“Andy was enraged,” Fletch said. “She knew Horan had the paintings, of course. She was enraged that he was selling them without her. Did Sylvia react at all?”
Menti said, “She never looked in the catalogues. I couldn’t get her to.” Menti chuckled lightly and shook his head. “When you called from Cagna, saying you were driving down with an upset Angela, it was too late. I could wait no longer for Sylvia to notice, I had to go forward with our plan and get kidnapped.”
“I don’t know what Andy was really thinking on that drive to Livorno. She was certainly going to you, maybe to confess. More likely, she didn’t know what she was doing.”
“My disappearance helped clarify things,” Menti said.
“Yes. Essentially, Andy sent me here to find the paintings so she could steal them back from Horan. She probably wouldn’t have played her own hand out, unless she thought you were dead.” Fletch swallowed coffee. “This morning Horan was arrested. Exit Andy. Exit Sylvia.”
“Enter Menti.”
The buzzer to the downstairs door sounded.
“We’re taking the paintings to a dealer in New York. A man I trust implicitly.” Fletch stood up to answer the door. “His name is Kasnar. On East 66th Street.”
In the foyer, he shouted into the mouthpiece “Who is it?”
The answering voice was so soft it took Fletch a moment to assimilate what it said.
“Francis Flynn, Mister Fletcher.”
“Oh! Inspector?”
“The same.”
Fletch pressed the button that would release the lock on the door downstairs.
Quickly, he grabbed Menti’s coat from the closet.
Then be went into the den and took the truck keys from a drawer of the desk.
In the living room, he handed the coat and keys to Menti.
“Hurry up,” he said. “Put on your coat. The man who is coming up is a policeman.”
Moving gracefully, with speed, Menti stood up and put on the coat Fletch held for him.
“I won’t be able to drive to New York with you, Menti. Can you make the trip alone?”
“Of course.”
“Here are the keys. It’s a black caravan truck, a Chevrolet, parked at the curb outside the apartment house, I think, to the right as you leave the building. The license plate on it is R99420. Have you got it?”
“In general, yes.”
“Kasner’s address is 20 East 66th Street, New York.”
“I can remember.”
“He’s expecting you this afternoon. Come into the foyer with me, as if you were leaving anyway.”
The doorbell rang.
“Good morning, Inspector.”
“Good morning, Mister Fletcher.”
The little face on top of the huge body was bright and shining from a recent close shave. The green eyes were beaming like a cat’s.
Fletch brought Menti forward by the elbow.
“I’d lake you to meet a friend, from Italy, who just stopped by. Inspector Flynn, this is Giuseppe Grochola.”
Flynn’s eyes went to Menti. He put out his hand.
“Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is it?”
Menti hesitated not at all before shaking hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Inspector.”
Flynn said to Fletch, “I never forget a thing I’ve heard. Isn’t it marvelous?”
“It’s marvelous, Flynn.”
“And such a great cop I am, too. Didn’t I hear someone say that?”
“You did, Inspector.”
“Now why do you suppose this man who’s supposed be dead, this Count Clementi Arbogastes de Grassi, is standing here in your front hall?”
“I’m on my way to the airport, Inspector.”
Fletch said “He’s been found, Flynn. Isn’t that great?”
“It’s a wonder he was lost at all.”
“A narrow escape,” said Fletch.
“It’s a confusion,” said Menti. “I came here to see my wife and daughter. They, hearing I was found alive, rushed off to Rome, not knowing I was coming here.”
“I see,” said Flynn. “And how was it, to be dead?”
Menti said, “I’m trying to catch them at the airport, Inspector.”
Flynn stood away from the door.
“I’d never come between a man and his family,” he said. “Have a joyful reunion.
Fletch opened the door.
“There’s some coffee in the living room, Inspector.”
He opened the elevator door for Menti.
Flynn had wandered into the living room.
Fletch whispered, “Send me back the license plates. By mail.”
From inside the elevator, Menti whispered, “What do I do with the truck?”
“Leave it anywhere. It will get stolen.”
Still in his overcoat, Flynn stood over coffee table.
“There’s not an unused cup,” he said, “on this brisk morning.”
“I’ll get one.”
“Never mind. I had my tea.”
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Fletch said.
“I suspected as much. I’m only here for the moment. I thought I’d ask you this morning if you’ve had any ideas at all as to where the de Grassi paintings might be?”
“I’ve just been through that, Inspector.”
“Have you?”
“I told Menti everything.”
“You must have been mighty surprised to see him.”
“Mighty.”
“The ladies have gone already, have they?”
“They were gone when I got back. They must have gotten the news during the night, while I was with you.”
“And they didn’t wait for you? Your girlfriend and the Countess.”
“Menti’s discovery was big news, Inspector.”
“I daresay it was. And how was he found?”
“Wandering near the steps of Saint Sebastian.”
“In a daze, was he?”
“No. He’d been let out of a car.”
“Remarkable they’d.feed a captive that long. Italian kidnappers must have hearts of honey. A month or more, wasn’t it?”
“About that.”
“Well, anything is possible under the sun.” Flynn tamed on his heel at the end of the room. “Now, where do you suppose the paintings are this morning?”
“Well, Inspector, you might believe Horan hid them last night.”
“I might believe that, yes. The man doesn’t say so himself.”
“You asked him?”
“I did, yes.”
“But, Inspector, who can believe a murderer?”
“Ach, now there’s a point worthy of my own Jesuit training.”
“What did Horan say, precisely?”
“The man says he never heard of the paintings.”
“Didn’t he say a man named Cooney in Texas has them?”
“He says he never heard of a man named Cooney.”
“It’s a great puzzle, Inspector.”
“It is that. The man must have had the paintings, or he never would have gone to the extent of murder to frame and thus dispose of you.”
“Perhaps he just doesn’t like people named Peter.”
“I’ll ask him that.” Flynn, hands behind back, walked back down the room. “I’d almost think you took them yourself, Fletch. There was a burglary at the man’s house last night. If the man hadn’t gone there immediately afterwards and told the police nothing was missing.”
“I suppose I could make some tea,” Fletch said. “The water’s still hot.”
“No, I must be going.” Flynn headed toward the front door. “Of course, a man may be reluctant to admit something he isn’t supposed to have is stolen from him. I mean, how would a man say something I stole was stolen from me?”
Fletch said, “I understand reluctance, Inspector.”
“Ach,” said Flynn. “A man has no privacy at all.”
Before he opened the front door, Flynn turned to Fletch, and said, “Which reminds me, Mister Fletcher. Finally we discovered what else you did on that Wednesday you went in one door of the Ritz and out the other.”