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re in the dust of the tomb； where it had been for two thousand years。
Philip snorted。 〃The joys of theft。〃
He put the piece back down。 For two thousand years it had rested there…an object of such exquisite beauty it makes you want to cry。 I wish I could tell you my feelings when I saw that flawless jade head just lying there in the dust。 It wasn't created to vegetate in the darkness。 I rescued it and brought it back to life。
His voice cracked with emotion。 He paused； cleared his throat； put the head down。 Then he fumbled for the back of his chair and sat down； laying his cigar aside in the ashtray。 He turned back to face the camera； leaning forward on the desk。
I'm your father。 I've watched you three grow up。 I know you better than you know yourselves。
〃Not likely；〃 said Philip。
As I've watched you grow up； I've been dismayed to see in you a feeling of entitlement。 Privilege。 A rich…kid's syndrome。 A feeling that you don't have to work too hard； study too hard； exert yourselves…because you're the sons of Maxwell Broadbent。 Because someday； without lifting a goddamn finger； you'll be rich。
He rose again； restless with energy。 Look； I know it's mostly my fault。 I've catered to your whims； bought you everything you wanted； sent you to all the best private schools； dragged you around Europe。 I felt guilty about the divorces and all that。 I wasn't born to be a married man； I guess。 But what have I done？ I've raised three kids who； instead of living splendid lives； are waiting for their inheritance。 Great Expectations redux。
〃Bullshit；〃 said Vernon angrily。
Philip； you're an assistant professor of art history at a junior college on Long Island。 Tom？ A horse vet in Utah。 And Vernon？ Well； I don't even know what you're doing now； probably living in some ashram somewhere； giving your money to a fraudulent guru。
〃Not true！〃 said Vernon。 〃Not true！ Go to hell！〃
Tom could say nothing。 He felt a nauseous tightening somewhere in his gut。
And on top of that； the father went on； you three don't get along。 You never learned to cooperate； to be brothers。 I started to think： What have I done？ What have I done？ What kind of father have I been？ Have I taught my sons independence？ Have I taught them the value of work？ Have I taught them self…reliance？ Have I taught them to take care of each other？
He paused and fairly shouted out； No！
After all this； after everything； the schools； Europe； the fishing and camping trips； I've raised three quasi…failures。 Christ； it's my fault that it ended up this way； but there it is。 And then I found out I was dying； and that put me in a panic。 How was I going to fix things？
He paused； turned。 He was breathing hard now； and his face was flushed。
Nothing like having death poke his stinking mug into your face to make you think about things。 I had to figure out what to do with my collection。 I sure as hell wasn't going to give it to a museum or some university for a bunch of tweedy…dums to gloat over。 And I wasn't going to let some scummy auction house or dealer get rich from all my hard work； break it up and disperse it to the four corners after I'd spent a lifetime assembling it。 Absolutely not。
He mopped his brow； wadded up the handkerchief in a fist； and gestured at the camera with it。
I had always planned to leave it to you。 But when it came down to it； I realized it would be the very worst thing I could do to you。 No way was I going to hand over to you half a billion dollars that you hadn't earned。
He went back behind the desk； eased his enormous frame into the chair； and took another cigar from a leather box。
Look at me； still smoking。 Too late now。
He clipped the end； lit it。 The cloud of smoke confused the automatic focus on the camera； and it went blurry； shifting back and forth； trying to find its focus。 When the smoke drifted leftward out of the frame； Maxwell Broadbent's square； handsome face leapt back into focus。
And then it came to me。 It was brilliant。 All my life I'd been excavating tombs and dealing in grave goods。 I knew all the tricks for hiding tombs； every booby trap； everything。 I suddenly realized that I； too； could take it with me。 And then I could do something for you that would really be a legacy。
He paused； clasped his hands； and leaned forward。
You're going to earn this money。 I've arranged to bury myself and my collection in a tomb somewhere in the world。 I challenge you to find me。 If you do； you can rob my tomb and have it all。 That's my challenge to you； my three sons。
He inhaled； tried to smile。
I warn you： It's going to be difficult and dangerous。 Nothing in life worth doing is easy。 And here's the kicker： You'll never succeed unless you cooperate。
He brought his massive fist down on the desk。
That's it in a nutshell。 I didn't do much for you in life； but by God I'm going to fix that with my death。
He got up again and walked over to the camera。 His arm reached out to turn it off； and then； as an afterthought； he paused； his blurry face looming gigantically on the screen：
I've never been much on sentiment； so I'll just say to you； good…bye。 Good…bye； Philip； Vernon； and Tom。 Good…bye and good luck。 I love you。
The screen went dead。
5
Tom remained on the sofa； momentarily unable to move。 Hutch Barnaby was the first to react。 He rose and coughed delicately by way of breaking the shocked silence。
〃Fenton？ Seems we're not needed here any longer。〃
Fenton nodded； rising awkwardly； actually blushing。
Barnaby turned to the brothers and politely touched the brim of his cap。 〃As you can see； this isn't a police matter。 We'll leave you to； ah； sort things out on your own。〃 They began edging toward the door archway that led to the hall。 They couldn't wait to get away。
Philip rose。 〃Officer Barnaby？〃 His voice was half choked。
〃Yes？〃
〃I trust you won't mention this to anybody。 It wouldn't be helpful If 。。。 if the whole world started looking for the tomb。〃
〃Good point。 No reason to mention it to anyone。 No reason at all。 I'll call off the SOC boys。〃 He backed out； and disappeared。 A moment later they could hear the sound of the great front door of the house clanking shut。
The three brothers remained。
〃The son of a bitch；〃 Philip said quietly。 〃I can't believe it。 The son of a bitch。〃
Tom glanced at his brother's white face。 He knew that he'd been living rather well on his assistant professor's salary。 He needed the money。 And no doubt he had already been spending it。
Vernon said； 〃What now？〃
The word hung in the silence。
〃I can't believe the old bastard；〃 Philip said。 〃Taking a dozen old master paintings to the grave like that； not to mention all that priceless Mayan jade and gold。 I'm floored。〃 He slipped a silk handkerchief out of his vest pocket and dabbed his brow。 〃He had no right。〃
〃So what do we do？〃 Vernon repeated。
Philip stared at him。 〃We go find the tomb； of course。〃
〃How？〃
〃A man can't bury himself with half a billion dollars of art without help。 We find out who helped him。〃
〃I don't believe it；〃 Tom said。 〃He never trusted anybody in his life。〃
〃He couldn't have done it on his own。〃 。 ：
〃It's so 。。。 him；〃 said Philip suddenly。
〃Maybe he left clues。〃 Vernon strode over to the breakfront drawers； jerked one open； and rummaged through it； swearing。 He pulled out a second； and a third； being so agitated that the drawer came out all the way； spilling its contents to the floor…playing cards； Parcheesi； chess； Chinese checkers。 Tom remembered them all…the old games of their childhood； now yellowed and shabby with age。 He felt a cold knot in his chest； this is what it had e to。 Vernon cursed and gave the scattered mess a kick； sending pieces all over the room。
〃Vernon； trashing the house is pointless。〃
Vernon； ignoring him； kept opening drawers； sweeping their contents onto the floor； moving on。
Philip slipped his pipe out of his trouser pocket and lit it with a shaking hand。 〃You're wasting your time。 I say we go talk to Marcus Hauser。 He's the key。〃
Vernon paused。 〃Hauser？ Father hasn't been in contact with him in forty years。〃
〃He's the only one who really knew Father。 They spent two years together in Central America。 If anyone knows where Father went； it's him。〃
〃Father hates Hauser。〃
〃I expect they had a reconciliation； with Father sick and all。〃 Philip flicked open a gold lighter and sucked the flame into the bowl of his pipe with a gurgle。
Vernon moved into the den。 Tom could hear cupboards being opened and shut； books being pulled from shelves； things crashing to the floor。
〃I'm telling you； Hauser's involved。 We've got to move fast。 I've got debts…I've got obligations。〃
Vernon came back from the den carrying a boxful of papers； which he slammed down on the coffee table。 〃It figures you'd already be spending your inheritance。〃
Philip turned to him coolly。 〃Who was it took twenty grand from Father just last year？〃
〃That was a loan。〃 Vernon started shuffling through the papers； rifling folders； scattering them on the floor。 Tom saw their old elementary school report cards spilling from a file。 It surprised him that their father had bothered to save those…particularly when he had been none too pl