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.