“If he agreed so quickly, he must be hiding a lot of money,” she said. “We should ask for more.”

“I got you three million to cover any hidden assets.”

“Wow!” she said softly.

“It’s a good deal, Bernice, and without the pain of a trial. I’ll have it ready for your signature by the end of the day.”

“I’ll sign it,” she said.

Stone hung up with his heart pounding.

Joan came into the office. “What did you get for her?”

“The earth, sun and moon,” Stone said, hardly able to believe it himself. Bernie’s net worth was going to run to at least forty million dollars, and he was going to get fifteen percent of half of it. That was…he did the arithmetic…good God, three million dollars! Stone’s mind spun out of control; he started thinking about one of those new, very light jet airplanes.

Stone had a dinner date with the lovely, rangy Celia, but first he had promised her he would perform a chore. He got out of the cab in front of the SoHo gallery and peered through the window at the very good crowd that had assembled to see the artist’s work. A very large sign in the window read:

DEVLIN DALTRY

“Wait for me,” Stone said to the cabbie. “I won’t be long. He walked into the gallery, grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and looked around for the artist. He located him at the center of a small group of women who were at least as fascinated with him as with his sculpture, so Stone passed a little time peering at the lumps of marble and steel arrayed on pedestals throughout the large room. They were uniformly uninteresting, Stone thought, the product of an empty mind.

Shortly, he spotted Devlin Daltry, slim and dressed entirely in black and momentarily alone, so he set his champagne glass down on a pedestal next to a lump titled “Doubt,” walked quickly over to the man and offered his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Daltry,” he said, squeezing his hand, and with his other taking him by the arm and steering him out of the hearing of others.

Daltry followed, because he had to. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“My name is Stone Barrington, and I am the attorney representing your former friend, Celia.”

“I don’t have to talk to you,” Daltry said, attempting and failing to free himself from Stone’s clutches.

“That’s right, you don’t,” Stone replied. “But you have to listen for just a moment, or I’ll break your hand.” He squeezed it for emphasis.

Daltry winced. “All right, get it over with.”

“I’ve come here to tell you that your relationship with Celia is over from this moment and that, should you attempt to see her or even contact her ever again, I will see that a world of legal and financial problems falls on you from a great height and makes your life not worth living. This will be in addition to the criminal penalties that will follow, and follow you they will, right into Rikers Island. And finally-and this is entirely personal, not legal-after all that is done, I will find a quiet moment with you alone and leave you in a condition that will prevent you from making any more of these awful little things you dare to call ‘sculptures.’ Is all that perfectly clear?” He squeezed Daltry’s hand again for emphasis.

“Yes,” Daltry grunted.

“I hope I won’t find it necessary to see you again.” Stone released the sculptor from his grip, walked out of the gallery and got into his waiting cab. “Sixty-fifth and Madison,” he said.

He walked into La Goulue, one of his favorite non-Elaine’s restaurants, twenty minutes later to find Celia waiting for him at his usual table, sipping a glass of wine. He gave a kiss to Suzanne, who ran the place, then slid into his seat. “Sorry to be late,” he said. “It’s a long trip from SoHo.”

“You went to the opening?” she asked.

“I did,” he replied, waving at a waiter and making drinking motions. “His stuff is awful, soulless.”

“I can’t disagree. Did the two of you talk?”

“I did all the talking,” Stone said, “but he seemed to get the message.”

She looked doubtful. “Devlin is not very good at getting the message. I’m afraid I haven’t been completely truthful with you.”

Stone took a sip of his drink and wondered what was coming next. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I mean, it’s not that I’ve lied to you; it’s just that there’s more to Devlin than I’ve mentioned.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s wilder than he looks.”

“How do you mean, ‘wilder’?”

“He’s capable of attacking men twice his size and of doing damage.”

“And has he found attacking men twice his size a profitable activity?”

“He hits unexpectedly, then runs, and he can run very fast.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said, taking another sip. “Anything else?”

“He’s also capable of hiring people to do his dirty work for him. A couple of weeks ago, I was followed out of a restaurant I used to frequent by two men, and it was obvious what they had on their minds. Fortunately, I made it into a cab before they got to me, and I lost them. This is why I don’t want Devlin to know where I’m living. These days, I make it a rule not to go anywhere I usually go. I’ve even dropped two clients that he knew about, because I was afraid I’d come out of their buildings and find Devlin or those two men waiting for me.”

“I think that’s very wise,” Stone said. “Our next move is to get a temporary restraining order against him.”

“I told you before, that won’t stop him.”

“It often doesn’t stop the aggressor, but violating it has legal consequences up to and including jail time, depending on how pissed off the judge is.”

“All right, if you think that’s best.”

“I do. Tell me, can you take a couple of weeks off work without going broke?”

“I suppose so. Why?”

“I think it’s best if we get you out of town for a little while, during which time we can let this business play out.” He took a slim leather notebook from his pocket, placed it on the table and gave her a pen. “Give me Devlin’s address and phone number.”

She wrote it down.

“What sort of daily schedule does he keep?”

“He works in his loft, so he’s usually there during the day. In the evenings he goes out, often to a bar called Crackers and a restaurant called Emile’s, both downtown.”

“Anyplace else he frequents?”

“Wherever I am. When he knew where to find me, he used to devote a good part of his day to tracking me down, then following me around, just to let me know he was still after me. It was unnerving, because I never knew when he might cause a scene in some public place or even attack me.”

“That’s good to know about,” Stone said. “I’ll put it in your petition for the TRO.”

“Will I have to appear in court?”

“No, I can represent you.”

“Oh, good. I don’t want to see Devlin, even in court.”

The waiter brought menus, and they devoted themselves to choosing among the dishes.

Stone signed the check. “Ready?”

“Would you do me a favor?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Would you take a look outside and make sure he’s not out there?”

“If it would make you feel better.”

“It would.”

“I’ll be right back.” Stone slid out of the banquette, walked to the front door and went outside. He looked up and down Madison Avenue. Traffic was light. A car was double-parked in front of the building next door, and two bored-looking men sat in the front seat.

Stone hailed a cab. “Start your meter. I’ll be right back,” he said to the driver. He went back inside and got Celia. “There are two men waiting in a car outside, and there’s no back way out of here, so we’re just going to have to brazen it out the front way.”

“Whatever you say.”