herself.
If Langton was never caught on the hop, Streeter was. He mumbled something that sounded like not at all, do come in, and was indicating the way to the little plot of concrete out the back before it had properly dawned on him that he should have told both of them to go away because they had no authority to ask anybody questions.
'Well, what a surprise,' Flavia said as she saw Langton and started drawing exactly the sort of conclusions that Streeter so much feared. 'I thought you were in Rome. You do get around, don't you?'
Both she and Argyll sat themselves down and accepted the offer of a beer. It was a hot afternoon, and this knocked Argyll out of most of the conversation. While Flavia began round two of her battle with Langton, he concentrated on trying to get at a profoundly annoying itch five inches down from the top of his plaster cast.
Langton explained that, with such a crisis in full blossom, he naturally thought that his place was right here, in case he could be of any assistance.
'So you come all this way to visit your old friend Mr. Streeter to spend a quiet Saturday sitting in the garden,' she observed. Langton nodded and said that was about it.
'I'm very glad to see you. We have so much to discuss '
If Langton was wary about what was coming next, he didn't show it. Instead he just leant back on the chair with a look of complete indifference and waited for her to continue.
'About the mysterious people who sold you the Bernini.'
Langton looked benignly at her and raised an eyebrow. 'What about them?' he asked calmly.
'They don't exist. The bust was stolen from Alberghi's house at Bracciano, and transported across the Atlantic'
'I admit the family didn't exist,' he said with surprising readiness and an even more alarming smile. 'More than that I couldn't say.'
'You knew it was stolen.'
'On the contrary. I knew nothing of the sort.'
'How did you hear about it?'
'Simple enough. I was looking at some of di Souza's other stuff and found it shrouded in a bedsheet. I made him an offer, there and then.'
'Without checking what it was, without even getting permission from the museum?'
'Of course I checked what it was afterwards. But I knew in my bones without really having to. And I asked Moresby if he wanted it.'
'Not the museum.'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because Moresby took all the real decisions. Just wanted to save time.'
'And he wanted it?'
'Obviously. He leapt at the chance.'
'You knew he'd already bought it once. In 1951 ?'
'Yes.'
'From di Souza?'
'That I didn't know at the time,' he said blandly. 'All I knew was that for years Moresby had disliked art dealers. And as an example of their perfidiousness he used to say that he had once - only once -been cheated out of a Bernini by someone who had sold it to him, taken some money and then never delivered. Moresby felt he'd been made a fool of, and he didn't like that. It was obvious he'd leap at the chance to get it.'
'So you then got di Souza to ship it over. Why?'
'What do you mean?'
'Why were you both prepared to use the same man who had cheated Moresby all those years ago?'
'He had the bust. Moresby wanted the bust in California, and there was no way we could have got export permission. Somebody not connected with the museum had to smuggle it. We made up a story about another owner to cover him, so he wouldn't get into trouble. That's why he was leaping around and looking so concerned and complaining about his good name. All an act.'
'And you paid him?'
Langton smiled. 'I'm sure that Detective Morelli has discovered that already. Yes. Two million dollars.'
'Moresby told Thanet four million.'
'Two.'
'And this was when?'
'When what?'
'When was he paid?'
'On delivery. Moresby wasn't taking any chances this time.'
'And when did you see this bust and make him an offer?'
'A few weeks back.'
'When?'
'Oh, lord, I don't know. First week in May, perhaps. The whole deal was done very quickly. I assure you that I had not the slightest doubt about the fact that di Souza was the legitimate owner of that bust. If you can prove otherwise, I'm sure the museum will insist on sending it back to the rightful owners. And bear any other costs.
'I'm sure it will be found,' he went on. 'Large busts like that don't go missing for long.'
'This one has already been missing for forty years.'
Langton shrugged and repeated that it would turn up.
Flavia thought it time to try another line of approach. Langton had nettled her badly back in Rome, and she was convinced that everything concerning this bust was crooked, and that he knew it. His calm confidence that they would never pin anything on him was spoiling her afternoon. Especially because, as far as she was concerned, he was probably right.
'You disliked Thanet for taking your job and were hell-bent on sabotaging him and getting him out of the museum.'
She was proud of that. Hell-bent, that is. It was a word she'd picked up from a movie she'd watched on television while wide awake from jetlag at three o'clock in the morning. She'd tackled Argyll about its meaning later on. Langton, not impressed by her linguistic skill, at least seemed prepared to concede the general thrust of the statement.
'Sabotaging is going too far. And it wasn't personal. I just think he's a dangerous person to have in a museum. You know.'
'I don't. From everything I've heard he sounds fairly meek and mild.'
'In that case you don't understand anything about museums. The Moresby was a nice museum, once. Small and friendly, despite Moresby's awful presence hanging over it. He loathed arty types; he was always saying how they were thieves and swindlers. Then he brought in Thanet and these ideas for the big museum began to surface.'
'So?'
'A big museum isn't just a big building and collection. The first thing you do is develop a big bureaucracy worthy of it. Steering committees, hanging committees, budget committees. Hierarchy, interference and plans. Thanet is making the museum about as much fun to work for as General Motors.'
'And you weren't happy.'
'No. And it wasn't working either. To start off, the collection was quirky, individual and interesting. Now it's just like every other museum; a boring plod through the Great Schools of art, from Raphael to Renoir. The trouble is all the good pictures are already in museums. All Thanet can do is get the leftovers. The place is becoming an international joke.'
'So why don't you leave if you dislike it so much?'
'Firstly, because the pay is OK. Secondly, because I like being the lone voice of sanity in the wilderness. Thirdly, because I like to think that at least I buy stuff worth having, most of the time. I haven't given up hope yet.'
'You may have to, if Mrs. Moresby goes ahead and shuts the place down,' she said.
