'I'm so sorry.'
'Did you know my husband?'
'Er, no. I have… other business associates, and I collect antiques in partnership with, er, a friend.' It was going to be hard.
'And your friend…?' she filled in for me. I nodded.
'We were about to discuss some furniture with Mr. Field.' I was sweating, wondering how long I could keep this up. If she knew anything at all about her husband's collecting I was done for.
'Was it a grandfather clock?' she asked, suddenly recalling.
I smiled gratefully, forgiving her the use of that dreadful incorrect term.
'Yes. William Porthouse, Penrith, made it. A lovely, beautiful example of a longcase clock, Mrs. Field. It's dated on the dial, 1738, and even though the—'
'Well,' she interrupted firmly, 'I wouldn't really know what my husband was about to buy, but in the circumstances…'
I was being given the heave-ho. I swallowed my impulse to preach about longcase clocks, but she was too stony-hearted and unwound her legs. Marvelous how women can twist them around each other.
'Of course!' I exclaimed, as if surprised. 'We certainly wouldn't wish to raise the matter, quite, quite.'
'Oh, then… ?'
'It's just…' I smiled as meekly as I could as I brought out the golden words. 'Er, it's just the matter of the two pistols.'
'Pistols?' She looked quite blank.
'Mr. Field said something about a case with two little pistols in.' I shrugged, obviously hardly able to bother about this little detail I'd been forced to bring up. 'It's not really important, but my friend said he and Mr. Field had… er…'
'Come to some arrangement?'
I blessed her feminine impulse to fill the gaps.
'Well, nothing quite changed hands, you understand,' I said reluctantly. 'But we were led to believe that Mr. Field was anxious for us to buy a small selection of items, including these pistol things.' I shrugged again as best I could but was losing impetus fast. If any smattering of what Field had told me was remotely true, a pair of Durs flinters had actually resided under this very roof, been in this very room, even. I raised my head, which had bowed reverently at the thought. I felt as if I'd just happened on St. Peter's, Rome.
'As part exchange, I suppose?'
'Well, I suppose so. Something like that.'
'I heard about them,' she said, gradually fading into memory. Her eyes stared past me. 'He showed me a couple of pistols, in a box. The police asked me about them, when George—'
'George?'
'My brother-in-law. Eric, my husband, phoned him the night before he… He was going to go over and show George the next morning. Then this terrible thing happened.'
'Were you here, when… ?'
'No. I was in hospital.'
'Oh. I'm sorry.'
'We'd been abroad, Eric and I, a year ago. I'd been off color ever since, so I went in to have it cleared up. Eric insisted.'
'So you knew nothing at all about it?'
'Until George came. I was convalescent by then. George and Patricia were marvelous. They arranged everything.'
'Did you say the police asked about the pistols?'
'Yes. George thought whoever did it… used them to… to…'
'I suppose the police found them?' I said innocently. 'They can trace guns these days.'
'Hardly.' Her face was almost wistful. 'They were so old, only antiques, and they don't think he was… shot.'
'What were they like?' I swallowed. The words were like sandpaper grating.
'Oh, about this long,' she said absently, measuring about fifteen inches with hands suddenly beautiful with motion. 'Dark, not at all pretty.'
'My friend said something about gold decoration,' I croaked in falsetto.
'Oh, that's all right, then,' she said, relieved. 'They must be different ones. These had nothing like that. Blackish and brown, really nothing special, except that little circle.'
'Circles?' I shrilled. At least I wasn't screaming, but my jacket was drenched with sweat. She smiled at her hands.
'I remember Eric pulling my leg,' she said. 'I thought they were ugly and a shiny circle stuck in them made them look even worse. Eric laughed. Apparently they were pieces of platinum.'
