The Judas Pair

newspaper, three London dailies, and the Prime Minister.' I didn't know what obfuscation was, but it sounded good.

'What if I don't have the information you want?' he asked, a guarded police gambit.

'There you go again, obfuscating,' I said pleasantly. 'Goodbye, Geoffrey. You'll be hearing from the communications media and the politicians very shortly, if not sooner.'

'Hang on.'

They can be very helpful, these servants of our civic organizations, when they're persuaded in the right way. He gave me a number to ring and an address of a police station.

'What's got into you, Lovejoy?' he said, very uneasy.

'A rush of civic duty to the head,' I explained.

'I don't like all this, I'll tell you straight.'

'Meaning what?'

'Meaning I want to know what you're up to, Lovejoy.'

'Geoffrey,' I said sweetly.

'Yes?'

'Get stuffed, comrade,' I cooed. 'Go back to sleep.'

I felt better now I was on the move.

Faith is a great prime mover. No wonder the distance to Jerusalem didn't daunt the early crusaders. With all that faith, the fact that they'd have to walk every inch of the way would have appeared a mere incidental. Faith gives a clarity of vision as well as thought, and I was reaping the benefit of the new believer. It gave me freedom. Apart from the law, I could tell anybody the truth, what I was after, and even say why. I could show my Durs turnkey to every collector or dealer I'd ever met, knowing sooner or later I'd strike oil. Word would spread like fat in a hot pan. Then, one fine day, my visitor would arrive at the cottage for his big farewell scene. He wouldn't be able to help it. He'd come back again.

I spent an hour on the blower. First to Adrian, explaining that a friend of mine, Eric Field, deceased, had had a pair of Durs flinters, now untraceable, and would he please keep an ear open for any whisper. I got derision back down the receiver but persevered. In the way of his kind, he sensed swiftly there was something seriously wrong and went along with me, saying he'd put the word about.

No reply from Margaret Dainty, though I tried her number three times, and none from Dandy Jack either. He was probably sloshed still from last night, while Margaret was possibly up in the Smoke doing the street markets. Jane Felsham was in, coughing with the rasping breath of the morning smoker and asking what was the matter with me. She thought I was drunk.

'It's on, Jane,' I said. 'Don't muck me about, love, because I'm tough and nasty today. Just take the essentials down and spread it about. Tell anyone, bring anyone to see me any time. And I'll travel. There's a bonus in it. Keep thinking of all those pots you could buy with a bit of taxfree.'

Harry was out too, also probably down on the market stalls the same as Margaret. I left a message at the White Hart for Tinker and Dandy Jack to contact me urgently. The barman was out on the village green with the pub's football team training for the Sunday League, but his wife Jenny was reliable.

I wrapped the turnkey in white tissue-paper hankies (always the best for carrying small antiques, even storing them for years) and put it in my jacket pocket, using a safety pin to fasten down the flap. That way, if he wanted it he'd have to get me first. Before locking up and leaving I phoned Dick Barton and asked him to sell me some black powder, as I wanted to try the Mortimers later on. He was surprised, knowing my antipathy to flinters as actual weapons, but promised me three-quarters of a pound.

I would collect it on my way back from Jim's, in case Geoffrey decided to finger my parked Armstrong to learn what I was up to. The sale of the black powder in this cavalier fashion is highly illegal, you see, and the law is especially vigilant in this matter. Terrible what some people will do. I chucked a handful of crumbs to the robin to keep it going and drove to Seddon's. On the way over I decided to park outside the showrooms, in accordance with my new plan of inviting my unknown enemy's attention. Old Jim lived in a neighboring street some four hundred yards down East Hill.

The town was almost empty of pedestrians and cars. One of those quiet days. Driving through in the dilute sun made a very pleasant change from the untidy scramble of the bad week. I parked, confidently facing uphill, and walked down to the street where Jim lived. Apart from a few folk pottering innocently off to shops and others strolling toward the riverside nursery gardens there wasn't a soul about. The terraced houses seemed cheerful and at ease.

I knocked. Jim came to the door, frowning when he saw my happy smiling face.

'Top of the morning, Jim.'

'Morning.' We stayed in an attitude of congenial distrust for a second. 'No use coming here, Lovejoy,' he said sourly. 'All business must go through the firm, you know that.'

'So I believe,' I said, optimism all over.

'What you want then?'

'Now, Jim, you know me.' I honestly felt benign toward him. 'All for a quiet life.' I let it sink in, then added, 'You must be too.'

'Aren't we all?'

'Some, only some, Jim.' He was being careful.

'What's this about?'

'Your new job.'

'Eh?'