A somewhat high-pitched male voice snapped back, "The Benbows have no clients by that name. If she insists on seeing someone, refer her to one of the junior partners-"

Amanda stepped forward. "If you'll excuse me"-the clerk had to move or be bowled aside-"I insist on speaking to one of the senior partners." She stopped in the doorway. "Is your name Benbow?"

At an ornate desk in front of a wall bookcase jammed with reference volumes, an elderly man with thin white hair and pale skin swung his spectacles back and forth from one hand. He studied his visitor disapprovingly.

"Yes, madam, I'm William Benbow, Junior."

"Well, I'm not precisely a client as yet. But before we finish our interview, I will be. Now if you'll dismiss this young man, I'd like to discuss my business-"

Benbow flung down the spectacles. "See here! I am preparing an important brief. If you insist on seeing me, make an appointment for sometime next week."

Amanda shook her head and walked into the gloomy office. "You don't understand, Mr. Benbow. I've come all the way from California, and I don't propose to wait. I'm Gilbert Kent's daughter."

William Benbow, Junior, was seized with a fit of coughing. He groped for a crystal water jug and overturned one of the tumblers before he poured and gulped a drink. It was a full minute before Amanda was sure the old man wasn't going to faint away.

Turning to the clerk, she said, "You may go." She took hold of the door and pushed to make certain he would. Louis grinned and darted into the office before the door shut.

iii

"Incredible," William Benbow, Junior, said at the end of Amanda's rapid summary of her history-the portions of it she cared to reveal, that is. "Absolutely incredible. You do resemble your father. At the time he died, my father"-a gesture toward a dour portrait on one wall-"was his attorney. I was still clerking in the outer chambers." The lawyer wiped his eyes with a kerchief, replaced his spectacles. "You mentioned business-if it has anything to do with your gold claim, I should advise you that the Benbow firm has no expertise in that area."

Amanda replied, "No, it has nothing to do with the California property. I may need your help with a simple real estate transaction."

Benbow looked a trifle crestfallen. "Real estate?"

"I assure you, Mr. Benbow, if you serve me capably in this small enterprise, I'll probably have a good deal of work for you later on."

"You plan to stay in the east permanently?"

"That depends on a number of factors we needn't go into right now. Are you familiar with the house my father owned on Beacon Street?"

"Quite familiar." Benbow nodded, his manner growing more cordial. "My father took me there to visit on several occasions. A handsome residence-"

Louis was seated in a chair beside his mother's. He scraped the toe of his boot on the carpet. Benbow frowned, as though the noise had interrupted his train of thought. Amanda noticed that Louis stared right back at him, without so much as a blink.

"Who lives in the house now?" she asked.

"Why, let me see-" Benbow thought. "A family named Wheeler. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wheeler. He's a furniture merchant. He and his wife have owned the home for nearly twenty years, I think."

"I'm asking because my father once kept certain family mementos in the house. I'm anxious to see whether they might have survived. The items would be of no intrinsic value to another owner-but there's always a slim chance they weren't discarded. Would you imagine the Wheelers would let me inspect the property? Search the attic, and the cellar?"

"Doubtful. Wheeler's an arrogant sort. His wife is quite conscious of her fancied social position."

Amanda smiled without humor. "You're saying they might not permit some strange woman from the west to prowl through their house?"

"Yes, you've put it accurately. I doubt very much that they would."

"Would you guess that items that might have been stored in the house would still be there?"

"I've no way of knowing, Mrs. de la Gura. Wheeler and his wife are antiquaries. I'm told they've packed the place with art objects purchased on tours of Europe. That may indicate a penchant for saving things-but it's still thin evidence on which to base a positive answer to your question."

"Then the only way to answer it is to buy the house."

Benbow's spectacles, swinging in his hand again, fell to the carpet. "You want to live in it?"

"No, I just want to go inside."

"You-you've certainly chosen an extravagant means of entry!"

"I don't think so. The location of the property still makes it valuable, I assume-"

"Very definitely."

"Then it's a good investment. I'll be happy to have the house back in the family. After I inspect it, you can lease it to someone else."

Benbow was speechless. Annoyed, Amanda said, "I'll be glad to pay whatever fee you require, Mr. Benbow. But I want you to approach the Wheelers and tell them you have a purchaser for the property. How much is it worth?"

"Why-why, I suppose-in that area of town-forty to fifty thousand-"

From her reticule Amanda drew an envelope, and handed it across the desk. "Inside, you'll find a bank draft representing the sale of some real estate in California. The sum of ninety thousand dollars. I'm prepared to pay up to seventy thousand for the Beacon Street house, though if you can get it for less, so much the better. You must stipulate that nothing stored in the house when the Wheelers purchased it is to be removed. Nothing-no matter how worthless the object seems."

Benbow retrieved his spectacles, pulled the draft from the envelope and examined it, shaking his head and blinking.

Amanda frowned. "What's the matter? The draft is perfectly good-"

"Of course, of course. I am only-only-"

"Shocked at my way of doing business?"

"To put it mildly."

"Time is precious to me. I'll call on you tomorrow to learn whether you've been successful."

"Tomorrow?" Benbow gasped.

"Certainly." Amanda drew one of his old-fashioned quills from the inkstand and wrote on a slip of paper. "You'll send a representative to the Wheelers this afternoon, I assume." She tapped the quill feather on the slip. "You can reach me here-the American House-should you get a favorable response at once."

"Very well," the lawyer gulped. He nearly dropped the envelope containing the draft. "But please take this. I'll feel more comfortable if you deposit it with a bank. I suggest the Rothman Bank on State Street-where your father had his accounts. Ask for the president, Mr. Joshua Rothman. He's the grandson of the founder. I-I think you'll find he has some important information for you-"

Thunder rumbled again, louder this time. "What sort of information?"

"I would prefer you learn that from him," the lawyer said, still acting stunned.

iv

Mr. Joshua Rothman was a slim, dark-haired young man with graceful hands and thoughtful dark eyes. Behind his high-backed chair, rain spattered the windows of his private office.

The office was conservative, as befitted an important Boston bank, yet opulent. Thick carpeting deadened sound. The marble top of Rothman's desk showed not a speck of dust. Wood paneling reflected the bluish light of the gas jets hissing within wall-mounted glass bowls. Until today, Amanda had never been in any building with gas illumination, though her hotel, the American House, boasted that it had installed gas fixtures in its rooms and upper halls in 1835.

From beyond a heavily carved door came a sudden, rapid clicking. Curious, Amanda swung toward noise.

"My apologies for the racket, Mrs. Ken-Mrs. de la Gura," Rothman corrected. "That's a private telegraph wire. The bank maintains constant contact with Wall Street. Where large sums are involved, fast and confidential communication is important."

The young banker rose, walked to the door and opened it. He said to Louis, "You're welcome to go in and watch the operator."

Louis shook his head, clearly unhappy at being trundled from office to office. Joshua Rothman shrugged, closed the door and strolled back to the desk where Amanda was seated.

"I only wish my grandfather Royal were here to greet you in person. He often spoke of the Kents-and with great fondness. The publishing house your grandfather founded has added luster to Boston for a long time."

"I have the impression absentee management has dimmed that luster quite a bit."

"Hamilton Stovall, you mean? Yes, his orientation is-how shall I say it? More blatantly commercial than that of the Kents. You know, I've always been curious about the loss of the firm to Mr. Stovall. There's still a fanciful tale that the transfer came as a result of a wager-"

"The story's correct," Amanda said. "My mother's second husband was cheated by Mr. Stovall. In a gambling game."

"Is that a fact. I never believed it. I do know the printing house burned. I heard the fire was started by-ah, but forgive me for bringing up an unpleasant subject."

"It may be unpleasant, but it's the truth. My cousin set the fire. He died in California. That part of the past is closed."

The banker nodded without replying.

"I'd like your opinion on something, Mr. Rothman. Suppose that in a few years, I were to accumulate a substantial amount of money from the mining claim I described. What are the chances of my purchasing Kent and Son?"

"I would say excellent."

Relief swept over Amanda as the young man went on. "The firm earns a decent return, I'm told. But Mr. Stovall has a reputation for being more interested in the current balance sheet than in long-term stability and growth."

"He milks the company, in other words."

"Exactly. He does the same with his. steel factories. He's in his mid-fifties, but he's still quite preoccupied with-ah-call them worldly pursuits. He's not a favorite of the lending community because he gives too little attention to sound management. He prospers only because the domestic market for steel is voracious. Since he devotes even less time to the publishing operation, I should imagine he'd be happy to dispose of it if he could realize a profit."

With never a flicker of change in her expression, Amanda stored away the bits of information about Hamilton Stovall-including the hint of licentiousness in Joshua Rothman's choice of the words worldly pursuits. She stored the information away just as she'd already taken note of the use of a private telegraph line.

"Very good," she said. "The draft I handed you for deposit should convince you I'm serious about purchasing my family's former home-well, I'm every bit as serious about buying Kent and Son."

"I don't doubt you for a moment, Mrs. de la Gura. But you needn't delay making an offer to Mr. Stovall."

For the first time since entering the busy bank, Amanda was genuinely surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Rothman's has enjoyed a peculiar relationship with the Kents over the years. The bank has been the steward of certain assets of your late father of which you are probably unaware."

"What assets?"

"Have you ever heard of a cotton spinning firm in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, called the Blackstone Company?"

"Never."

"My grandfather Royal, your father, Gilbert Kent, and a number of other local men founded the Blackstone Company in 1803. It's still operating. Very successfully, I might add. For certain reasons of his own, your father preferred that your mother not be aware of his investment of one hundred thousand dollars in the firm-forgive me if this is offensive in any way-"

"No, go on," Amanda said softly, a strange expectancy gripping her.

"Your father, in short, took steps to protect a portion of his estate by placing his Blackstone voting stock in the bank's keeping. Your mother drew income from, and controlled, only the printing house."

Immediately Amanda understood why. The way in which Harriet Kent's poorly chosen second husband had gambled away Kent's made her father's decision wholly comprehensible.

"Rothman's has long since assumed there were no Kent heirs," the young man went on. "Nevertheless, we have administered the Blackstone shares as if there were. Contrary to much popular opinion, bankers are not thieves. You are the recipient of your father's legacy-which has grown to be worth a great deal of money."

"How much money, Mr. Rothman?"

"At current market value-conservatively-six million dollars."

v

"Oh my Lord, Ma! Six million?" Louis burst out. She was so overcome, she quite forgot to correct his use of the word "Ma."

The initial shock passed in a few moments. But not her awareness of the stunning possibilities opened by the young banker's announcement. While the rain ticked at the windows and a glare of lightning paled the gaslight, she collected her thoughts.

She said finally, "For the time being, Mr. Rothman, I want the bank to continue administering the shares."

"Certainly. The dividend income will be credited to your new account."

"I'll also want to inspect the Blackstone Company."

At that, he looked dubious. "If you wish, I can arrange it. But not even the male stockholders go there very often. It's a noisy, unwholesome place-a typical factory, I'm afraid."