Part 42 (1/2)
”Should I bother to ask where we're going?” he asked.
”This should be of interest to you,” he said.
”I'm taking you to see Leslie McAdam.”
The car was still at the curb in front of the stone townhouse. The tall, austere Whiteside stepped from the building first and immediately the driver slipped back into the car. The Rover began moving through congested London traffic. A few minutes later the winds.h.i.+eld wipers were turned on and silently kept a fine rain from obstructing the driver's view.
Twenty minutes later the Rover eased to a stop in a subdued neighborhood bordering Earl's Court and Kensington. Whiteside and Thomas stepped from the car. They were on a quiet street with little traffic, trees, clean sidewalks, and a small church.
”The Chapel of St. Michael the Redeemer,” said Whiteside.
”Peaceful, I suppose, though I've never much cared for Presbyterians' ”
The driver remained with the car.
”Come with me,” said Whiteside to Thomas.
They walked through a side door to the small, modest neighborhood church. The rector saw Whiteside and the two men exchanged nods. No word was spoken. Thomas reasoned that the church might have a small group of Anglo-Scottish paris.h.i.+oners. But he was only guessing.
They walked through the chapel, up the aisle, and then past the altar.
Whiteside led Thomas out another side door which led into an old churchyard with weather-worn tombstones, a few ornate but most of them modest. The headstones marked the resting places of humble working people from the neighborhood. There was a steady cold drizzle now.
”I was always very fond of Leslie McAdam” Whiteside said in a moment of unconcealed candor.
”A frightened little girl most of her life ” He looked at Thomas as the rain fell on his angular face and dripped down to his beige Aquascutum raincoat. He wore no hat.
Whiteside's hair was matted and soaked.
”Man to man, old boy,” he said,
”I guess I saw in her the daughter I would always have liked to have had. Are you married?”
”Divorced.”
”I see”, he answered, as if suddenly enlightened. He added as an afterthought,
”I was never of the temperament to marry.” His smile was wry.
”A bit of a public-school vice, you understand.” He motioned to a modern tombstone in the newest section of the churchyard.
”Here we are,” he said.
Thomas looked down and stood absolutely motionless as he read the inscription in gothic letters: LESLIE McADAm 1945-1974 He stared at the stone disbelievingly, then lifted his gaze back to the older man.
Whiteside was studying his reaction, conscious that he'd just thrown his trump card. Several moments more pa.s.sed before Thomas spoke.
”What's this supposed to mean?” he asked.
”It means that a man with counterfeit money also has a counterfeit daughter,” said Whiteside. The rain continued to fall on his face. His expression was twisted in confusion also.
”Albeit'” he added, 'as usual Arthur Sandler's counterfeit is, well, perfect.”