'Did Popplewell help you clear it up?' she asked roguishly.
'I was only doing a routine call at the Castle,' I said.
'If you've the money,' she said, suddenly businesslike, 'I've some Roman bronze statuary. No gold coins, though. What time're you due back, William?'
'Couple of hours. And it's Richard.'
'That'll give us just long enough. Then I'll run you back to your boat.'
'Ship,' I said for him, got another moist plonk from Jill's mouth and escaped.
CHAPTER X
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ON THE WAY BACK I called in at Ruffler's bakery, four meat-and-potato pasties and two flour cakes. It's very interesting being poor at this level. You'd think that you'd start buying foods again in exactly the reverse order you gave them up. It's not true. For example, I'd not tasted butter or margarine for four months at the cottage. And here I was with a few quid, splashing out on a quarter of marge and a pot of honey.
Big spender. For sheer erg value I bought a dozen eggs, a tin of powdered milk and a slab of Lancashire cheese the size of a Queen Anne escritoire. Manton and Wilkinson had seed forever so I got two loaves, a cob and a farmhouse. That made a hell of a hole in Squaddie's few quid. I dithered about a tin of corned beef and a custard but decided not to go mad. My belly would be shocked enough as it was. I bought tinned sausages and salad cream for Henry.
I felt so proud having a proper tea. You do, don't you? Even got my tablecloth out and laid it. It's Victorian embroidered white linen, lovely. White-on-white's stylish needlework, but hell to iron. (Tip: use an old non-electric flat-iron. Don't think that electric's always right just because it's easy.) I washed the cutlery and found a napkin from somewhere. My Indian bone-and-rosewood inlaid teatray made everything look really sophisticated. If anyone had come in they'd have thought how homely it all was.
Funny how a person's mind works. I put the margarine and honey in a prominent position so they could be seen clearly by unexpected visitors. They'd think it was routine. To reinforce the image I put both loaves and the flour cakes on show. The message for the casual observer: that Lovejoy lives really well, always a choice of bread. I had two pasties, hotted up. The others went away for the morrow.
As I stoked up even my old table manners returned. No elbows on the table, knife and fork demurely parallel. I was charming, and not a little narked nobody came to witness the exhibition.
That done, I went to see Manton and Wilkinson. Darkness was about to fall on the valley. From the cottage you can see the lights along the Lexton village road some four miles away. There's a cluster of cottages, the river and the railway about a mile closer.
At dusk it's quite pretty, but coolish and always misty. A faint foggish air drifts in from the estuary, slow and rather ominous sometimes. That makes the lights gleam prettily for a few minutes. Then you notice the cold dankness hanging to cut off the last of the valley's dusk, and the day has ended. The night is a swamp through which sounds fail to carry. Trees loom wider and hedges crowd close. And my phone was dead of non-payment from today.
I told Manton and Wilkinson goodnight. They were locked in well. Odd, but I distinctly remember wishing for once that I'd a dog. One of the villagers has two geese. He says they're better than any watchdog.
Algernon was due soon for his test. I'd have to get ready. I went in and shut the cottage door.
Outside the lights of all the world must have seemed to dowse with a slam.
It was late. I'd given Algernon his quiz. Results: dreadful. I'd been teaching him the difference between jet, black jadeite and black pigmented acrylate resins. (Today's hint: go for nineteenth-century Whitby jet brooches if you're wanting the very best. They're worth the premium. And genuine jet's practically impossible to copy.) He'd suggested the easiest way's burning - jet burns, you see. I'd explained that keeping the jewellery intact's preferable to a heap of ash. I'd shown him how I measure specific gravity (jet's not more than 1.40, which is peanuts to jadeite's 3.30 or even more; acrylate resin's never far from 1.18.) It's not foolproof, but you're a lot nearer the truth knowing details like this. I sent Algernon home after he'd made me lose my temper.
I was wondering whether to slip over to the White Hart. Even with only a few quid staving the wolf from the door a body has a right to drown his sorrows, after Algernon.
There was a knock at the door. Funny how you get the feeling. It was Algernon again.
'Forgotten something?' I snapped. I hadn't heard his bike go.
'Er… Lovejoy.' No stammer, no cheery grin, no move to barge in and start dropping the nearest valuable.
'What is it?'
'Something's wrong,' he said quietly. 'Your budgies.'
I was out and round the side of the cottage before I could think, blundering blindly into my precious camellia. Like a fool I'd not pulled back the curtains for light. I couldn't see a damned thing.
'Fetch a light, Algernon, for Christ's sake!'
'Coming!'
'Manton?' I said softly towards the flight pen. 'Wilkie? Are you -?'
The click behind me trapped the garden in light. Algernon's headlamp.
'Mantie?' For a second I could see nothing wrong. I fumbled for the key, thinking perhaps to undo the padlock.
Then I noticed the lock's iron loop was wrenched free. The flight's door was aslant and pulled away.
'What is it, Algernon?' I asked, puzzled, stepping forward.
Near my face a small breath sounded. I looked at the door jamb.
