoItalian rails, took

    another view. "You can not purchase one share of my property, madamel"

    "Some of you are more fortunate than others. Monsieur D'Almeida."

    Leacock, the financier, the gentlest trace of a brogue in his cultivated

    voim spoke up- "Granting what you say,

    334

and it is entirely possible, Madame Scarlatti, what have we suffered? . . .

We have not lost a daughter, but gained a minor associate." He tamed to the

others who, he hoped, wotild find humor in his analogy.

    Elizabeth held her breath before speaking. She waited until the men of

    Zurich were onceagain focused on her.

    "I said before noon Scarlatti would be in the position I outlined... One

    hour later a tidal wave will form in the Kurfuerstendamin in Berlin and end

    in New York's Wall Streetl One hour later Scarlatti will divest itself of

    these holdings at a fraction of their costl I have estimated three cents on

    the dollar. . . . Sitnultaneously, every bit of information Scarlatti has

    learned of your questionable activities will be released to the major wire

    services in each of your countries.... You might sustain slander by itself,

    gentlemen. You will not be the same men when it is accompanied by fu~mcial

    panict Some of you will remain barely intact. Some will be wiped out. The

    majority of you will be affected disastrouslyl"

    After the briefest moment of shocked silence, the room exploded. Aides were

    questioned peremptorily Answers were bellowed to be heard.

    Heinrich Kroeger rose from his chair and screamed at the men. "Sitopf StopI

    You damn fools, stop id Shed never do itl Shesbluffingl"

    'Vo you really think sor, Elizabeth shouted above the voices.

"I'll kill you, you bitchl"

"You am demented, Frau S=lattil"

    Try it ... Kroegerl Try id" Matthew Canfield stood by Elizabeth, his eyes

    bloodshot with fury as he stared at Ulster Stewart Scarlett.

    'TVho the hell am you, you lousy peddlerr The an called Kroeger, hands

    gripping the table. returned Canfield's stare and screeched to be heard by

    the salesman.

"Look at we soodf rin your executionerl"

"Whatl"

    The man called Heinrich Kroeger squinted his misshapen eyes. He was

    bewildered. Who was this parasite? But he could not take the time to think-

    The voices of the men of Zurich had reached a crescendo. 1hey were now

    shouting at each other.

    Heinrich Kroe-ger pounded the table. He had to get control. He had to got

    them quiet. "Stop iti . Listen to

    335

Mel If you'll listen to me, I'll ten you why she can't do itl She can't do

it, I tell youl"

    One by one the voices became quieter and finally trailed Off into silence.

    The men of Zurich watched Kroeger. He pointed at Elizabeth Scarlatti.

    "I know this bitch-womani I've seen her do this beforel She gets men

    together, powerful men, and frightens them. They go into panicand sell outl

    She gambles on fear, you cowardsl On fearl"

    Daudet spoke quietly. "You have answered nothin& Why can't she do as she

    says?"

    Kroeger did not take, his eyes off Elizabeth Scarlatti as he replied.

    "Because to do it would destroy everything she's ever fought for. It would

    collapse Scarlattil" -

    Sydney Masterson spoke just above a whisper. 'That would appear to be

    obvious. The question remains unanswered."

    "She couldn't live without that powerl Take my word for itl She couldn't

    live without itl"

    "That's an opinion," said Elizabeth Scarlatti facing her son at the

    opposite end of the table. "Do you ask the majority of those at this table

    to risk everything on your opinion?"

"God damn youl"

    "This Kroeger's right, honey." The Texas drawl was unmistakable. "You'll

    ruin yourself. You won't have a pot to piss in."

    "Your language matches the crudity of your operations, Mr. Landor."

    "I don't give pig piss for words, old lady. I do about money, and that's

    what we're ta&in' about. Why do you want to pull this here crap?"

    "That I'm doing it is sufficient, Mr. Landor... Gentlemen, I said time was

    running out. no next twenty-four hours will either be a normal Tuesday or

    a day which will never be forgotten in the financial capitals of our world.

    . . . Some here will survive. Most of you win noL Which will it be,

    gentlemen? . . . I submit that in light of everything I've said, it's a

    poor fiscal decision wherein the majority allows the minority to cause its

    destruction.,'

    "What is it you want of us?" Myrdal was a,cautious bargainer. "A few might

    rather weather your threats than

    336

accept your demands. ... Sometimes I think it is all a game. What are your

demands?"

    'That this ... association be disbanded at once. That all financial and

    political ties in Germany with whatever factions be severed without delayl

    That those of you who have been entrusted with appoititments to the Allied

    Controls Commission resign immediatelyl"

    "Nol Nof Nol Nol" Heinrich Kroeger was enraged. He banged his fist with all

    his might upon the table. 'This organization has taken years to buildl We

    win control the economy of Europe. We will control all Europel We will do

    itl"

    "Hear me, gentlement Mr. Myrdal said ies a gamel Of course, it's a gamel A

    game we expend our lives on. Our souls onl It consumes us, and we demand

    more. and more and more until, at last, we crave our own destruotion...

    Herr KroeW says I can't live without the power I've sought and gained. He

    may be right, gentlemenl Perhaps ifs time for me to reach that logical end,

    the and which I now crave and for which Im willing to pay the price... Of

    course, I'll do as I say, gqntlemen. I welcome deathl"

    "Let it be yours, then, not ours." Sydney Masterson understood.

    "So be it, Mr. Masterson. Im not overwhelmed, you know. I leave to all of

    you the necessity of coping with this strange new world we've entered.

    Don't dunk for a minute, gentlemen, that I can't understand youl Understand

    what you've done, Most horridly, why yoWve done Itl . . . You look around

    your personal kingdoms and you're frightened. You see your power

    threatened-by theories,. governments, strange-sounding concepts which

    eataway at your roots. You have an overpowering anxiety to protect the

    feudal system which spawned you. And well you should, perhaps. It won't

    last long... But you will ?w do it this wayll'

    "Since you understand so, why do you stop us? This undertaking protects all

    of us. Ultimately yourself as well. Why do you stop us?" IYAlmeida could

    lose the FrancoItalian rails and survive, if only the remainder could be

    saved.

    .It always starts that way. The greater good. 1,ees say I stop you because

    what you're doing is a far great.

    337

er blentish than it is a cure. And that's all I'll say about itill

    "From you, that's ludicrous I I tell you again, she won't do itl" Kroeger

    pounded the flat of his hand on the table, but no one paid much attention

    to him.

    "When you say time is running out, Madame Scarlatti, how do you mean it?

    From what you said, I gathered time had run out. The expensive road had

    been taken. . . ."

    "rhere's a man in Geneva, Mr. Masterson, who's awaiting a phone call from

    me. If he receives that phone call, a cable will be sent to my offices in

    New York. If that cable arrives, the operation is canceled. If it doesn't,

    it's executed on schedule."

    "fhat's impossiblel Such complexity untangled with a cablegram? I don't

    believe you." Monsieur Daudet was certain of ruin.

    "I assume considerable financial penalties by the action."

    "You assume more than that, I would suspect, madame. You'll never be

    trusted again. Scarlatti will be isolatedl"

    "It's a prospect, Mr. Masterson. Not a conclusion. The marketplace is

    flexible. . . . Well, gentlemen? Your 'answer?"

    Syndey Masterson rose from his chair. "Make your phone call. There's no

    other choice, is there, gentlemen?"

    The men of Zurich looked at each other. Slowly they began to get out of

    their chairs, gathering the papers in front of them.

    "It's finished. I am out of it." Kindorf folded the manila envelope and put

    it in his pocket.

    "You're a beastly tiger. I shouldn't care to meet you in the arena with an

    army at my back." Leacock stood erect.

    "You may be bullshitter, but rm not gonna slip on itl" Landor nudged

    Gibson, who found it difficult to adjust.

    "We can't be sure. . . . Tbat's our problem. We can't be, sure," said

    Gibson.

    "Waitt Waitt Wait a minutel" Heinrich Kroeger began to shout "You do thisl

    You walk outl You're deadl ... Every God damn one of you leeches is dead!

    Leechesl Yellow-bellied leeches! . . . You suck our blood; you make

    agreements with us. Then you walk out? ... Afraid

    338

for your little businesses? You God damn Jew bastardst We don't need youl

Anyof yout But you're going to need usl Well cut you up and feed you to

dogsl God damn swinel" Kroeger's face was Bushed. His words spewed out,

tumbling over one another.

    "Stop it, Kroegerl' Masterson took a step toward the raving man with the

    splotched face. "Ies finishedl Can!t you understand? Its finishedt"

    "Stay where you are, you scum, you English fairyl" Kroeger drew the pistol

    from his holster. Canfield, standing by Elizabeth, saw that it was a

    long-barreled fortyflveand would blast half a man!s body off with one shot

    "Stay where you arel ... Finishedl Nothing's finished until I say it's

    finished. God damn filthy pigsl Frightened little slug wormsl We're too far

    alongl ... No one will stop us nowl . . ." He waved the pistol toward

    Elizabeth and Canfield. "Finishedl I'll tell you who's finis-hedl She isl

    . . . Get out of my way." He started down the left side of the table as the

    Frenchman, Daudet, squealed.

    "Don't do it, monsieurl Don't kill herl You do, and we am ruinedl"

    'I warn. you, Kroegerl You murder her and you'll answer to ust Well not be

    intimidated by youl We'll not destroy ourselves because of youl" Masterson

    stood at Kroegees side, -their shoulders nearly touching. The Englishman

    would not move.

    Without a word, without warning, Heinrich Kroeger pointed his pistol at

    Masterson's stomach and fired. The shot was deafening and Sydney Masterson

    was jackknifed into the air. He fell to the floor, blood drenching his en-

    tire front, instantaneously dead.

    The eleven men of Zurich gasped, some screamed In horror at the sight of

    the bloody corpse. Heinrich Kweger kept walking. Those in his path -got out

    of his way.

    Elizabeth Scarlatti held her place. She locked her eyes with those of her

    killer son. "I curse the day you were born. You revile the house of your

    father. But know this, Heinrich Kroeger, and know it welli" The old woman's

    voice filled the cavernotisroom. Her power was such that her son was

    momentanly stunned, staring at her in hatred as she pronounced his sentence

    of execution. -your identity will be spread across every front page of

    every newspaper in the civilized world after I'm deadl You will be hunted

    down for what you aref A madman, a murder-

    339

er, a thief I And every man in this room. every investor in Zurich, will be

branded your associate if they let You live this nightl"

    An uncontrollable rage exploded in the misshapen eyes of Heinrich Kroeger.

    His body shook with fury as be lashed at a chair in front of him sending it

    crashing across the floor. To kill was not enough. He had to kill at close

    range, he had to see the life and mind of Elizabeth Scarlatti detonated

    into oblivion 'in front of his eyes.

    Matthew Canfield held the trigger of his revolver in his right-hand pocket.

    He had never fired from his Pocket and he knew that if he missed he and

    Elizabeth would die. He was not sure how long he could wait. He would aim

    in the vicinity of the approaching man , s chest, the largest target facing

    him. He waited until he, could wait no longer.

    The report of the small revolver and the impact of the bullet into

    Scarletts shoulder was so much of a shock that Kroeger, for a split second,

    widened his eyes in disbelief.

it was enough, just enough for Canfield.

    With all his strength he crashed into Elizabeth with his right shoulder

    sending her frail body toward the floor out of Kroegees line of sight as

    he, Canfield, flung himself.to the left. He withdrew his revolver and fired

rapidly, into the man called Heinrich Kroeger.

    Kroeger,s huge pistol went off into the floor as he cnimpled over.

    Canfield staggered up, forgetting the unbearable pain in his left arm,

    which had been crushed under the weight of his own body. He leaped on

    Ulster Stewart Scarlett, wrenching the pistol from the iron grip. He began

    hitfing the face of Heinrich Kroeger with the barrel. He could not stop.

Destroy the facel Destroy the horrible facel

Finally he was Pulled off.

    "Gottl He's deadl Haltl Stopf You can do no morel" The large, strong Fritz

    Tbyssen held him.

Matthew Canfield felt weak and sank to the floor.

    The men of Zurich had gathered around. Several helped Elizabeth, while the

    others bent over Heinrich Kroeger.

    Rapid knocking came from the door leading to the hall.

    340

    Von Schnitzler took command. "Let them inf" be ordered in his thick German

    accent

    D'Almaida walked swdtly to the door and opened it. A number of chauffeurs

    stood at the entrance, It occurred to Canfield as be watched them that

    these men were not simply drivers of automobiles. He had good reason. They

    were armed.

    As he lay there on the floor in terrible pain and shock, Canfield saw a

    brutish-looking blond man with closecropped hair bent over the body of

    Heinrich Kroeger. He pushed the others away for the briefest instant while

    be pulled back the misshapen lid of one eye.

    And then Canfield wondered if the agony of the last hours had played tricks

    with his sight, corrupted the infallible process of vision. -

    Or had the blond man bent his head down and whispered something into

    Heinrich Kroeger's ear?

Was Heinrich Kroeger still alive?

    Von Schnitzler stood over Canfield. "He will be taken away. I have ordered

    a coup de grace. No matter, he is dead. It is finished." The obese von

    Schnitzler then shouted further commands in German to the uniformed

    chauffeurs around Kroeger. Several started to lift up the lifeless form but

    they were blocked by the blond

with the close-cropped hair. He shouldered them out of the way, not letting

them touch the body.

    ,He alone lifted Heinrich Kroeger off the floor and carried him out the

    door. The others followed.

    soves sher, Canfield gestured toward Elizabeth, who was seated in a chair.

    She was staring at the door through which the body had been taken, staring

    at the man no one know was her son.

    "Finel She can make her call nowl" Leacock was tryIng his best to be

    decisive.

    Canfield rose from the floor and crossed to Elizabeth. He put his hand on

    her wrinkled cheek. He could not help himself.

Tears were failing down the ridges of her face.

    And then Matthew Canfield looked up. He could hear the sound of a powerful

    automobile racing away. He was bothered.

    Von Schnitzler had told him hed ordered a coup de grace.

    341

Yet no shot was fired.

    A mile away, on the Winterthurstrasse, two men dragged the body of a dead

    man to a truck. They weren't sure what to do. The dead man had -hired them,

    hired them all to stop the automobile heading to Falke Haus. He had paid

    them in advance, they had insisted upon it. Now he was dead, killed by a

    bullet meant for the driver of the automobile an hour.ago. As they dragged

    the body over the rocky incline toward the truck, the blood from the mouth

    sprewed onto the perfectly matted waxed moustache.

The man named Poole was dead.

342

PART FOUR

-1

CHAPTER 45

Major Matthew Canfield, aged forty-five-about to be forty-six-stretched his

legs diagonally across the back of the army car. They had entered the

township of Oyster Bay, and the saUow-oomplexioned sergeant broke the

silence.

"Getting close, Major. You better wake up."

    Wake up. It should be as easy as that. The perspiration streamed down his

    fam His heart was rhythmically pounding an unknown therne.

...11hank you, Sergeant." -

    The car swung east down Harbor Road toward the ocean drive. As they came

    closer to his home, Major Matthew Canfield began to tremble. He grabbed his

    wrists, held his breath, bit the front of his tongue. He could not fall

    apart. He could not allow himself the indulgence of self-pity. He could not

    do that to Janet. He owed her so much.

    The sergeant blithely turned into the blue stone driveway and stopped at

    the path, which led to the front entrance of the large beach estate. The

    sergeant enjoyed driving out to Oyster Bay with his rich major. There was

    always lots of good food, in spite of rationing, and the liquor was always

    the best. No cheap stuff for the Camshaft, as he was known in the enlisted

    man's barracks.

    The major slowly got out of the car. The sergeant was concerned. Something

    was wrong with the major. He hoped it didn't mean they'd have to drive back

    to New York. The old man seemed to have trouble standing up.

"Okay, Major?"

    345

    "Okay, Sergeant ... Hoved you Me to bunk in the boathouse tonight?" He did

    not look at the sergeant as he spoke.

    "Surel Great, Majorr It wu where he always butiked. The boathouse apartment

    bad a. full Idtchen and plenty of booze. Even a telephone. But the sergeant

    diddt have any signal that he could use it yeL He decided to try his IucL

    "Will you need me, Major? Could I call a couple of friends herer

    The major walked up the path. He called back quietly. "Do whatever you

    like, Sergeant Just may away from that radiophone. Is that understood?-

    'You betcha, Majorl" ne sergeant gunned the engine and drove down toward

    the beacL

    Matthew Canfield stood in front of the white, scalloped door with the study

    hurricane lamps on both side&

His home.

Janet.

    The door opened and she stood them The slightly graying hair, which she

    would not retouch. The upturned nose above the delicate, sensitive mouth.

    The brigK wide. brown searching eyes. The gentle loveliness of her face.

    The comforting concern she radiated.

    "I heard the car. No one drives to the boathouse like Evansl Matthew.

    Matthewl My darlingl You're cryingr

346

I CHAPTER 46

The plane, an Army B-29 transport, descended from the late-afternoon clouds

to the airport in Lisbon. An Air Force corporal walked down the aisle.

    "Please buckle all seat beltsl No smokingl Well be down in four minutes."

    He spoke in a monotone, aware that his passengers had to be important, so

    he would be more important, but coiineous, when he had to tell them

    something.

    The young man next to Matthew Canfield had said very little since their

    takeoff from Shannon. A number of times the major tried to explain that

    they were taking air routes out of range of the Luftwaffe, and that there

    was nothing to worry about. Andrew Scarlett had merely mumbled understood

    approval and had gone back to his magazines.

    The car at the Lisbon airport was an armored Lincoln with two OSS personnel

    in the front. The windows could withstand short-range gunfire, and the

    automobile was capable of 120 miles an hour. They had to drive thirtytwo

    miles up the Tejo River road to an airfield in Alenguer.

    At Alenguer the man and boy boarded a low-flying, specially constructed

    Navy TBF with no markings for the trip to Bern. There would be no stops.

    Throughout the route, English, American, and Free French fighters were

    scheduled to intercept and protect to the destination.

    347

    At Bem they were met by a Swiss government vehicle, Ranked by a motorcycle

    escort of eight men-one at the front, one at the rear, and three on each

    side. All were armed in spite of the Geneva pact, which prohibited such

    practices.

    11ey drove to a village twenty-odd miles to the north, toward the German

    border. Kreuz&gen.

    They arrived at a small inn, isolated from the rest of civilization, and

    the man and boy got out of the car. The driver sped the automobile away,

    and the motorcycle complement disappeared.

    Matthew Canfield led the boy up the steps to the entrance of the inn.

    Inside the lobby could be beard the wailing sound of an accordion, echoing

    from what was apparently a sparsely populated dining room. The

    high-ceilinged entry room was inhospitable, conveying the feeling that

    guests were not welcome.

    Matthew Canfield and Andrew Scarlett approached the counter, which served

    as a front desL

    "Please, ring through to room six that April Red is here.tv

    As the clerk plugged m his line, the boy suddenly shook. Canfield grabbed

    his arm and held him

    They walked up the stairs, and the two men stood in front of the door

    marked with the numeral six.

    '7heres nothing I can tell you now, Andy, except that were here for one

    person. At least thats why Im hem Janet. Your mother. Try to remember

    that-

    The boy took a deep breath. 'T11 try, Dad. Open the doorl Jesust Open the

    doorl"

    The room was dimlylit by small lamps on small tables. It was ornate in the

    fashion the Swiss felt proper for tourists-heavy rugs and solid furniture,

    overstuffed chairs and much antimacassar.

    At the far end sat a man in half shadow. The spill of light angled sharply

    dawn across his chest but did not ilhuninate bis face The figure was

    dressed in brown twee4 the jacket a combination of heavy cloth and

    leaffier.

He spoke in a throaty, harsh voice. "You arer'

"Canfield and April Red. Kroeger?"

"Shut the door."

    348

    Matthew Canfield closed the door and took several steps forward in front of

    Andrew Scarlett. He would cover the boy. He put his hand in his right coat

    pocket.

    "I have a gun pointed at you, Kroeger. Not the same gun but the same pocket

    as last time we meL This time I won1 take anything for granted. Do I make

    myself clear?"

    "If you like, take it out of your pocket and hold it against my head....

    There's not much I can do about it."

Canfield approached the figure in the chair.

It was horrible.

    The man was a semi-invalid. He seemed to be paralyzed through the entire

    left portion of his body, extending to his jaw. His hands were folded

    across his front, his fingers extended as though spastic. But his eyes were

    alert.

His eyes.

    His face.... Covered over by white splotches of skin graft below gray

    short-c-ropped hair. The man spoke.

    "What you see was carried out of Sevastopol. Operation Barbarossa."

"What do you have to tell us, Kroeger?"

    First, April Red.... Tell him to come closer."

"Come here, Andy. By me."

    "Andyl" The man in the chair laughed through his half-closed mouth. "Isn't

    that nicel Andyl Come here, Andyl"

    Andrew Scarlett approached his stepfather and stood by his side, looking

    down at the deformed man in the chair.

"So you're the son of Ulster Scarlett?"

"I'm Matthew Canfield!s son."

    Canfield held his place, watching the father and son. He suddenly felt as

    though he didn't belong. He had the feeling that giants---old and infirm,

    young and scrawnywere about to do battle. And he was not of their house.

    "No, young man, you're the son of Ulster Stewart Scarlett, heir to

    Scarlattil"

    "I'm exactly what I want to bel I have nothing to do with you." The young

    man breathed deeply. The fear was leaving him now, and in its place

    Canfield saw that a quiet fury was taking hold of the boy.

"Easy, Andy. Easy."

    "Why? . . . For him? ... Look at him. He's practically dead... He doeset

    even have a face."

    349

    #,Stop itr' Ulster Scarletes shrill voice reminded Canfield of that

    long-ago room in Zurich- "Stop it, you fooll"

    "For what? For you? - . . Why should I? . . . I don% know yout I doWt want

    to know youl . - . You left a long time agol" The young man pointed to

    Canfield. He took over for you. I listen" him. You're nothing to mer'

"Don't you talk to me like thall Don't you darer'

    Canfield spoke sharply. "rve, brought April Red, Kroegerl What have you got

    to deliverl Thafs what were here for. Le's get it over withr'

    "He must understand firstr' The misshapen head nodded back and forth. "He

    must be made to understand,"

, "If it meant that mucb, why did you hide it? Why did you become Kroeger?"

    The nodding head stopped, the ashen slit eyes staredCaafield remembered

    Janet speaking about that IDOL

    "Because Ulster Scarlett was not fit to represent the new order. The new

    worldl Ulster Scarleft served his purpose and once that purpose was

    accomplished, he was no longer necessary... He was a hindranm - - - He

    would have been a joke. He had to be eliminated.

"Perhaps there was something else, -too."

"ISMIJ,taffs

    '-Elizabeth. She would have stopped You again. . . . She would have stopped

    you later, just the way she stopped you at Zurich."

    At Elizabeth's name, Heinrich KrOeger worked up the phlegm in his scarred

    throat and spat. it was an ugly sight. "rhe bitch of the worldl . . . But

    we made a mistake in twenty-six.... Let's be honest, I made the mistake....

    I should -have asked her to join us. . . . She would have, you know. She,

    wanted the same things we did. . . ."

&,You're wrong about that."

"Hahl You didn't know herr'

    Me former field accountant replied softly without inflection. "I knew her.

    . . . Take My word for it, she despised everything you stood for-"

    The Nazi laughed quietly to himself- 'Thaes very funny... I told her she

    stood for everything I despised-

,I-rhen you were both right."

,,No matter. She's in hell now."

    "She died thinkin you were. dead. She died in peace because of thaL"

    350

    "Hahl You'll never know how tempted I was over the years, especially when

    we took Parisl . . . But I was waiting for London. . . . I was going to

    stand outside Whitehall and announce it to the world-and watch Scarlatti

    destroy itselfl"

"She was gone by the time you took ParIL"

11rhat didn't matter."

    "I suppose not. You were just as afraid of her in death as you were when

    she was alive."

    "I was afraid of no onel I was afraid of nothingl" Heinrich Kroeger stramed

    his decrepit body.

    'qben why didn't you carry out ybur threat? The house of Soarlatti lives."

    never told your'

"Told me what?"

    47~ bitch-woman always covered herself on four Banks. She found her

    corruptible man. My -one enemy in the I1&d Reich. Goebbels. She never

    believed rd been killed at Zurich. Goebbels, knew who I was. After nineteen

    thirty-three she threatened our respectability with lies. Lm about me. The

    party was more important than revenge.st

    Canfield watched the. destroyed man below him. As -always, Elizabeth

    Scarlatfi had been ahead of all of them Far ahead.

    One last questionr

OIT,Whafff

-why janet?"

    The man in the chair raised his right hand with difficulty. "Him. ...

    Hinit" He pointed -to Andrew ScarletL

"Whyr'

    "I believedl I sM believel Heinrich Kroeger was part of a new worldt A new

    orderl Ile true aristocracyl ... In time it would have been hist"

- But why Janet?"

    Heinrich Kroeger, in exhaustion, waved the question aside. "A whore. Who

    needs a whore? The vessel is all we look for. . . "

    Canfield felt the anger rise inside him, but at his age and in his job, he

    suppressed it. He was not quick enough for the boy-man beside him.

    Andrew Scarlett rushed forward to the overstuffed chair and swung his open

    hand at the invalid Kroeger. The

    351

slap was hard and accurate. "You bastardl You filthy bastardt"

"Andyl Get backl" He pulled the boy away.

    'Unehelichl" Heinrich Kroeger's eyes were swunming in their sockets. "Ifs

    for youl That's why yotfre herel You've got to kDowl . . . Yoxell

    understand and start us up againt Thinkl Think the aristocracyl For you

    - . for you. . . ." He reached with his slightly mobile iiand to his inside

    jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. "They're yours. Take theinl"

    canfield picked up the paper and without looking at it handed it to Andrew

    Scarlett.

"They're numbers. Just a lot of numbers."

    Matthew Canfield knew what the numbers meant, but before he could explain,

    Kroeger spoke. "They're Swiss accounts, my son. My only son. . . - They

    contain milhonst Millionsl But there are certain conditions. Conditions

    which you will learn to understandl When you grow older, you'll know those

    conditions have to be metl And you'll meet theml . . . Because this power

    is -the power to change the worldl The way we wanted to change itill

    The man-boy looked at the deformed figure in the chair. "Am I supposed to

    thsank you?"

"Oniday you will."

    Mathew Canfield had had enough. "This is itt April Red has his message. Now

    I want itl What are you delivering?-

"It's outside. Help me up and we'll go to it."

    "Neverl What's outside? Your staff members in leather coatsr,

11rhere's no one. No one but me."

    Canfield looked at the wreck of a man in front of him and believed him He

    started to help Heinrich Kroeger out of the chair.

,,wait here, Andy, IT be baWl

    Major Matthew Canfield, in full uniform, helped the crippled mskn in brown

    tweeds down the stain and onto the lobby floor. In the lobby, a servant

    brought over the crutches discarded by -the Nazi when he first ascended the

    staircase to his room. The American major and the Nan went out the front

    door.

"Where are we going, Kxoeger?"

,,Don't you think it's time you called me by my right

    352

name? The name is Scarlem or, if you wdl, ScariattLThe Nazi led them to the

rot off the driveway, into the gras&

"YOMV0 Heftwich Kroeger. Thafs all you are -to me.-

    'You reali=6 of course, that it was you, and you alone who caused our

    setback in zurwX you pushed am time. table back a good two yean... No one

    ever suspecte& ... You were an assr Heinxich Krmgu isusbed. 4-per. haps it

    takes an am to portmy an assl- He laughed again.

'Vhm an we gohigr

    "Jug a few hundred yards. Hold your pistol up, if y(m like. 'Mexes no

    one.-

    'Vhat are you going to deliver? You might as well tell IM"

    "Why not? Youll have them in your bands soon enough." Kroeser bobbled along

    toward an -open field. "And when you have them, rm free. Remember that"

'Ve have a deal. What is it?"

    "nn Allies will be pleased. Eisenhower win probably give you a medall ...

    Youll bring back the complete plans of the Berlin fortification& Theyre

    known only to the elite of the Germaii, High Command. . . . Under. pound

    bunkers, irocket emplacements, supply depots, Oven the Fhbrees command P08L

    Youll be a hem and rlI be nonexistent We've done well, you and L"

Matthew Canfield "ped.

    The plans of the Berlin fortificauons had been ob. tained weeks ago by

    Allied Inteffigenm

Berlin knew it.

Berlin admitted it.

    Someone had been led into a trap, but it was not him, Dot Matthew Canfield.

    The Nw! ffigh Comm-qnti had led one of its own into the jaws of death.

    'Tell me, Kroeger, what happens if I take your plans, Y-Dur exchange for

    April Red, and don't let you go? What happensthenr'

    "Simple. Doenitz himself took my testimony. I gave it to him two weeks ago

    in Berlin. I told bim everything. If rm not back in Berlin in a few days,

    he'll be concerned- rm very valuable. I expect to make my appear. ance and

    then ... be gone. If I don't appear, then the whole world knowst"

    Matthew Canfield thought it was the strangest of iro. nies. But it was no

    more than he had anticipated. He had

    353

written it all down in the original file, staled for years in the archives

of the State Department.

    And now a man in Berlin, unknown to him except by reputation, had reached

    the same conclusion.

    Heinrich KXOeger, Ulster Stewart Scarlett-WIls I pendable.

    Doenitz had allowed Kroeger-bearing his false giftsto come to Bern.

    Doenitz, in the unwritten rule of war, expected him to be killed. Doenitz

    knew that neither nation could afford this madman as its own. In either

    victory or defeat. And the enemy had to execute him so that no doubts

    existed. Doenitz was that rare -enemy in these days of hatreds. He was a

    man his adversaries trusted. Like Rommel, Doenitz was a thorough fighter.

    A vicious fighter. But be was a moral man.

Matthew Canfield drew his pistol and fired twice.

Heinrich Kroeger lay dead on the ground.

Ulster Stewart Scarlett was-at last-gone.

    Matthew Canfield walked through the field back to the small inn. The night

    was clear and the moon, threequarters of it, shone brightly on the still

    foliage around him.

. It struck him -that it was remarkable that it had all been so simple.

    But the crest of the wave is simple. Deceptively simple. It does not show

    the myriad pressures beneath that make the foam roU the way it does.

It was over.

And there was Andrew.

Them was Janet.

Above aU, there was Janet.

354

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ROBERT LUDLUM, whose work has been published in twenty-seven countries and

thirty-two languages, is the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The

Osterman Weekend, The Matlock Paper, The Rhinemann Exchange, The Gemini

Contenders, The Chancellor Manuscript, The Road to Gandolfo, The Holcroft

Covenant, The Matarese Circle, The Bourne Identity, The Parsifal Mosaic,

The Aquitaine Progression, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Icarus Agenda. He

lives with his wife in Florida.