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ench pots and pans； German and Japanese knives。 Was the guy starting a restaurant？
In the bedroom； in the back of a walk…in closet； he found a huge steel door； partway open。
〃Fort Knox；〃 said Fenton。
Barnaby nodded。 With a house full of million…dollar paintings； it kind of made him wonder what was so valuable that it had to go into a vault。
Without touching the door he slipped inside。 The vault was empty save some scattered trash on the floor and a bunch of wooden map cases。 Slipping out his handkerchief； he used it to open a drawer。 The velvet bore indentations where objects had once nested。 He slid it shut and turned to the door itself； giving the lock a quick examination。 There were no signs of a forced entry。 None of the locked cases he'd seen in the rooms had been forced； either。
〃The perps had all the codes and keys；〃 said Fenton。
Barnaby nodded。 This was no robbery。
He went outside and made a quick circle of the gardens。 They looked neglected。 Weeds were ing up。 Nothing had been tended to。 The grass hadn't been cut in a couple of weeks。 The whole place had a seedy air about it。 The neglect； it seemed to him； stretched back even more than the two weeks since the so…called robbery。 It looked like the place had been going downhill for a month or two。
If insurance was involved； so were the sons。 Maybe。
3
He found them standing in the shade of the pi？on tree； arms crossed； silent and glum。 As Barnaby approached； the guy in the suit asked； 〃Did you find anything？〃
〃Like what？〃
The man scowled。 〃Do you have any idea what's been stolen here？ We're talking hundreds of millions。 Good God； how could anyone expect to get away with this？ Some of these are world…famous works of art。 There's a Filippo Lippi worth forty million dollars alone。 They're probably on their way to the Middle East or Japan。 You've got to call the FBI； contact Interpol； shut down the airports…〃
He paused to draw in air。
〃Lieutenant Barnaby has some questions；〃 said Fenton； taking up the role he played so well； his voice curiously high and soft； with an undercurrent of menace。 〃State your names； please。〃
The one with the cowboy boots stepped forward。 〃I'm Tom Broadbent； and these are my brothers； Vernon and Philip。〃
〃Look； officer；〃 the one named Philip said； 〃these artworks are obviously headed for some sheik's bedroom。 They could never hope to sell these paintings on the open market…they're too well known。 No offense； but I really don't think the Santa Fe Police Department is equipped to handle this。〃
Barnaby flipped open his notebook and checked his watch。 He still had almost thirty minutes before the crime…lab truck arrived from Albuquerque。
〃May I ask a few questions； Philip？ Okay if I use first names here？〃
〃Fine； fine； just get on with it。〃
〃Ages？〃
〃I'm thirty…three；〃 Tom said。
〃Thirty…five；〃 said Vernon。
〃Thirty…seven；〃 said Philip。
〃Tell me； how is it that all three of you just happened to be here at once？〃 He directed his gaze toward the New Age type； Vernon； the one who looked like the least petent liar。
〃Our father sent us a letter。〃
〃What about？〃
〃Well 。。。〃 Vernon glanced at his brothers nervously。 〃He didn't say。〃
〃Any guesses？〃
〃Not really。〃
Barnaby switched his gaze。 〃Philip？〃
〃I haven't the slightest。〃
He swiveled his gaze to the other one； Tom。 He found he liked Tom's face。 It was a no…bullshit face。 〃So Tom； you want to help me out here？〃
〃I think it was to talk to us about our inheritance。〃
〃Inheritance？ How old was your father？〃
〃Sixty 。。。〃
Fenton leaned forward to interrupt； his voice harsh。 〃Was he sick？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃How sick？〃
〃He was dying of cancer；〃 said Tom coldly。
〃I'm sorry；〃 said Barnaby； putting a restraining arm on Fenton as if to stop him from asking more tactless questions。 〃Any of you got your copy of the letter？〃
All three produced the same letter； handwritten； on ivory laid paper。 Interesting； Barnaby thought； that each one had his copy。 Said something about the importance they attached to this meeting。 Barnaby took one and read：
Dear Tom；
I want you to e to my house in Santa Fe； on April 15； at exactly 1：00 P。M。； regarding a very important matter affecting your future。 I've asked Philip and Vernon as well。 I have enclosed funds to pay for your travel。 Please be on time： one o'clock sharp。 Do your old man this one last courtesy。
Father
〃Any chance of a recovery from the cancer； or was he a goner？〃 Fenton asked。
Philip stared at Fenton and then turned to Barnaby。 〃Who is this man？〃
Barnaby shot a warning glance at Fenton； who often got out of hand。 〃We're all on the same side here； trying to solve this crime。〃
〃As I understand it〃 Philip said grudgingly； 〃there was no chance of recovery。 Our father had gone through radiation treatments and chemotherapy； but the cancer had metastasized and there was no getting rid of it。 He declined further treatment。〃
〃I'm sorry；〃 said Barnaby； trying unsuccessfully to summon up a modicum of sympathy。 〃Getting back to this letter； it says something here about funds。 How much money came with it？〃
〃Twelve hundred dollars in cash；〃 said Tom。
〃Cash？ In what form？〃
〃Twelve one…hundred…dollar bills。 Sending cash like that was typical of Father。〃
Fenton interrupted again。 〃How long did he have to live？〃 He asked this question directly at Philip； thrusting his head forward。 Fenton's was an ugly head； very narrow and sharp； with thick eyebrow ridges； deep…set eyes； a huge nose with each nostril projecting a thicket of black nosehairs； crooked brown teeth； and a receding chin。 He had olive skin； despite the Anglo name； Fenton was a Hispano from the town of Truchas； way back up in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains。 He was scary； if you didn't know he was the kindliest man alive。
〃About six months。〃
〃So he invited you here for what？ To do a little eeny meeny meiny moe with his stuff？〃
Fenton could be awful when he wanted。 But the man got results。
Philip said icily； 〃That's a charming way of putting it。 I suppose that's possible。〃
Barnaby broke in smoothly。 〃But with a collection like this； Philip； wouldn't he have made arrangements to leave it to a museum？〃
〃Maxwell Broadbent loathed museums。〃
〃Why？〃
〃Museums had taken the lead in criticizing our father's somewhat unorthodox collecting practices。〃
〃Which were？〃
〃Buying artwork of dubious provenance； dealing with tomb robbers and looters； smuggling antiquities across borders。 He even robbed tombs himself。 I can appreciate his antipathy。 Museums are bastions of hypocrisy； greed； and cupidity。 They criticize in everyone else the very methods they themselves employed to get their collections。〃
〃What about leaving the collection to a university？〃
〃He hated academics。 Tweedy…dums and tweedy…dees； he called them。 The academics； especially the archaeologists； accused Maxwell Broadbent of looting temples in Central America。 I'm not spilling any family secrets here： It's a well…known story。 You can pick up just about any copy of Archaeology magazine and read about how our father was their version of the devil incarnate。〃
〃Was he planning to sell the collection？〃 Bar