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"And that is where we are headed now?"
"Yes. I would not have involved you needlessly, but they seemed so convinced that you were something of an authority on the thing that when you called it occurred to me that if you were there to corroborate my story there would be no question as to the stone's authenticity. I didn't like involving you this way, but it is a matter of life and death."
"Yeah. They may kill us all."
"Why should they? They will have what they want. It would be pointless to harm us."
"Witnesses," I said.
"To what? It would be our word against theirs that the incident even occurred. There is no record of it, no evidence of a kidnaping or anything else. Why jeopardize the status quo by killing people and starting a homicide investigation?"
"The whole thing stinks, that's why. We do not have sufficient facts to decide what may or may not be motivating them."
"What else was I to do? Call the police and take a chance they might not be bluffing?"
"I already said that I don't know. But at the risk of sounding ignoble, you might have left me out of this."
"Sorry," he said. "It was a quick judgment and maybe a wrong one. But I was not rushing you there blind. I knew I owed you an explanation, and that is what I have been giving you. We are not there yet. There is still time to drop you off if you do not want to be party to it. I intended to offer you the choice when I finished explaining things. Now that I have, you can make up your own mind about it. I had to hurry, though."
He glanced at his watch.
"When are we supposed to meet them?" I asked.
"About half an hour."
"Where?"
"Around eight miles, I think. I'm going by landmarks they gave me. Then we park it and wait."
"I see. I don't suppose you recognized the voice, or anything like that?"
"No."
I looked down at the pseudostone, semiopaque or semitransparent, depending on one's philosophy and vision, very smooth, shot with milky streaks and red ones. It somewhat resembled a fossil sponge or a seven-limbed branch of coral, polished smooth as glass and tending to glitter about its tips and junctures. Tiny black and yellow flecks were randomly distributed throughout. It was about seven inches long and three across. It felt heavier than it looked.
"Nice piece of work, this," I said. "I can't tell it from the other. Yes, I'll go with you."
"Thanks."
We drove on, maybe eight miles. I watched the scenery and wondered what was going to happen. Hal turned down an ill-tended car trail-I could not really call it a road-very near to the beach. He parked the car at the edge of a marshy area, in a place where the trees screened us on all sides. Then we got out, lit cigarettes and waited. I could hear the sea from where we stood, smell it, taste it. The soil was gritty, the air was clammy. I rested my foot on a log and stared into the stagnant wash, spindled and mutilated by reeds and reflection.
Several cigarettes later, Hal looked at his watch again.
"They're late," he said.
I shrugged.
"Probably watching right now to make sure we're alone," I said. "I would-for a long while. I would probably have a spotter back on the road, too."
"Sounds likely," he agreed. "I'm getting tired of standing. I'm going to sit in the car again."
I turned also, and we saw Jamie Buckler standing near the rear of the car, regarding us. He appeared to be unarmed, but then there was no necessity for him to flash a weapon. He knew we would do whatever he said without additional coercion.
"Are you the one who called?" Hal asked, advancing.
"Yes. Have you got it?"
"Is she all right?"
"She's fine. Have you got it?"
Hal halted and unwrapped the stone. He displayed it on his jacket.
"Here. See?"
"Yeah. Okay. Come on. Bring it along."
"Where?"
"Not far. Do an about-face and head that way," he said, gesturing. "There's a little trail."
We moved off along the route he had indicated, Jamie bringing up the rear. Winding through scrub, it took us farther down toward the beach. Finally, I got a closeup view of the sea, gray today and white-capped. Then the trail took us away again, and before very long I thought I had spotted our destination-low, peaked, set back on a modest hillside, missing a shutter and a half-a beach cottage that had seen better seas before I was born.
"The cottage?" Hal said.
"The cottage" from behind us.
We went on up to it. Jamie circled about us, rapped in a doubtless prearranged fashion and said, "It's okay. It's me. He's got it. He brought Cassidy along, too."
An "Okay" emerged from inside, and he opened the door and turned to us. He gestured with his head and we moved past him and on in.
I was not exactly taken by surprise to see Morton Zeemeister seated at the scarred kitchen table, a gun beside his coffee cup. Across the room beyond the kitchenette area, Mary was seated in what looked to be the most comfortable chair in the place. She was tied loosely, but one hand was free and there was a cup of coffee on the table beside her also. There were two windows in the dining area and two in the living room. In the rear wall there were two doors-a bedroom and a john or closet, I guessed. The overhead area had not been floored or ceiled, and there were only bare beams and lots of space, where someone had stashed fishing gear, nets, oars and assorted junk. There was an old sofa, a couple more rickety chairs and low tables and a pair of lamps in the living room. Also a dead fireplace and a faded rug. The kitchenette held a small stove, refrigerator, cupboards and a black cat who sat licking her paws at the far end of the table from Zeemeister.
He smiled as we entered, raising the gun only when Hal began a dash toward Mary.
"Come back here," he said. "She is all right."
"Are you?" Hal asked her.
"Yes," she said. "They didn't hurt me."
Mary is a small, somewhat flighty girl, blond and a trifle too sharp-featured for my tastes. I had feared she would be somewhat hysterical by then. But, outside of the expected signs of stress and fatigue, she seemed possessed of a stability that exceeded my expectations. Hal might have done better than I had thought. I was glad.
Hal returned from her side, moved toward the table. I glanced back when I heard the door shut, its latch clicking into place. Jamie leaned there, his back against the frame, watching us. He had opened his jacket, and I saw that there was a gun tucked in behind his belt.
"Let's have it," Zeemeister said.
Hal unwrapped it again and passed it to him.
Zeemeister pushed aside his gun and coffee cup. He placed the stone before him and stared at it. He turned it several times. The cat rose, stretched, jumped down from the table.
He leaned back in his chair then, still looking at the stone.
"You boys must have gone to a lot of trouble-" he began.
"As a mater of fact," Hal stated, "we-"
Zeemeister slammed the table with the palm of his hand. The crockery danced.
"It's a fake!" he said.
"It's the same one we've always had," I offered, but Hal had turned bright red. He is a lousy poker player, too.
"I don't see how you can say that!" Hal shouted. "I've brought you the damned thing! It's real! Let her go now!"
Jamie moved away from the door, coming up beside Hal. At that moment, Zeemeister turned his head and raised his eyes. He shook his head slightly, just once, and Jamie halted.
"I am not a fool," he said, "to be taken in by a copy. I know what it is that I want and I am capable of recognizing it. This-" he made a flipping motion with his right hand-"is not it. You know that as well as I do. It was a good try, because it is a good copy. But you have played your last trick. Where is the real one?"
"If that is not it.," Hal said, "then I do not know."