The Judas Pair

I eyed her carefully. 'Aren't you mad at me?'

'No.' She pulled a leaf from some thorny plant that hadn't done her any harm. 'You're not the first to have tried the same… thing.'

'Trick,' I said. 'Be honest. We call it the box gambit in the trade.'

'Box gambit?'

'I wish I hadn't started this,' I said.

She put the leaf idly between her teeth and saw me wince. 'What's the matter?'

'You wouldn't like it if you were that leaf.' She looked at it and dropped it on the path. 'It's not dead.'

'But how on earth do you eat, Lovejoy?' she asked me.

'Like us all, but that's an essential.'

'What's the box gambit?'

I told her, feeling rotten. Box as in coffin. Anybody dying leaves a house and antiques, if he's wealthy enough to get his name reported in the papers. Those who are missed by our ever-vigilant press are listed in the 'Deceased' column by sorrowing relatives anxious to do the local antique dealers a favor. We read up the facts of the case. Within seconds, usually, and before the poor deceased is cold in his grave, we kindly dealers are around visiting the bereaved, claiming whatever we think we can get away with. And you'd be surprised how much that is.

'And do… widows fall for it?' She stopped, fascinated.

'More often than not.'

'Do you really mean that?'

'Of course,' I snapped, harshly. 'Over ninety per cent of the time you come away with a snip, nothing less than useful information.'

She seemed intrigued by the idea, part horrified and partly drawn to it. 'But it's like… being…' She hesitated and looked back. The heron was still there.

I said it for her. 'Predators.'

'Well…'

'You mean yes,' I said. 'Which is what we are.'

'But why do the wives give you—?'

'Sell. Not give. Never leave a box gambit unpaid.' I quoted the trade's unwritten rule. 'It's what makes it legal.'

'And what if you're caught?'

She drew me to a bench seat and we sat. From there we faced the house beyond the water, trailing trees and sweeping grass studded with bushes. It was as charming as any scene on earth and made me draw breath.

'You think it's lovely,' she said.

'Wonderful. They had a sense of elegance we've lost,' I said. 'It all comes down to judgment. They had it. Whatever shape or design or pattern was exactly right, they recognized it. You have to love it, don't you?'

'I know what you mean, Lovejoy.' Her tone was cold. 'I used to feel the same until Eric died.'

'Will you stay here?'

'No, not now.'

'Where will you go, Muriel?'

'Oh.' She shrugged.

The heron stabbed, was erect and still before the drops fell from his beak.

'What if you are caught in the box gambit?' She shook my arm until I relaxed.

'You lie,' I said. The ripples were extending toward us. 'Lie like a trooper. You say that you, in all innocence, called at her house. The widow asks you in to see some heirloom because you'd asked particularly about antiques. You say she bargained like an old hand, and anyway you'd given her money for the object, hadn't you? She won't deny it.'

'How do you know?'

I gazed into her eyes. 'They never do.'

'Have you done it, Lovejoy?' she asked as the first ripple lapped on the bank below us. I nodded.

'I don't believe you,' she said candidly.

'You must.'

'Why must I?'

'Because… because, that's all.'

'Why, Lovejoy?'

'Look, Muriel.' I rose and tipped earth with my shoe into the water, staring down. It seemed pretty deep. You could see a few pebbles, then a dark brown murkiness. 'I don't know much about you, your family, who there is to give you a hand now… after your husband. But that mansion over there. These grounds. It's enough to bring every dealer and scrounger running from miles around.'