“I . . . believe we can,” Wainwright replied.
“Then I think it would be appropriate for you to issue a public statement to that effect.”
Wainwright looked puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever issued a public statement about anything.”
“Do you know someone at one of the large newspapers?”
The solicitor brightened. “Why, yes, I was at school with a fellow at the Times.”
“Then I think a phone call to him and a brief interview on the subject would suffice, and your friend would be grateful to you for the story.”
“That’s rather a good idea,” Wainwright said, looking pleased.
Stone avoided chuckling. A largish percentage of the law firms in New York would have retained a publicist for such a chore. “Is there anything else that Sarah should know about the will?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I think she should see a list of James’s assets and liabilities,” Stone pointed out.
“Oh, of course.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk. “I had him prepare a financial statement in conjunction with signing the will.” He handed some papers to Stone. “And a copy of the will for Sarah.”
Stone looked quickly through the documents. “He didn’t have any debt to speak of.”
“None more than thirty days old.”
“And you are the executor?”
“At James’s request.”
“Sir Bernard suggested to me that his holdings might easily be sold to one of the wine and spirits conglomerates.”
“As a matter of fact, James had a rather rich offer from one of them less than three months ago, but he wasn’t inclined to accept it.”
“I very much doubt that Sarah will have any interest in running these businesses. Perhaps after the funeral, you might contact that company and see if they’re still interested.”
“I will certainly do that,” Wainwright replied.
“By the way, what was the offer?”
“Four hundred ninety million pounds sterling.”
Stone did the math. Around three-quarters of a billion dollars. “Did James build this business from scratch?”
“Oh, heavens, no. He was the fourth generation of Cutlers in the business, but he greatly enlarged the business during his tenure.”
“One other thing, Mr. Wainwright: Are there any disaffected siblings or maiden aunts who might challenge this will?”
“None. James was an only child, as was his father before him.”
“Any large charities to whom promises had been previously made?”
“None.”
“Then you see no reason why this will should not be promptly probated?”
“None at all. Tell me, is Sarah currently represented by a solicitor?”
“No, she’s not.” Stone stood up and shook Wainwright’s hand. “Thank you for being so frank with me. I’ll convey what you’ve told me to Sarah, who I’m sure will have some instructions for you, in due course.”
Wainwright looked pleased at the prospect.
Stone left the solicitor’s office and started looking for a cab in Sloane Street. Sarah Buckminster was going to be a very happy starving artist, he reckoned. He glanced at his watch. And now he had to get back to his own business.
Chapter 17
STONE WAS ON HIS SECOND CUP OF tea in the Connaught’s lounge when Ted Cricket and Bobby Jones appeared, exactly on time. When he had seated them and their tea had been served, he sat back and waited for their report.
“As you requested,” Ted Cricket began, reading from a notebook like a good cop, “I positioned myself outside the United States Embassy at eight A.M. this morning and waited for the appearance of a gentleman of the description provided by you on Friday last. Such a gentleman appeared just after ten A.M. and went into the embassy. He emerged at twelve thirty-nine P.M. with another gentleman, who was American in his dress, and I followed them to a restaurant and pub called the Guinea, in a mews just off Berkeley Square. They remained there for nearly two hours, then returned to the embassy.
“At half past four, the first gentleman emerged from the embassy again and, on foot, proceeded to a house in Green Street, a short walk from the embassy. He let himself in with a key, and I surmised that the house is his residence in London. To check this, I knocked on the door of the basement flat, where a caretaker lives, and asked him questions regarding the occupants of the building. He was extremely reluctant to talk to me until I gave him to understand that I was a police officer; then he became marginally more cooperative.
“He divulged, in an oblique manner, that the house was owned by the American government, and that it consisted of four flats occupied by various transient government officials. He knew the gentleman I was following, who occupied the third-floor flat, only as Mr. Gray. Mr. Gray has occupied the third-floor flat for at least four years, though he is often away, and he keeps a considerable wardrobe in the flat. He is apparently unmarried, though he sometimes receives lady guests in the flat. He receives no mail there, and I am inclined to believe that Gray is not the gentleman’s real name.