dozen of these in existence.”
“I suppose not.” The earl held the cameo to the light. It would make a splendid ring, or a broach set in gold. “Where did you get these?” he asked again.
“I can take it that your interest has been sufficiently piqued?” said Catchmole smugly.
“They are genuine artefacts of the highest quality-of course I’m interested. But I must know how you came by them.”
“As to that, I am not presently at liberty to say,” replied the broker, taking possession of the box once more. “I can say that I am authorised to offer them for auction.” He paused, his eyes shifting involuntarily towards the door as if he feared being overheard. Lowering his voice, he said, “I wondered if we might come to a more private arrangement?”
“I’ll have them,” said Burleigh, rising from his chair. “Yes, of course, I’ll have them. I’ll have the lot-but under the condition that you tell me where you got them.”
Catchmole hesitated. “I gave my word the transaction would remain in strictest confidence.”
“And so it shall,” countered Burleigh. “The transaction necessarily involves three people-the seller, the broker, and the buyer-and only those three people need ever know about it.”
The auctioneer regarded the box longingly. “One does not like to disappoint a client… ”
“There is no need for anyone to be disappointed. Tell me where you got these items, and I will authorise a draught on my account at once.”
“I can tell you that they came from a young man up at Oxford,” Catchmole replied, placing his fingertips atop the box. “A university student. I do not know how he came by them. One doesn’t ask such questions.”
“Be that as it may, if we are to agree on a price I must ascertain the provenance of these artefacts,” declared Burleigh. “They could be stolen from a private collection, after all.”
“Upon my word, sir!” the broker protested. “If it was known that I was party to-”
“It has been known to happen,” suggested the earl, removing his leather wallet from the inside pocket of his frock coat. “I am afraid I must insist on having the fellow’s name.” He withdrew two fivepound notes and laid them on the desk.
“Charles,” sighed the broker, giving in. “Charles Flinders-Petrie.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Burleigh, adding two more notes to the stack.
“He is a student at Christ Church, I believe.” The broker pushed the cigar box across the polished top of his desk towards the earl and collected the bank notes. “I was told they are heirlooms from a family collection.”
“I’m certain that they are.” Burleigh scooped up the cigar box and tucked it securely under his arm, then turned on his heel to go. “You will do well out of this, Catchmole. I will see to that.”
“I am only too glad to be of service, my lord.”
“Good day to you.” Burleigh opened the door and stepped from the office. “As always, it has been a singular pleasure.”
“I assure you the pleasure is mine,” replied the broker, folding the bank notes and slipping them into his pocket.
Outside Sotheby’s, Burleigh climbed into the waiting coach. By the time he reached his Belgravia townhouse, the earl had determined his next course of action. “Do not put the carriage away, Dawkin. I will be leaving again within the hour.” He dashed up the steps and burst through the front door, shouting, “Swain, come here at once! I need you.”
The servant appeared momentarily, the only alteration in his customary nonchalance the lift of one eyebrow. “Was there something, sir?”
“I’m off to Oxford on the next train. Ready a valise this instanta change of clothes and necessities for one night. Go!” As the senior servant padded off, Burleigh amended the order, “Wait! Better make provision for two or three days in case I run into difficulty.”
“Of course, sir.”
Before the clock in the foyer had struck the hour, his lordship’s travelling case was packed and the earl was on his way to Paddington Station to catch the next train to Oxford. A pleasant journey through the rolling countryside brought him to the university city late in the afternoon. He sent his valise along to the Randolph Hotel with instructions for booking a room, then walked from the railway station to the centre of town, taking in the warm glow of the rich Cotswold stone that made up the greater buildings of the town’s architecture. He arrived at Christ Church and, finding the gate open, stopped to inquire at the porter’s lodge.
“Good day, porter,” he said, “I have come to see my nephew.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the porter, stepping up to his window. “And who might that be?”
“Flinders-Petrie,” replied Burleigh. “Charles Flinders-Petrie.”
The man scanned a ledger book. “I don’t see that anyone is expected.”
“Surprise visit.” He removed a calling card from his wallet and passed it to the porter, who, upon seeing the title and name engraved upon the card, instantly became obsequious. “Do you think you could tell me where to find him?”
“Of course, my lord.” The porter put on his black bowler and stepped from the lodge. “I shall take you there myself. Right this way, sir, if you will. Right this way.”
He led the earl across the wide expanse of the quad, through a warren of corridors, gardens, and hallways, and to a narrow stone staircase. “This way, sir,” said the porter. “Right up these stairs.” The college official started for the door.
“A moment, my good man,” said Burleigh. He fished out a handful of coins from his pocket and stacked them in his palm. “I have a question or two first.”
“Of course, sir,” replied the porter, trying not to look directly at the silver in his lordship’s hand. “If I can help in any way… ”
“I promised Charles’ father I would render a report upon my return. It is late, and I don’t particularly care to go to the trouble of hunting down tutors and whatnot.” He fingered the stack of coins. “I was hoping you could enlighten me.”
“Well, sir, I can tell you that he is a good lad. Cheerful. Always a smile or a joke for the porters and bulls.”
“I will accept that for what it is worth,” observed Burleigh dryly. “What about his studies?”
“I wouldn’t know about those, sir. You would have to ask his tutors about any of that.”
“And how is Charles regarded about town?” At the porter’s hesitation, he pressed quickly, “The truth, now. I won’t land you in the soup, don’t worry.”
“I don’t like to speak ill of anyone-”
“Noted,” said Burleigh. “But?”
“But… well, sir, there have been occasions when I have had call to fetch the young man from some… shall we say… less than salubrious places.” He laid a finger beside his nose. “If you know what I mean.”
“I think I can guess. Anything else?”
“Lately, there have been men calling round to collect debts.”
“What sort of debts? Food, drink, clothing-the usual things?”
“Gambling, sir.”
“I say!” Burleigh feigned surprise. “Are you certain of this?”
“I fear so, sir. There are several gaming clubs around town. It is difficult to keep the young gentlemen out of them.”
“And are they very great, these debts?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. We don’t let them past the gate, you see, and they decline to leave a message.”
“Well,” harrumphed Burleigh. “We shall certainly have a serious talk about that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too hard on him, sir,” said the porter apologetically. “A young gentleman must sow a few wild oats. That seems to be the way of the world.”
“No doubt. Is there anything else?” Burleigh became officious. “Come, if I am to have any influence in the matter, I must know all. What else?”
“There is just the matter of the battles, sir.”
“You’ve lost me.”
