Stone Barrington 06-11

could hear computer keys clicking. “Your current balance is one hundred dollars, Mr. Barrington.”
    Stone felt suddenly ill. “What was the amount you received from New York?”
    “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
    “Then why isn’t it in the account?”
    “A request was made to transfer the funds shortly before closing yesterday. It was very late, but the request was urgent, so we accommodated Mr. Cabot.”
    “Mr. Cabot had access to my account?”
    “Why, yes, Mr. Barrington; his signature was on the account application, and he knew the code word.”
    Stone felt frozen. “Where were the funds transferred?”
    “To an account in Hong Kong,” the account manager replied.
    “Thank you, Dr. von Enzberg.” He hung up and trudged down the stairs.
    “What’s wrong?” Carpenter asked. “You look ill.”
    “I’ve been had,” Stone replied.

52
    STONE SANK HEAVILY INTO AN ARMCHAIR in the drawing room.
    “Explain,” Carpenter said.
    “Lance transferred all the money out of the account yesterday, to a bank in Hong Kong.”
    “How could he do that?”
    “Apparently, he had access to my account.”
    Carpenter stared at him. “Did you sign the account application, then give it back to Lance?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then he simply added his own signature to the document. Did he know your code?”
    “I wrote it on the form. How could I have been so stupid?”
    “An expensive oversight,” Carpenter said.
    “I could get the Hong Kong account number, and we could trace the funds,” Stone said.
    Carpenter shook her head. “Remember the time difference; Cabot has had plenty of opportunity to retransfer the funds half a dozen times; he was probably at it all night. We’d never find it.”
    “But your people will reimburse me?”
    “I can’t make any promises; my management are likely to take a dim view of all this.”

    “I worked very hard to earn that money,” Stone said, though he’d really made it in the market. “You can’t let them hang me out to dry.”
    “If it were our funds he’d stolen, that would be one thing, but your funds are quite another.” She looked at her watch. “We have to get going,” she said.
    “To where?”
    “To Wiltshire; obviously, the timetable has been accelerated. I hope we’re not too late.”
    Stone grabbed a tie and his suit jacket and they met downstairs.
    “We’ll take your Jaguar,” Carpenter said. “But you can’t go,” she said to Dino.
    “I go where he goes,” Dino replied.
    Carpenter looked at Stone, who nodded. “Oh, all right. Let’s get out of here,” she said.

    Carpenter drove, fast and expertly.
    Stone glanced at the speedometer, which was glued to a hundred and twenty miles an hour. “Aren’t you worried about being stopped by the police?”
    “The number plate is a special one; they’ll know to leave us alone,” she replied. She fished her cellphone out of her bag and dialed a number, driving with one hand, making Stone nervous. “It’s Carpenter,” she said. “Cabot has bolted with Barrington’s money, we don’t know where. We have to assume that his timetable has changed. I’m on the way, and I’ll be there in an hour.” She punched off.
    Stone called the Farm Street house again. Erica answered.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    “I’ve had three double espressos, but I’m still a little fuzzy around the edges.”

    “Write down this number,” Stone said, and gave her his cellphone number. “If Lance should call, tell him I called and want to speak to him urgently. When he hangs up, you call me immediately.”
    “What’s going on, Stone?” Erica asked.
    “I’m not sure,” he said, “but don’t leave the house; stick by the phone.”
    “All right,” she replied.
    Stone hung up. “Should I call her back and have her check the office in the wine cellar?”
    “Don’t bother,” Carpenter said. “It isn’t Cabot’s office.”
    Stone looked at her. “Then whose is it?”
    “It belongs to the owner of the house,” she said. “He’s one of ours.”
    “Why would Lance rent a house from one of your people?”
    “He doesn’t know. We’ve been keeping track of Cabot ever since he arrived in London last year. He was followed to an estate agent’s, where he was looking for houses to rent, and we, in effect, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rent and the location were irresistible.”
    “Who shot the two Israelis?”
    “Not our people; maybe Stan Hedger.”
    “Why?”
    “He