Mourner Read Online Free PDF

priceless. And each must have an unusual and fascinating history. My daughter is right, Mr Willis I am a romantic. I am fascinated by each piece in my collection, by its creation and by its history. You understand this collection is for my own satisfaction, and not on display."
    Bett laughed and said, "Because they were all stolen."
    "Not so!" Harrow looked indignantly at his daughter. "Every piece was paid for, and handsomely too."
    "But the fascinating history,"she said, mocking the words. "It always includes a theft or two, doesn't it?"
    "That is not at allmy concern. I myself have"
    "Shut up,' said Parker.
    They stopped their bickering at once, and looked at him, startled. "You want me to steal one of these statues, right? From a museum?"
    "Good heavens, no!" Harrow seemed honestly shocked. "In the first place, Willis, all the statuettes mentioned in this article are far too easily traceable. They're unique,you see, each a separate and distinct figure. Here, look." He came forward, opening the book again, shoving it under Parker's nose. "Here are pictures of some of them. See? They're all different."
    Five of the statuettes were pictured, and Parker looked at them, nodding. Five sad, robed, weeping mournful little people, in five different postures of grief.
    "Besides," added Harrow, "besides, none of these has the kind of history I mean, the sort of background I want for the pieces in my collection."
    Parker shoved the book away. "What then?"
    "Let me tell you." Harrow stood in front of him, suddenly beaming, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "You remember, three of the mourners are still missing? No one knows where they are. But I've located one of them!"
    "And that's the one you want me to get?"
    "Yes. Yes. Now, the way it"
    "Sit down. You're making me nervous."
    "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Yes, of course."
    Harrow retreated, and sat poised on the edge of the chair by the door. Parker's tone had drained some of the excitement out of him, and he went on more normally. "The way I happened to discover this mourner was rather odd. My company, about three years ago, received a small order for cargo planes from Klastrava. Six planes, I believe. You know the country?"
    "Never heard of it."
    "I'm not surprised. It's one of the smallest of the Slavic nations, north of Czechoslovakia. For all I know it was a part of Poland at one time; most of those countries were. The point is, it's a nation on the other side of the iron curtain, so of course we were somewhat startled to get this order from them. The satellite nations are encouraged to deal with the Soviet Union, you know."
    "No news reports," Parker answered. "Just tell the story."
    "I'm trying to give you the background."
    Harrow was beginning to get petulant. Parker shrugged. Over on the bed, Bett was smiling dreamily at the ceiling.
    "It turned out," said Harrow, plunging on with his story, "that this was one of the de-Stalinization periods and Klastrava was taking advantage of the milder climate to do some of its purchasing in the more competitively priced Western market. Needless to say, we never sold them any more planes, but in the process of that sale I met a gentleman named Kapor, from the Klastravian embassy. What Kapor's normal duties are I don't know, but at that time he was handling the negotiations for the sale of the planes. I met him, as I say, and we discovered we had quite a bit in common"
    This set the daughter to laughing again, and Harrow glared at her. Then, before Parker could say anything to hurry him along, he went quickly back to his story. "At any rate, he was a house guest in my home two or three times, and once or twice when I was in Washington he invited me to stay with him. And it turned out that he too has a small collection of statuary, but of no particular value. However, his collection did include an alabaster figure of a weeping monk, approximately sixteen inches high."
    Harrow smiled broadly, and rubbed his hands together. "I suspected what