Robert Ludlum – Matlock Paper

man. Absolutely, no. Thafs not julian~s style…. That’s not even my style.

That’s someone else.”

11

The road to Lucas Herron’s house was dotted with the potholes of winter.

Matlock doubted that the town of Carlyle would fill them in; there were too

many other commercially traveled streets still showing the effects of the

New England fi-eeze. As he approached the old carriage house, he slowed his

Triumph to barely ten miles an hour. The bumps were jazzing, and he wanted

to reach Herron~s house with little nollse,

Thinking that Jason Greenberg might have had him followed, Matlock took the

long route to Herron~s, driving four miles north on a parallel road and

then doubling back on Herron~s street. There was no one behind himL The

nearest houses to lqerron~s were a hundred yards away on either side, none

in front TheWd been talk of turning the area into a housing development

just as there’d been talk of enlarging Carlyle University, but nothing came

of either projecL Actu&Dy, the first depended upon the second, and there

was strong alumni opposition to any substantial physical change at Carlyle.

The alumni were Adrian Sealfones personal cross.

Matlock was struck by the serenity of Herron!s home. He!d never really

looked at the house before. A dozen times, more or less, he’d driven Lucas

home

THE MATLOCK PAPER 125

after famltY meetings, but he’d always been in a hurry. He’d never accepted

Lucas’s invitations for a drink and, as a result, he had never been inside

the house.

He got out of the car and approached the old brick shluture. It was tall

and narrow; the faded stDne covered with thousands of strands of ivy

heightened the feeling of isolation. In front, on the large expanse of

lawn, were two Japanese willow trees In hill spring blOOD36 their purple

flowers cascading toward &e earth in large arcs. The grass was cut, the

shrubbery pruned, and the white gravel on the vanous paths was gleaming. It

was a house and grounds which were loved and cared for, yet one had the

feeling that they were not shared. It was the work of and for one per. son,

not two or a family. And then Matlock remembered that Lucas Herron had

never marned. There were the ineviftble stones of a lost love, a tragic

death, even a runaway bride-to-be, but whenever Lucas Herron heard about

such youthful romanticumg he count, ered with a chuckle and a statement

about being “too damned selfish.”

Matlock walked up the short steps to the door and rang the bell. He tried

practicing an opening smile, but it was false; he wouldn’t be able to carry

it off. He was afraid.

The door swung back and the ba white-haned Lucas Herron, dressed in

wrinkled trousers and a halfunbuttoned, oxford-blue shirt sftred at hum

It was less than a second before Herron spoke, but in that brief instant,

Matlock knew that hed been wrong. Lucas Herron knew why he had come.

“Well, Jiml Come in, come in, my boy. A pleasant surprise.”

“Thank you, Lucas. I hope I’m not interrupting anythin&w

126 Robert Ludlum

‘Not a thing. Yoere just in time, as a matter of fact rm dabbling in

alchemy. A fresh fruit gm, Collins. Now I won’t have to dabble alone.”

‘Sounds good to me.”

The inside of Herron!s house was precisely as Matlock thought it would

be-as his own might be in thirty-odd years, if he lived that long alone. It

was a mixed bag, an accumulated toW of nearly half a century of unrelated

gatherings from a hundred unrelated sources. The only common theme was

comfort; there was no concern for style or period or coordination. Several

walls were lined with books, and those which were not were filled with

enlarged photographs of places visited abroad-one suspected during sabbati-

cob. The armchairs were thick and soft, the tables within arnfs reach-the

sign of practiced bachelorbood, thought Matlock.

“I doet think yoeve ever been here-inside, I mean.~

No, I haven% It’s very attractive. Very Comfortable.”

“Yes, it’s that. It’s comfortable. Here, sit down, I’ll finish the formula

and bring us a drink.” Herron started across the living room toward what

Matlock presumed was the door to the kitchen and then stDpped and turned.

“I know perfectly well that you haveet come all the way out here to liven

up an old mads cocktail hour. However, I have a house rule: at lead one

drink-religion and strong principles permittint-before any serious

discussion.” He smiled and the myriad lines around his eyes and temples

became more pronounced. He was an old, old man. “Besides, you look terribly

serious. The Collinsll lessen the degree, I pron-dse you.”

THE MATLOCK PAM 127

Before Matlock could answer, Herron walked rapidly through the door.

Instead of sittin& Matlock walked to the wall nearest him, against which

was a small writing desk above it a half-dozen photographs that hung in no

discernible pattern. Several were of Stonehenge taken from the same

position, the setting sun at dramatically different angles. Another was of

a rock-bound coast, mountains in the distance, fishing boats moored

offshore. It looked Mediterranean, possibly Greece or the Thracian Islands.

Then there was a surprise. On the lower right side of the wall, only inches

above the desk, was a small photograph of a tall, slender army officer

standing by the trunk of a tree. Behind him the foliage was profuse,

junglelike; to the sides were the shadows of other figures. The officer was

helmetless, his shirt drenched with sweat, his large right hand holding the

stock of a submachine gun. in his left hand the officer held a folded piece

of paper-it looked like a map-and the man had obviously just made a

decision. He was looking upward, as though toward some high terrain. The

face was taut but not excited. It was a good face, a strong face. It was a

dark-haired, middle-aged Lucas Herron.

“I keep that old photograph to remind me that time was not always so

devastating.”

Matlock snapped up, startled. Lucas had reentered and had taken him off

guard. “Ifs a good picture. Now I know who really won that war. ”

No doubt about it. Unfortunately, I never heard of that particular island

either before or since. Someone said it was one of the Solomons. I think

they blew it up in the fifties. Wouldn1 take much. Couple of fin crackers’d

do it. Here.” Herron crossed to Matlock, handing him his drink.

128 Robert Ludlum

“nanks. You’re too modest. I’ve heard the stories.*

“So have I. Impressed the hell out of me. They grow better as I grow

older…. What do you say we sit in the back yard. Too nice to stay

indoors.” Without waiting for a reply, Herron started out and Matlock

followed.

Like the front of the house, the back was precisely manicured. On a

flagstone patio, there were comfortable-looking, rubber-stranded beach

chairs, each with a small table by its side. A large wrought-iron table

with a sun umbrella was centered in the middle of the flagstones. Beyond,

the lawn was close cropped and fulL Dogwood trees were dotted about, each

spaded around its trunk, and two lines of flowers-mostly roses–stretched

lengthwise to the end of the lawn, about a hundred feet away. At the end of

the lawn, however, the pastoral effect abruptly stopped. Suddenly there

were huge trees, the underbrush thick~ mangled, growing within itself. The

side borders were the same. Around the perimeters of the sculptured back

lawn was an undisciplined, overgrown forest.

Lucas Herron was surrounded by a forbidding green wall.

“It is a good drink, yoij!ll admit.” The two men were seated.

“It certainly is. You’ll convert me to gin.”

‘Only in spring and summer. Gies not for the rest of the year… All right,

young fellow, the house rule’s been observed. What bringsyou to Herron’s

Nest?”

“I think you have an idea.”

“Do I?”

“Archie Beeson.” Matlock watched the old man, but Herroes concentration was

on his glass. He showed no reaction.

“The young history man?”

THE MATLOCK PAPER 129

“Yes.”

“He’ll make a fine teacher one day. Nice little filly of a wife, too.”

“Nice.. . and promiscuous, I think.”

‘Appearances, jim.” Herron chuckled. “Never thought of you as Victorian….

One grows infinitely more tolerant of the appetites as one gets older. And

the innocent whetting of them. You’ll see.”

“Is that the key? The tolerance of appetites?’

“Key to what?”

‘Come on. He wanted to reach you the other night.”

‘Yes, he did. And you were there…. I understand your behavior left

something to be desired.”

“My behavior was calculated to leave that impression.” For the first time

Herron betrayed a trace of concern. It was a small reaction, the blinking

of his eyes in rapid succession.

“That was reprehensible.” Herron spoke softly and looked up at his imposing

green wall. The sun was going below the line of tall trees; long shadows

were cast across the lawn and patio.

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