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meeting and –”
    “And you’d like to go. Plan on it. Take the afternoon off. Take the whole day off if you like.”
    There was a timid knock on the door.
    “Come in,” he called out, and the receptionist, a young girl with a ponytail and wide innocent eyes, sidled in, shutting the door firmly behind her.
    “Oh, Mr. Gore, there’s a man out there who’s just hanging around. I asked him if I could help him, and he said, no, that he just wanted to look around. I mean there’s nothing to see in a bank –”
    “Maybe he came in to look at the Peter Archer silver.” Gore suggested.
    “No, he just glanced at it.”
    “He may be a dealer. Elsie, they don’t like to appear interested.”
    “Well, I thought where there was that bank robbery over in Scoville –”
    “You thought he might be casing the joint?” He laughed. “What’s he look like?”
    “Well, he’s an older man. I mean his hair is like gray – .”
    Molly had risen and opening the door had craned forward, the better to see into the lobby, she came back and with suppressed excitement said. “I think I know who it is. Larry, there was a picture of him the other day in the Boston Jewish News that my mother-in-law subscribes to. It’s Ben Segal of the Segal Group of Chicago, the ones that are taking over the Rohrbough Corporation.”
    “You think so?” He got out from behind his desk and went to the door. Over his shoulder, he said. “There was a picture of him in Business Week a month or a month and a half ago. See if you can find it in that pile on the table.”
    Molly began flipping through the magazines and almost immediately called out: “Here it is.”
    He came back and studied the picture for a moment. “It’s him all right.” He said to the receptionist. “You’re a good girl. Elsie.” Then he strode through the office to where Segal was standing and said. “Welcome to Barnard’s Crossing. Mr. Segal.”
    Segal turned and stared. “You know me?”
    “Only from your picture in Business Week.” He held out his hand.
    “But that was a month ago.” said Segal.
    “Sure, but it spoke of your interest in the Rohrbough Corporation, and anything to do with Rohrbough concerns us. I’m Lawrence Gore, the president of the bank, we do the Rohrbough payroll, you know.”
    “I know.”
    “I’d like to talk to you about it if you’ve got some time. Look, it’s about noon. How about discussing it over lunch.”
    “Well, I promised to take Mrs. Segal to some nice seafood restaurant.”
    “Splendid, we could pick her up wherever she is, and I’ll take you to the Agathon, the best seafood on the North Shore. How about it?”
    “Sounds good.” said Segal, he nodded at the silver display in the wall case. “Do you sell the stuff?”
    “The Peter Archer silver? Are you a collector? Do you know silver? No? Well, Peter Archer was a colonial silversmith whose shop was right here in Barnard’s Crossing, he’s practically unknown, except for collectors of course. Paul Revere is the name everybody knows. Now some of us think – I think – that Archer was a better craftsman and that Revere’s reputation is due to his connection with the Revolution. Paul Revere’s ride and all that sort of thing. So some of us” – he smiled self-consciously – “Well, I guess it was my idea, anyway, we thought we ought to do something about it. I approached the people at the Boston Art Museum, and they agreed to a Peter Archer exhibit if I could come up with a decent representation of his work. Those pieces in the bank are on loan from people from all over the area. It’s all in the spirit of the Bicentennial. But, of course, we’re hard-headed Yankees around here, so I was able to get as much as we have, and it’s still coming in, by pointing out to the owners that having pieces exhibited at the Boston Art Museum will increase their value.”
    “Sounds like good business, Mr. Gore. Mrs. Segal is at the hotel, maybe I ought to call her and tell her