The Matlock Paper Read Free Page A

It’s been a rough winter; we deserve a little sun. Anyway, they’re being unreasonable. There’s nothing I want to learn about the Matlock manipulations; it’s a waste of time. In the unlikely event that they ever
do
go, others’ll be in charge.”
    “I thought we agreed that was only an excuse. They want you around for a while. I think it’s touching they do it this way.”
    “It’s not touching, it’s my father’s transparent attempt at bribery.… Look. Our commuter’s given up.” The single man with the newspaper finished his drink and was explaining to the waitress that he wasn’t ordering lunch. “Five’ll get you ten he pictured his son’s hair and leather jacket—maybe bare feet—and just panicked.”
    “I think you’re wishing it on the poor man.”
    “No, I’m not. I’m too sympathetic. I can’t stand the aggravation that goes with rebellion. Makes me self-conscious.”
    “You’re a very funny man, Private Matlock,” said Pat, alluding to Matlock’s inglorious army career. “When we finish, let’s go down to Hartford. There’s a good movie.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. We can’t today.… Sealfont called me this morning for an early evening conference. Said it was important.”
    “About what?”
    “I’m not sure. The African studies may be in trouble. That ‘Tom’ I recruited from Howard turned out to be a beaut. I think he’s a little to the right of Louis XIV.”
    She smiled. “Really, you’re terrible.”
    Matlock took her hand.
    The residence of Dr. Adrian Sealfont was imposingly appropriate. It was a large white colonial mansion with wide marble steps leading up to thick double doors carved in relief. Along the front were Ionic pillars spanning the width of the building. Floodlights from the lawn were turned on at sundown.
    Matlock walked up the stairs to the door and rang the bell. Thirty seconds later he was admitted by a maid, who ushered him through the hallway toward the rear of the house, into Dr. Sealfont’s huge library.
    Adrian Sealfont stood in the center of the room with two other men. Matlock, as always, was struck by the presence of the man. A shade over six feet, thin, with aquiline features, he radiated a warmth that touched all who were near him. There was about him a genuine humility which concealed his brilliance from those who did not know him. Matlock liked him immensely.
    “Hello, James.” Sealfont extended his hand to Matlock. “Mr. Loring, may I present Dr. Matlock?”
    “How do you do? Hi, Sam.” Matlock addressed this last to the third man, Samuel Kressel, dean of colleges at Carlyle.
    “Hello, Jim.”
    “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” asked Matlock, looking at Loring. “I’m trying to remember.”
    “I’m going to be very embarrassed if you do.”
    “I’ll bet you will!” laughed Kressel with his sardonic, slightly offensive humor. Matlock also liked Sam Kressel, more because he knew the pain of Kressel’s job—what he had to contend with—than for the man himself.
    “What do you mean, Sam?”
    “I’ll answer you,” interrupted Adrian Sealfont. “Mr. Loring is with the federal government, the Justice Department. I agreed to arrange a meeting between the three of you, but I did not agree to what Sam and Mr. Loring have just referred to. Apparently Mr. Loring has seen fit to have you—what is the term—under surveillance. I’ve registered my strong objections.” Sealfont looked directly at Loring.
    “You’ve had me
what?
” asked Matlock quietly.
    “I apologize,” said Loring persuasively. “It’s a personal idiosyncrasy and has nothing to do with our business.”
    “You’re the commuter in the Cheshire Cat.”
    “The what?” asked Sam Kressel.
    “The man with the newspaper.”
    “That’s right. I knew you’d noticed me this afternoon. I thought you’d recognize me the minute you saw me again. I didn’t know I looked like a commuter.”
    “It was the newspaper. We called you an