The Girl Who Knew Too Much(94)

He’d considered helping himself to the jewelry—the gems were of excellent quality—but by then he knew enough about Spencer to be certain that the damned thing was hot. He didn’t have any connections in the underground gemstone market. Locating a fence he could trust would have been a high-risk venture. The old man would not have approved. Besides, he didn’t need the money.

When he was satisfied that the notebook was not in the bedroom, he went downstairs to continue the search. On his initial foray, he had noted the safe in the magician’s study, but he had learned his lesson at Spencer’s mansion. He saved the safe for last.

Unlike the door locks, the one that secured the safe was modern and fairly sophisticated in design. He took that as a good sign. Something valuable was inside.

He slipped the knife out of its sheath and set it on the floor within easy reach. Then he took out the stethoscope and went to work.

When he heard the last muffled click, a thrill of anticipation swept through him. He took a deep breath and opened the door. There was a thick envelope inside.

He removed the envelope, opened the unsealed flap, and switched on his flashlight.

There was a leather-bound notebook inside.

He took it out, flipped it open, and aimed the flashlight at a few of the pages. They were covered in numbers and equations. A euphoric triumph jolted through him. He had the notebook. Once it had been safely delivered to the old man, he could return to Burning Cove to take his time with Irene Glasson. She would pay for putting him to so much trouble.

He closed the safe, picked up the knife, and got to his feet.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Enright.”

Ward’s voice came from somewhere out in the shadowed hallway.

Julian froze. The realization that he had walked into a trap sent a shock of panic through him.

“Where are you, Ward? Show yourself, you bastard.”

There was no response.

Now he had a choice to make. There were only two ways out of the study: the hallway and the glass doors that opened onto the patio. It seemed unlikely that Ward was working alone.

“Congratulations on your speedy recovery,” Julian said. “The rumors in the bar had you at death’s door.”

“Don’t bother running,” Ward said. “All the exits from this villa are covered.”

Julian listened intently. Ward’s voice seemed to emanate from the living room. He had to assume Ward was armed. If he wasn’t lying about the cops, they were no doubt covering all the other escape routes.

That left his one last foolproof exit strategy. The old man wouldn’t be thrilled that Julian had been forced to use it. There would be another boring lecture about his inclination toward impulsive action. But the present situation was a perfect example of why he carried the license in the first place.

He went to the doorway of the study.

“I’m coming out with my hands up, Ward. This is all a huge misunderstanding.”

“Let’s clear up that misunderstanding,” Ward said. “Who hired you to kill Helen Spencer?”

“I didn’t kill her. I’m a private detective from New York. I’ve got a license I can show you. I work for a company called Enright Investigations. Family firm. We were hired to find the woman you know as Irene Glasson. She stole a certain notebook. Her real name is Anna Harris, by the way.”

“Who hired you?”

“Let’s just say our client represents a certain foreign government, one that is willing to pay very well for the notebook, no questions asked.”

“What about Saltwood Laboratory?”

“I see you’ve been doing some investigating of your own. Unfortunately, Saltwood made the mistake of going to the FBI for help. The investigation has ground to a standstill. The G-men are wringing their hands. Their biggest fear, of course, is that Atherton’s notes will wind up in the possession of an unfriendly foreign power.”

“Which is exactly what you intend, right?”

Julian tried to curb his impatience but he was getting nervous. It was time to end things.

“Business is business,” he said. “The notebook will go to the highest bidder. Isn’t that what you had planned? Your problem is that you don’t have the connections it takes to find the deep-pocket customers for an item as exotic as Atherton’s notes. You’re just an innkeeper. Enright has a buyer lined up. In fact, it looks like there will be an auction. I suggest that you and I negotiate.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to figure out how to market the notebook?”

“I’m not a fool. You figured out the notebook is worth a fortune. You need Enright’s help to sell it.”

“I’m interested.”