Michelle gave a rather hysterical giggle, gazing at the car’s contents. We’d had to buy a roof-rack to load the stuff.
“We’ve committed a robbery,” she said, laughing.
“Scrub that plural, love,” I corrected. “You signed, remember? In fact, we’ve got to call in at Dubneath police station and tell all.”
She laughed so much that she finally started to cry. I’m not much use at consolation, so I had her pastry to save it going cold. We weren’t so credit-worthy that we could afford to chuck good stuff to waste. It was faith we lacked. Anyway, there was no time left now for any of this malarky. It was splashdown.
The first splash occurred at the police station, where I spoke to the one bobby in charge.
“It’s rather a serious problem,” I said. “We wish to report a theft.” Which widened Michelle’s eyes even further. She was already frantic, thinking we’d come to surrender over the groceries.
Michelle groaned. I admonished her, “Please, Mrs. McGunn. Do keep calm. The police are here to help in these cases.”
The bobby swelled with understanding and eagle-eyed vigilance. We got Michelle a chair while I explained, in strictest confidence, about the secret auction at Tachnadray.
“Naturally,” I said, leaning anxiously over the constabulary desk, “Miss Elaine wants this information kept confidential. I employed a printer in East Anglia. I’ve just heard that all four hundred printed catalogs were stolen in Suffolk.”
The sergeant put his pen down. “Only catalogs?”
“Only?” I bleated, aghast. “Advance notice to antique dealers is valuable information.
We hope to restrict the sale to a limited number of trusted collectors.”
“And?” He resumed writing, without enthusiasm.
“So we want a twenty-four-hour police guard, please.”
He stopped writing. “A what?”
“Round-the-clock surveillance. Now.” I waxed enthusiastic. “The way I see it is a road block, and a helicopter —”
“Sir,” the sergeant said wearily. “Do you know the size of our area? And the number of officers with which we’re expected to run it?”
“But surely you see the implications for the sale?”
He sighed. “Consider a moment, sir. These booklets.”
“Catalogs,” I corrected, frosty.
“Catalogs. Where would they have gone to?”
“Well, I ordered them posted to collectors as far as Germany, America—”
“And the material in them…?”
“Descriptions of antiques for auction at Tachnadray.”
He put his pen away. “Well, sir. Naturally we’re only too anxious to assist Tachnadray Hall, but auctions are quite legal. And for people to come and buy’s quite legal too. How they hear about it is their own business. The only problem is the loss—you say by theft—of your catalogs. That’s a concern for the Suffolk division. Naturally, if you have any problems about admission on the day…”
Polite, but undoubtedly the sailor’s elbow. Showing profound disappointment with Dubneath’s constabulary, I extracted a promise of complete silence on the matter, then left huffily. Michelle was already bewildered into obedience, so my dragging her into the MacNeish’s tavern to use the phone produced no demur, not even when I feverishly phoned the local Tachan Times and Argos, the district’s Pravda, to issue a denial.
“This is Ian McGunn,” I told the reporter sternly. “There is absolutely no truth in rumors that we attach the slightest importance to the outrageous theft of sale catalogs on their way to Tachnadray.” The girl squealed to hold on, please, evidently scrabbling to snap her Marconi Patent Office Wax-Cylinder Voice Recorder into action. “Furthermore,” I went on, “we deplore the inability of the police to respond to requests for total surveillance, and demand that you omit any mention of this…”
We did the same denial for six other newspapers, including the Glasgow Herald. Mary hadn’t baked that day, having been up at the Hall, so no pasties. I had to make do with a batch of over-sweet Chorley cakes and a leftover cheese-and-onion pie before we hit the road to Tachnadray.
“Anybody in the clan a crooked auctioneer, love?” I said through a mouthful.
Michelle smiled, thinking I was joking. “Ian. How do you remember everything we’re doing? Including all your lies to Sergeant Kerr?”
I said piously, “I didn’t lie, love.”
She gasped a pure innocent gasp, her hair fluffing in the breeze. I was beginning to like Michelle. “There really was a theft? Our catalogs really were stolen? How dreadful!”
“Well, it actually doesn’t happen till tonight.”
“But how can that possibly—?”
“Shut it, love.” Liking her didn’t mean all this explaining wasn’t giving me a headache.
“And don’t admit I know about Joseph. They already know I know, but still don’t.”
She gave a heartfelt sigh. “Hasn’t it been a day?”
