been, since her death, the subject of much speculation; and yet Benjamin had had no idea that it was available to inspection. He was at a loss to know how they could have learnt of it; and wounded in his professional pride.
“The most likely explanation, surely,” said Selena, “is that Frostfield’s had been instructed to value the collection for the purposes of probate, or whatever they have in Italy.”
“No,” said Benjamin, “no, I don’t think so. If Frostfield’s were doing the valuation, Eleanor wouldn’t have been doing it herself. She’d have sent some downtrodden employee to sort things out first and make an inventory.”
“Well, perhaps Kenneth was doing the donkey-work. Or wouldn’t he know how to?”
“He couldn’t do a professional valuation, of course. He’d probably be a good person to go through the Collection and sort out what was important — he’s rather erudite artistically. If he’d been on very good terms with Eleanor, he might have done that for her as a favour and for the fun of the thing; but, for the reasons I have indicated, relations between them are thought to be strained. Besides, it still wouldn’t explain how Bob Linnaker knew about it. No one in their senses would ask Bob to value a collection — well, not unless they wanted it to be much smaller after the valuation than before. Oh dear, I suppose you’ll all tell me that’s slander or something.”
“Benjamin,” I said, “when you make these remarks reflecting on the probity of Major Linnaker, are we to take it that they have some basis in fact?”
“Hilary,” said Benjamin, large-eyed with reproach, “we are colleagues — fellow scholars — I hope I may say, friends. Do you think me the sort of man to say such things if they were not true? Or at least partly true? Or at least widely believed to be at least partly true?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “But which?”
“Ah,” said Benjamin, taking a deep draught of Nierstein. “Now that, I am bound to admit, is a little hard to say. Bob’s military career was spent for the most part in North Africa and the Middle East. Various places where the British used to have a military presence. When he first went into the antique business, the bulk of his stock consisted of things more or less looted by himself and his friends from those parts of the world. And oddly enough, quite a lot of what they’d picked up was very nice indeed. So the word got round that if you wanted something rather good for a reasonable price and weren’t too fussy about provenance, Bob was the man to go to. It’s a reputation he’s rather traded on ever since.”
“You are surely not suggesting,” said Ragwort, “that an antique dealer might actually wish to have a reputation for dealing in stolen goods?”
“Well, yes, Desmond dear — a certain kind of antique dealer. You see, what people like best — that is to say, what collectors like best — is to think they’re getting a bargain. Now, if you see something that looks nice going terribly cheap — let us say, since we speak of things Venetian, a piece of furniture made by Andrea Di Brustolon or a Cozzi teapot for ?1,000 or so — then the obvious conclusion is that it’s a fake.”
“Cheap?” said Cantrip. “A thousand quid? For a teapot?”
“Oh, certainly — after all, a Cozzi coffeepot made ?17,000 at Christies a few months ago. So the obvious conclusion, in such a case, is that the thing’s not genuine. But another possible explanation is that it’s been come by dishonestly — and that’s what the collector wants to believe, because that means it’s a bargain. So that’s the belief that Bob sets out to encourage. He doesn’t actually say, of course, that anything is stolen — just looks mysterious about where it came from and uses a lot of phrases like ‘nod’s as good as a wink’ and ‘no names, no pack drill.’”
“I see,” said Selena, “and if, after all, it turns out simply to be a fake, the purchaser can hardly bring proceedings under the Trade Descriptions Act on the ground that the goods were falsely represented to have been stolen.”
“Quite so. And I would guess that a good seventy per cent of what Bob sells is quite simply fake. On the other hand, I hardly think he could maintain his reputation in the trade unless some of it were genuinely stolen. Besides, the reputation is to some degree self-fulfilling — I mean, if I’d acquired something in dubious circumstances and wanted to dispose of it, I suppose I’d probably go to Bob.”
“Really,” said Selena, “this is all very encouraging. We have established a connection between Ned and Eleanor; and we have learnt that the Major is by no means respectable. Benjamin, you are a most admirable witness — where shall we take you for dinner?”
“Of course,” said Cantrip, “we already knew the Major was a jolly suspicious character. Because of him stealing the holdall.”
“As it happens,” I said, “what is suspicious is that he didn’t steal the holdall.”
It was, I readily admit, an enigmatic remark: I should have been happy, if asked, to offer an explanation. Engrossed, however, in making arrangements for dinner, they did not ask for one.
In the event, we again dined at Guido’s. It took some time to order the meal: the waiter who served us being of decorative appearance, Benjamin chose to prolong the process. When it was concluded, he gave his mind once more to considering how, without arousing suspicion, we might be introduced to Eleanor and the Major, with a view to their discreet interrogation.
“As far as Bob’s concerned,” he said, “I think you should just turn up at his shop on Wednesday, pretending to be ordinary customers.”
“Why not tomorrow?” asked Selena.
“Closed,” said Benjamin.
“Bother,” said Selena.
“And when I say ordinary customers — it would perhaps be useful to suggest that you were interested in something particular. Something which could not be acquired by methods altogether above board, or at any rate, not without great expense. I’ll try to think of something suitable.”
“Benjamin,” I said, “could we make it that painting that was stolen in Verona last week?”
“What painting?” said Benjamin. “I haven’t heard about it.”
I had, as I have mentioned, spent part of the previous day in reading through copies of the past week’s
LITTLE-KNOWN PAINTING STOLEN IN VERONA—
INTERNATIONAL ART GANG NOT SUSPECTED
Police in Verona are puzzled by the theft yesterday from the Church of Saint Nicholas of an undistinguished Madonna and Child by a little-known nineteenth-century artist. The international gang believed responsible for the recent wave of major art thefts in Italy would certainly, it is thought, have chosen one of the many more valuable paintings on view in the Church. It is accordingly assumed that the theft is the work of a crank.
“Oh yes,” said Selena, “I saw that in
“I know you did,” I replied. “You referred to it as one of the instances of the Italian crime wave. That’s why I looked for it. It struck me at the time as curious — it’s quite usual, of course, for people to steal valuable paintings; but to steal one of little value seems decidedly eccentric.”
“My dear Hilary,” said Ragwort, “are you not being a little over-adventurous in your reasoning? I know the Major was in Verona on the day that the picture seems to have been stolen, but so, if you’ll forgive my mentioning it, were some quarter of a million other people, not counting tourists — it is, as you know, a large and populous city.”
“Besides,” said Benjamin, “I can’t see why Bob Linnaker should steal a valueless painting any more than anyone else.”
“All the same,” I said, “to please me, Benjamin, can you try to think of some convincing reason, before we go and see him, why that particular painting might, after all, be of interest to a customer?”
“My dear Hilary, to please you, of course I’ll try. But I really do think it’s a very long shot.”
I had supposed that to arrange any interview with Eleanor might prove more difficult: it was hardly to be expected that she would attend personally to the day-to-day running of Frostfield’s Gallery. We were fortunate, however: the private viewing of the annual exhibition by Frostfield’s of the work of promising young artists—“alas, all heedless of their doom” said Benjamin sadly — was to take place on the following evening. Benjamin, by virtue of his professional position, had naturally received an invitation. Plainly, he could not take us all; but he could, he
