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〃Halloo！〃 Philip called through cupped hands。
Still nothing。
〃Do you think he's all right？〃 Tom asked。 The uneasy feeling was getting stronger。
〃Of course he's all right；〃 said Philip crossly。 〃This is just another one of his games。〃 He pounded on the great Mexican door with a closed fist； booming and rattling it。
As Tom looked about； he saw that the yard had an unkempt look； the grass unmowed； new weeds sprouting in the tulip beds。
〃I'm going to take a look in a window；〃 Tom said。
He forced his way through a hedge of trimmed chamisa； tiptoed through a flower bed； and peered in the living room window。 Something was very wrong； but it took him a moment to realize just what。 The room seemed normal： same leather sofas and wing chairs； same stone fireplace； same coffee table。 But above the fireplace there had been a big painting…he couldn't remember which one…and now it was gone。 He racked his brains。 Was it the Braque or the Monet？ Then he noticed that the Roman bronze statue of a boy that held court to the left of the fireplace was also gone。 The bookshelves revealed holes where books had been taken out。 The room had a disorderly look。 Beyond the doorway to the hall he could see trash lying on the floor； some crumpled paper； a strip of bubble wrap； and a discarded roll of packing tape。
〃What's up； Doc？〃 Philip's voice came floating around the corner。
〃You better have a look。〃
Philip picked his way through the bushes with his Ferragamo wingtips； a look of annoyance screwed into his face。 Vernon followed。
Philip peeked through the window； and he gasped。 〃The Lippi；〃 he said。 〃Over the sofa。 The Lippi's gone！ And the Braque over the fireplace！ He's taken it all away！ He's sold it！〃
Vernon spoke。 〃Philip； don't get excited。 He probably just packed the stuff up。 Maybe he's moving。 You've been telling him for years this house was too big and isolated。〃
Philip's face relaxed abruptly。 〃Yes。 Of course。〃
〃That must be what this mysterious meeting's all about；〃 Vernon said。
Philip nodded and mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief。 〃I must be tired from the flight。 Vernon； you're right。 Of course they've been packing。 But what a mess they've made of it。 When Father sees this he's going to have a fit。〃
There was a silence as all three sons stood in the shrubbery looking at each other。 Tom's own sense of unease had reached a high pitch。 If their father was moving； it was a strange way to go about it。
Philip took the pipe out of his mouth。 〃What say； do you think this is another one of his little challenges to us？ Some little puzzle？〃
〃I'm going to break in；〃 Tom said。
〃The alarm。〃
〃The hell with the alarm。〃
Tom went around to the back of the house； his brothers following。 He climbed over a wall into a small enclosed garden with a fountain。 There was a bedroom window at eye level。 Tom wrestled a rock out of the raised flower…bed wall。 He brought it to the window； positioned himself； and hefted it to his shoulder。
〃Are you really going to smash the window？〃 said Philip。 〃How sporting。〃
Tom heaved the rock； and it went crashing through the window。 As the tinkling of glass subsided they all waited； listening。
Silence。
〃No alarm；〃 said Philip。
Tom shook his head。 〃I don't like this。〃
Philip stared through the broken window； and Tom could see a sudden thought blooming on his face。 Philip cursed and in a flash had vaulted through the broken windowframe…wingtips； pipe； and all。
Vernon looked at Tom。 〃What's with him？〃
Without answering； Tom climbed through the window。 Vernon followed。
The bedroom was like the rest of the house…stripped of all art。 It was a mess： dirty footprints on the carpet； trash； strips of packing tape； bubble wrap； and packing popcorn； along with nails and the sawed butt ends of lumber。 Tom went to the hall。 The view disclosed more bare walls where he remembered a Picasso； another Braque； and a pair of Mayan stelae。 Gone； all gone。
With a rising feeling of panic he ventured down the hall； stopping at the archway to the living room。 Philip was there； standing in the middle of the room； looking about； his face absolutely white。 〃I told him again and again this would happen。 He was so bloody careless； keeping all this stuff here。 So damn bloody careless。〃
〃What？〃 Vernon cried； alarmed。 〃What is it； Philip？ What's happened？〃
Philip said； his agonized voice barely above a whisper； 〃We've been robbed！〃
2
Detective Lieutenant Hutch Barnaby of the Santa Fe Police Department placed a hand on his bony chest and kicked back in his chair。 He raised a fresh cup of Starbucks to his lips； the tenth one of the day。 The aroma of the bitter roast filled his hooked nose as he looked out the window to the lone cottonwood tree。 A beautiful spring day in Santa Fe； New Mexico； United States of America； he thought； as he folded his long limbs deeper into the chair。 April 15。 The Ides of April。 Tax Return Day。 Everyone was home counting their money； sobered up by thoughts of mortality and penury。 Even the criminals took the day off。
He sipped the coffee with a huge feeling of contentment。 Except for the faint ringing of a phone in the outer office； life was good。
He heard； at the edges of consciousness； the petent voice of Doreen answering the phone。 Her crisp vowels floated in through the open door： 〃Hold on； excuse me； could you speak a little slower？ I'll get you the sergeant…〃
Barnaby drowned out the conversation with a noisy sip of coffee and extended his foot to his office door； giving it a little nudge shut。 Blessed silence returned。 He waited。 And then it came： the knock。
Damn that phone call。
Barnaby placed his coffee on the desk and rose slightly from his slouched position。 〃Yes？〃
Sergeant Harry Fenton opened the door； a keen look on his face。 Fenton was never one to like a slow day。 The look was enough to tell Barnaby that something big had just e down。
〃Hutch？〃
〃Hmmm？〃
Fenton went on； breathlessly。 〃The Broadbent place was robbed。 I got one of the sons on the phone now。〃
Hutch Barnaby didn't move a muscle。 〃Robbed of what？〃
〃Everything。〃 Fenton's black eyes glittered with relish。
Barnaby sipped his coffee； sipped again； and then lowered his chair to the floor with a small clunk。 Damn。
As Barnaby and Fenton drove out the Old Santa Fe Trail； Fenton talked about the robbery。 The collection； he'd heard； was worth half a billion。 If the truth were anything close to that； Fenton said； it would be front…page…New…York…Times。 He； Fenton； on the front page of the Times。 Can you imagine that？
Barnaby could not imagine it。 But he said nothing。 He was used to Fenton's enthusiasms。 He stopped at the end of the winding driveway that led up to the Broadbent aerie。 Fenton climbed out the other side； his face shining with anticipation； his head forward； his huge hatchet nose leading the way。 As they walked up the road； Hutch scanned the ground。 He could see the blurred tracks of a semi； ing and going。 They had e in bold as brass。 So either Broadbent was away or they had killed him…more likely the latter。 They'd probably find Broadbent's stiff in the house。
The road went around a corner and leveled out； and a