Midnight Jewels

down the scissors and angled the spine to catch more afternoon light.
    There was a piece of paper imprisoned inside the leather.
    She had been nervous when she had first cut into the valuable book, but Mercy was trembling with excitement when she withdrew the slip of paper.
    It was a very ordinary slip of paper, very modern. It was a piece of writing paper from a common tablet. It had been cut and folded to form a narrow envelope.
    When Mercy turned the makeshift envelope upside down and shook it a strip of microfilm fell out onto the table. She sat staring at it for a long time. It didn't take much imagination to figure out that this was what made
Valley of Secret Jewels
so valuable to Erasmus Gladstone. Whatever was on this microfilm probably dated from the days when Gladstone had been known as Egan Graves. It was important enough to Gladstone that he had risked his new identity to reclaim the film.
    The phone rang shrilly just as Mercy picked up the strip of film and held it to the light. She jumped a good two inches and promptly dropped the film back onto the table. She nearly tipped over her chair as she grabbed for the phone.
    "Hello?"
    "Mercy? It's Dorrie. Are you all right? You sound kind of strange."
    "I'm all right." Mercy took a bream. This whole mess was getting frighteningly out of hand. Croft would be furious if she called the authorities, but there were times when even Croft had to have help. She suspected this was one of those times. It wouldn't hurt to talk to someone levelheaded like Dorrie. "Dorrie, I'm glad you called. I want to talk to you about something mat's happened. I need some help."
    "Okay, but first I've got a message for you," Dorrie said easily. "Mr. Glad called again."
    Mercy's fingers clenched around the phone. "When?"
    "Just a few minutes ago. That's why I'm calling you. He asked me to give you another message."
    "Oh, hell."
    "What?" Dorrie sounded concerned.
    "Never mind. You'd better give me the message." This was going to be awful, Mercy was sure of it. Something was going terribly, terribly wrong. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
    "Hang on a second while I get my notes. He was very particular that I get the message straight. How's the deal going with him, anyway? He sounds so nice on the phone. I never thought you'd have the nerve to haggle like this with your first big client."
    "I've had a lot of inspiration lately. What's the message, Dorrie?"
    "Calm down, I've got it right here. He says to tell you that there's been a slight change in plans. Mr. Falconer has arrived early and the two of them have agreed to terms. You're to call him at home as soon as possible."
    Mercy went cold. The chills that crawled along her spine were reminiscent of the ones she had experienced the previous night in Drifter's Creek. She sat staring blindly out into the early evening sunlight. It would be dark in another couple of hours. "I'm to call him at home," she repeated.
    "That's right. Do you need the number?"
    "No," said Mercy. "I've got it. Thanks, Dorrie."
    "Mercy, are you sure nothing's wrong?"
    Everything was wrong. "I'm sure. Thanks again, Dorrie. I'll talk to you soon."
    "I hope you get that deal settled quickly. At this rate you won't have any time for a vacation. Your whole trip will be spent on business."
    "It's beginning to look that way. Good-bye, Dorrie."
    "Take care and have a good time." Dorrie hung up with a cheery farewell.
    Mercy put the receiver back in its cradle and sat staring at it as if it were a snake. Then she glanced at the strip of microfilm.
    Mr. Falconer had arrived and he and Mr. Glad had agreed to terms.
    It wasn't possible.
    Unless one considered the helicopter.
    It
was
possible, just barely, that somehow Gladstone and Isobel had intercepted Croft at some point on the road leading up to the estate. The small helicopter was no doubt highly maneuverable. A skilled pilot might be able to set it down on a straight stretch of mountain road.
    Isobel was a skilled pilot. Croft had said so himself, and he didn't give praise lightly.
    A surprise landing by the helicopter coupled with Gladstone and a gun could have ruined all Croft's carefully set plans. He might even now be a prisoner. Gladstone might be holding him hostage for the microfilm.
    It all made a terrifying kind of sense.
    There was no point putting off the inevitable. Mercy picked up the phone again and carefully dialed Gladstone's number. Isobel came on the line after the first ring. Her low,