Cometh the Hour: A Novel
by a set of gaudy prints of SoHo. A man he’d never met before, but whom he recognized from his photograph in that morning’s New York Times, rose from behind a trestle table and thrust out a hand.
    “Rex Mulberry. Delighted to meet you at last, Harry.”
    “Good morning, Mr. Mulberry,” said Harry. “I have an appointment with my publisher, Aaron Guinzburg.”
    “I’m afraid Aaron doesn’t work here any longer,” said Mulberry. “I’m the chairman of the new company, and the board decided that the time had come for Viking to make some radical changes. But, let me assure you, I’m a great admirer of your work.”
    “So you’re a fan of Wilfred Warwick, are you?” said Harry.
    “Yes, I’m a huge fan of Wilfred’s. Have a seat.” Harry reluctantly sat down opposite the new chairman. “I’ve just been over your latest contract, which I’m sure you’ll agree is generous by normal publishing standards.”
    “I have only ever been published by Viking, so I’ve nothing to compare it with.”
    “And of course we will honor Aaron’s most recent contract in the Wilfred Warwick series, as well as the one for Uncle Joe .”
    Harry tried to think what Sebastian would have done in these circumstances. He was aware that the contract for Uncle Joe was in his inside pocket and, after some considerable persuasion, had been signed by Yelena Babakova.
    “Aaron had agreed to prepare a new three-book contract, which I had intended to go over with him today,” he said, playing for time.
    “Yes, I have it here,” said Mulberry. “There are a few minor adjustments, none of them of any real significance,” he added as he pushed the contract across the table.
    Harry turned to the last page, to find Rex Mulberry’s signature already on the dotted line. He took out his fountain pen—a gift from Aaron—removed the top and stared down at the words, On behalf of the author . He hesitated, before saying the first thing that came into his head.
    “I need to go to the lavatory. I came straight from Grand Central as I didn’t want to be late.” Mulberry forced a smile, as Harry placed the elegant Parker on the table beside the contract. “I won’t be long,” Harry added as he rose from his seat and casually left the room.
    Harry closed the door behind him, walked quickly down the corridor, past the reception desk and didn’t stop until he reached the lobby, where he stepped inside the first available lift. When the doors opened again on the ground floor, he joined the bustle of office workers who were making their way out of the building for their lunch break. He glanced at the two guards, but they didn’t give him a second look as he passed them. They seemed to be focused on someone standing sentinel-like on the opposite side of the street. Harry turned his back on Aaron and hailed a cab.
    “Where to?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” said Harry, “but could you drive across to the far corner and pick up the gentleman who’s standing there.” The cabbie came to a halt on the other side of the street. Harry wound down the window. “Jump in,” he shouted.
    Aaron looked suspiciously inside, but when he saw Harry, he quickly joined him in the back.
    “Did you sign the contract?” were his first words.
    “No, I did not.”
    “What about the Babakov contract?”
    “I still have it,” said Harry, touching the inside pocket of his jacket.
    “Then we just may be in the clear.”
    “Not yet. I persuaded Mrs. Babakova that she should cash Viking’s cheque for $100,000.”
    “Help,” said Aaron.
    “Where to?” demanded the cabbie again.
    “Grand Central Station,” said Harry.
    “Can’t you just phone her?” said Aaron.
    “She doesn’t have a phone.”

 
    6
    “I T’S THE FIRST time I’ve ever known you do something dishonest,” said Emma, as she poured herself a second cup of coffee.
    “But surely it’s morally defensible,” said Harry. “After all, the end justified the means.”
    “Even that’s

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