Lucid Intervals (2010)

that,” Smith said, looking pointedly at Felicity.
    “Probably,” Felicity said. “I was junior to him, but—to use an American term—the scuttlebutt was that he was headed for the top.”
    “Did he leave abruptly?” Stone asked.
    Felicity answered. “He didn’t turn up at the office one day, and later that morning the interoffice post delivered a one-sentence letter of resignation to the director.”
    “Have you seen the letter?” Stone asked.
    “It’s in his file.”
    “Was it profane or disrespectful?”
    “I believe he told the director to get stuffed.”
    Stone couldn’t help laughing. “Mr. Smith, where were you at the time of Whitestone’s . . . departure?”
    “I was working in his section,” Smith replied.
    “And what section was that?”
    Felicity interrupted. “I don’t believe that’s relevant.”
    “Let me rephrase,” Stone said. “Was he doing work that could have benefited him financially if he had used the information he had gained in his work in the private sector?”
    “Oh, yes,” she replied. “I thought you understood that.”
    “Was his work of a financial nature?”
    Felicity stared at the ceiling. “I can’t think of a way to answer that question without telling you more than you need to know to accomplish your task.”
    “I’ll try again,” Stone said. “Given his experience, might he have gone to work in the financial industry? In the City, perhaps?”
    “Nothing as overt as that,” she replied. “It’s more likely that he would have been employed surreptitiously by someone in a position to profit from his experience.”
    “Do you have a name of a possible employer?”
    “The evidence is inconclusive,” she said.
    “To whom did the evidence point?”
    “I would not wish his name to be bandied about,” she said.
    “Of course not, but knowing it might be very helpful in learning the whereabouts of Whitestone.”
    Felicity sighed. “Lord Wight,” she said.
    Stone’s eyebrows went up.
    “I believe you may have known him briefly,” Felicity said, “during your little sojourn in London a few years back.”
    Indeed, Stone had met him. Lord Wight was the father of a woman he had been quite attached to for some months in that year, and he had visited the family home in the South of England. “Was this before or after Lord Wight’s financial difficulties?” he asked.
    “During and after,” she responded. “It was rumored that Whitestone was responsible for saving his bacon and recovering much of Wight’s fortune and reputation.”
    Stone was puzzled. “But you were unable to verify this?”
    “We verified it to our satisfaction,” she replied, “but that did not rise to an actionable level.”
    “Were crimes committed at the time?” he asked.
    “We believe that both Lord Wight and Whitestone benefited greatly from insider information supplied by Whitestone.”
    “I see,” he said.
    Felicity looked at her watch.
    Smith stood. “Please excuse me,” he said. “I have another appointment.”
    “Of course,” Felicity replied. Smith left the room, and Felicity stood. “I hope that what you have heard may be of use to you, Mr. Barrington,” she said.
    The woman in the outer office suddenly appeared. “May I escort you out, Mr. Barrington?”
    Stone got up. “Yes, thank you. And thank you, Dame Felicity.”
    “Good day, Mr. Barrington,” she replied.
    Stone followed the woman to the elevator, where she unlocked the panel and pressed a button. When he arrived on the ground floor, his uniformed escort was waiting for him. A moment later he was on the front steps of the house, blinking in the sunshine.

18
    S tone took advantage of the good weather and walked home.
    As he came into his block he saw two things: one that puzzled him and another that frightened him.
    He was puzzled by the chauffeur-driven, Mercedes-made Maybach parked in front of his house, and frightened by the woman standing across the street, who did not seem to see him. She was of Dolce’s height and build, but she wore a coat or cape with a hood, which was drawn over her head, leaving her face in shadow.
    Stone stepped behind a tree and stopped. As he watched, she turned toward Third Avenue and began walking. At the corner, she hailed a cab and was driven away. Stone heaved a sigh of relief and walked on to his house, entering through the office.
    Joan sat at her computer, paying bills online. “Morning,” she said. “A client is waiting for you.”
    “Which