Part 21 (1/2)
He walked across the street and into Hayward's. Doug Hayward rose from a leather sofa, and a small dog began to bark at Stone.
”Shut up, Bert,” Hayward said. ”Come on back, Stone; we're ready for you.”
Stone silently followed Hayward to the rear of the shop and the dressing room, where he removed his jacket.
”Stone,” Hayward said, ”are you aware that you have a footprint on the back of your s.h.i.+rt collar?”
29.
STONE LET HIMSELF INTO HIS SUITE and got out the satellite telephone. He pressed a speed-dial b.u.t.ton and waited.
”Yes?”
”I have to see you now.”
”Can't do it; how about tomorrow?”
”I'll be in New York tomorrow, if I don't see you now.”
A brief silence. ”Where?”
”The lounge at the Connaught will do. Ten minutes.”
”All right.” He rang off.
Bartholomew/Hedger bustled into the lounge and sat down next to Stone, who was sipping a cup of tea.
”Some tea?” Stone asked.
”What is it?”
”Earl Grey.”
Hedger made a digusted noise and raised a finger to a waiter. ”Bring me a pot of English Breakfast,” he said.
Stone waited while the tea was brought.
”All right, what?” Hedger said.
”Earlier today, I was grabbed by two men, stuffed into the back of a car, driven to an unknown location, stripped, searched, and interrogated by three men. By one man, really; the other two just sat and listened.”
Hedger stared at him. ”What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?”
”Didn't you hear anything I said? I want an explanation.”
”Why do you think I know anything about it?”
”I believe you are a member of a group who indulges in such activities; you were my first thought, even though they asked me about you.”
Hedger held up a hand. ”What did they want to know about me?”
”Whatever I knew; your name, for instance.”
”Did you tell them?”
”No.”
”If they didn't know my name, how did they ask about me?”
”They asked about John Bartholomew. Obviously, they didn't get the joke. They wanted to know Bartholomew's real name.”
”What did you tell them?”
”I told them about our initial meeting and told them I had left your employ.”
Hedger looked relieved. ”All right, now I want you to take me through this incident, step by step, and tell me exactly what happened and exactly what they asked you.”
”It was a big car, black, with blackened windows; a limousine, I believe. Plenty of room for me to lie facedown on the floor with some palooka's foot on my neck.”
”Describe the two men who took you.”
”Big, muscular.”
”What did they say to you?”
”Shut up.”
”What?”
”They told me to shut up. Oh, one of them told me to undress, once we reached their location.”
”Accent?”
”Pretty hard to determine from the words 'shut up,' but I'd say British.”
”Cla.s.s?”
”I didn't ask them where they went to school.”
”No, cla.s.s; social cla.s.s: upper or lower?”
”Jesus, I don't know, but it's hard for me to believe that members of the upper cla.s.s indulge in broad-day-light kidnapping. Lower, I guess.”
”What about the other men, their accents?”
”Only one of them spoke. His voice was smooth, cultivated, definitely upper cla.s.s, but there was some sort of accent underneath it.”