“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 Boothroyd—courtesy of a generous father-in-law—is one of them.”
“Which ties Zurich to Scarlatti.…”
“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 more.… Ben, perhaps we’ve gone too far. It might be better to call it off. Make a report to Justice and get Canfield back.”
“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 alibi 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.”
“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.”
CHAPTER 25
Twenty-five miles from the ancient limits 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 minutes until a nun answered.
“May I help you?”
The field accountant drew out his indentification card and held it up for the nun to see. “My name is Canfield, sister. I’m here for Madame Elizabeth Scarlatti. Her daughter-in-law is with me.”
“If you’ll wait, please. May I?” She indicated that she wished to take his identification card with her. He handed it to her through the small opening.
“If course.”
The viewer was closed and bolted. Canfield wandered back to the car and spoke to Janet. “They’re very cautious.”
“What’s happening?”
“She’s taking my card in to make sure the photograph’s me and not someone else.”
“Lovely here, isn’t it? So quiet.”
“It is now. I make no promises when we finally see the old girl.”
“Your callous, unfeeling disregard for my well-being, to say nothing of my comforts, is beyond anything I can describe! Do you have any idea what these idiots sleep on? I’ll tell you! Army cots!”
“I’m sorry—” Canfield tried not to laugh.
“And do you know the slops they eat? I’ll tell you! Food I’d prohibit in my stables!”
“I’m told they grow their own vegetables,” the field accountant countered gently.
“They pluck up the fertilizer and leave the plants!”
At that moment the bells of the Angelus pealed out.
“That goes on night and day! 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 Christ!’ I told her.… It’s been intolerable! Why were you so late? Mr. Derek 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?”
“The Americans, Louis Gibson and Avery Landor are two self-styled Texas Bunyans. They think they built the oil territories. Lander’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.