I set the phone gently on the nightstand.

At fourteen hundred hours the brass bell over Arthur Vance’s office door chimed.

I stepped into the reception area and found Arthur behind the front desk, sorting through a stack of pink carbon copies.

His beige suit was so rumpled it looked as though he’d slept in his office chair.

“Got your message,” Arthur said.

He passed me a clipboard holding one sheet of heavy legal paper.

“So this is the estate surrender?” I asked.