Worst Fears Realized

afternoon,” Sarah said, “and she suggested we come straight to the country house. I think that’s best, don’t you? We can just relax and do some sailing.”
    “Sounds good to me,” Stone replied, pulling his black bow tie snug. He slipped into his dinner jacket. “What sort of sailing?”
    “The house is on the Solent, the strip of water that separates the Isle of Wight from the rest of England. Daddy keeps a cruising boat nearby, in the Beaulieu River. Do you sail?”
    “I did some sailing as a kid, at a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard, belonging to the parents of a friend. I’ve chartered in the Caribbean, too, but the last time, I didn’t get much sailing done.”
    “This is going to be wonderful, Stone,” she said, turning so he could zip up her dress. “I haven’t beenhome for three years, and I do so love it in Hampshire. I’m happiest on the water, I think.”
    “I’m looking forward to it.”
    “How do I look?” she asked, turning for inspection.
    “You look absolutely beautiful,” he replied. “The dress is spectacular, too.”
    “And you, sir, look like a prince,” she said, straightening his tie. “I’ve never seen you in a dinner jacket, you know.”
    “I didn’t even own a dinner jacket before you went to Italy.”
    “You should wear it all the time; it makes you even more handsome.”
    Stone took her arm and guided her downstairs. “We’re being driven this evening,” he said.
    “You’ve hired a chauffeur?”
    “Sort of a chauffeur; he’s an ex-cop named Bob Berman, who does various investigative jobs for me now and then.”
    “I suppose he’ll be armed,” she said with a trace of disgust.
    “I think that’s best.”
    “What other measures have you taken?”
    “Anderson and Kelly will be in a car in the street; Bob will watch the back door, where we’ll enter the gallery, and Dino will be inside with us.”
    “I really think all this is unnecessary, Stone.”
    “You won’t have to think about it anymore after tonight.”
    “Good.”
    They arrived in the garage, and Stone introducedSarah to Bob Berman, a short, well-built man in his late forties. They got into the backseat, and Bob took the wheel and backed out of the garage.
    “Bob, I’ve built in some extra time; take a circuitous route, so the cops behind us can be sure we’re not being tailed.”
    “Right, Stone,” Berman said. “Are you packing?”
    “Ah, no,” Stone replied.
    “Whatever you say.”
    They drove back and forth across town, working their way slowly uptown. Half an hour passed before they arrived at the rear door of the gallery, precisely on time. Berman got out of the car, walked a few steps away, and checked up and down the block. He came back to the car and opened the door.
    “Looks okay,” he said to Stone.
    Stone hustled Sarah across the sidewalk and through the door, which Edgar Bergman was holding open. Berman removed a traffic cone from a reserved space, parked the car, and took up his position at the rear door of the gallery.
    “Anything unusual happen today?” Stone asked Bergman.
    Bergman shook his head. “No, except we got a lot of acceptances after theTimes piece appeared.”
    “Did you know them all?”
    “Most of them were people to whom invitations had been sent; a few were other dealers. I suppose half a dozen of them were people I didn’t know or had never heard of.”
    “We’ll want to pay particular attention to those, as they enter.”

    “I’ll speak to the receptionist,” Bergman replied.
    They entered the gallery, which was empty of guests, so far. “Everything looks wonderful, Sarah,” Stone said. “Will you excuse me for just a moment? I’d like to talk with Edgar and his receptionist.”
    They walked to the desk at the front door, and Stone was introduced to the young woman who sat behind it and to Bergman’s wife.
    “Here’s how I plan to work it,” Bergman said. “My wife and I will be near the door, greeting the guests as they enter. If someone comes in whom I don’t know, I’ll simply turn and look at you and nod. Is that all right?”
    “That’s very good,” Stone said. “I won’t be far away.”
    “This is already nerve-wracking,” Bergman said.
    “I’m sure everything will be all right; there are two policemen in the street and my man at the back door.” Stone looked toward the display of paintings, walked over, and examined one he particularly liked. He came back to Bergman. “How much is number