Man on a Rope by George Harmon Coxe Page B

though I understand he had made arrangements to hire McBride and his plane on Monday.”
    Amanti spoke easily and well, and as the story unfolded Barry listened with part of his brain while the other assessed the things he knew about the lawyer—not the personal idiosyncrasies that came from Lynn Sanford as part of her job, but the background of the man which had evolved from casual conversations over drinks with some who knew him.
    He was native born, the color of his skin and the wiry hair suggesting that there was an East Indian strain somewhere in his heritage. He had been educated locally and in Trinidad and had been reasonably successful before the bar, though much of his practice had to do with business affairs. Some years earlier he had married somewhat above him socially and had never quite been allowed to forget it. For his part he had brought solvency to an old but impoverished colonial family, though this was never referred to by his blonde and buxom wife, who had produced no children and apparently existed for the long bi-yearly trips to England which Amanti dutifully provided even when somewhat pressed for cash.
    That he was a clever man no one disputed, but to Barry it seemed that there was something else less wholesome. He did not know exactly what it was, but when the word “sly” occurred to him he accepted it as suitable. But if scandal had touched Amanti, Barry had not heard of it; if there was a streak of larceny in his system, it had never been exposed. To this Lynn Sanford had been able to add only that Amanti was a secretive man, but never offensive. Now, aware that the lawyer had finished and was watching him, he spoke quickly.
    â€œWhat happens to them if they’re found?”
    â€œThey become part of the estate, subject of course to the taxes and fees Lambert forgot to pay.”
    The word “estate” triggered Barry’s thoughts anew and he recalled the list of holdings he had scanned on Lambert’s desk just before Amanti had arrived. Amanti hoped to be the administrator of the estate and, with his background and familiarity with Lambert’s affairs, it seemed likely he would be so appointed. Who, then, could say exactly what belonged in the estate and what did not? Who was there left to check on Amanti? Certainly Lambert would have demanded an accounting before he sailed. Perhaps Lynn Sanford—
    â€œWhat?” he said, aware that the lawyer had spoken and watching him get to his feet.
    â€œI said it was getting late,” Amanti said. “When I find out what else may be missing in the morning I’ll report this to Kerby.”
    Barry stood up and said it might be a good idea. There were other questions he wanted to ask, but time had run out on him and he voiced but one: “How did the guy get in here?”
    Amanti pointed. “Through the door. It is the only way he could have entered.”
    â€œYou mean, he forced the lock?”
    â€œI could see no sign that he had done so.”
    â€œWasn’t it locked?”
    â€œCertainly it was locked,” Amanti said. “I distinctly remember locking it when I left earlier.”
    Barry did not know whether to believe this or not, but when he saw Amanti turn off the desk light he knew it was time to go.
    â€œHow many keys?” he asked.
    â€œThree. This one.” Amanti patted his trousers pocket. “Miss Sanford’s. A spare one I keep at home.”

CHAPTER SIX
    B ARRY DID NOT START TO WORRY about Lynn Sanford until he was in the taxi, but once started, his uneasiness mushroomed quickly. When Eddie Glynn cut across High Street at the next intersection and started back toward the hotel, Barry said he had changed his mind and gave him Lynn’s address.
    The bungalow stood in darkness as the cab stopped, and Barry sat a moment in his uncertainty, listening to the soft throbbing of the motor and aware that Eddie was watching him curiously. He understood that what he