debentures in Sheffield Cutlery and by exercising the conversions gain control of the company or not?'
Still uncertain, the field accountant asked, 'Why is that so... distressing?'
'Because the company constantly loses money.'
Then you don't buy. That shouldn't keep you up all night.'
The old woman eyed him coldly. 'Sheffield Cutlery is one of the oldest, finest firms in England. Their product is superb. The problem is neither management nor labor conditions but a heavy influx of Japanese imitations. The question is, Will the purchasing public learn in time to reverse the trend?'
Elizabeth Scarlatti rose from the couch and went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. The field accountant turned to Janet Scarlett. 'Does she do this sort of thing all the time? Doesn't she have advisers?'
But Janet was still staring at the bedroom door. She took off her wrap and approached the field accountant. She spoke quietly. 'She's not telling the truth.'
'How do you know?'
'The way she looked at me when she was talking to you. She was trying to tell me something.'
'Like what?'
The girl shrugged impatiently and continued in a hushed whisper. 'Oh, I don't know, but you know what I mean. You're with a group of people, and you start to tell a whopper or exaggerate something, and while you do, you look at your husband or a friend who knows better... and they know they shouldn't correct you - '
'Was she lying about that company she spoke of?'
'Oh, no. That's the truth. Chancellor Drew's been trying to persuade her to buy that firm for months.'
'How do you know?'
'She's already turned it down.'
'Then why did she lie?'
As Canfield started to sit down, his attention was drawn to the linen antimacassar on the back of the chair. At first he dismissed it and then he looked again. The material was crumpled as if it had been mangled or bunched together. It was out of place in an immaculate suite. He looked closer. There were breaks in the threads and the imprint of fingertips was unmistakable. Whoever had gripped the chair had done so with considerable force. 'What is it, Matthew?'
'Nothing. Get me a drink, will you?'
'Of course, darling.' She went to the dry bar as Canfield walked around the chair in front of the french window. For no particular reason, he pulled apart the curtains and inspected the window itself. He turned the latch and pulled the left side open. He saw what he had begun to look for. The wood around the clasp was scratched. On the sill he could see where the paint had been discolored by the impression of a heavy coarse object, probably a rubber-soled boot or a crepe-soled shoe. Not leather; there were no scratches on the enamel. He opened the right side and looked out. Below were six stories straight down; above two floors to what he recalled was an acutely slanting roof. He pushed the window shut and locked it.
'What on earth are you doing?'
'We've had a visitor. An uninvited guest, you might say.'
The girl stood absolutely still. 'Oh, my God!'
'Don't be frightened. Your mother-in-law wouldn't do anything foolish. Believe that.'
'I'm trying to. What are we going to do?'
'Find out who it was. Now get hold of yourself. I'll need you.'
'Why didn't she say something?'
'I don't know, but you may be able to find out.'
'How?'
Tomorrow morning she'll probably bring up the Sheffield business. If she does, tell her you remember she refused to buy it for Chancellor. She'll have to give you an explanation of some kind.'
'If Mother Scarlatti doesn't want to talk, she just won't. I know.'
Then don't press it. But she'll have to say something.'
Although it was nearly three o'clock, the lobby had a flow of stragglers from late parties. They were mostly in evening dress, a great many were unbalanced and giggling, all were happily tired.
Canfield went to the desk clerk and spoke in a gentle, folksy tone. 'Say, fella, I've got a little problem.'
'Yes, sir. May we be of service?'
'Well, it's a bit touchy... I'm traveling with Madame Elizabeth Scarlatti and her daughter...'
'Oh, yes indeed. Mr... Canfield, isn't it?'
'Sure. Well, the old girl's getting on, you know, and the people above her keep pretty late hours.'
The clerk, who knew the legend of the Scarlatti wealth, was abject in apology. 'I'm dreadfully sorry, Mr. Canfield. I'll go up myself at once. This is most embarrassing.'
'Oh, no, please, everything's quiet now.'
'Well, I can assure you it won't happen again. They must be loud, indeed. As I'm sure you're aware, the