been about to ask, Hughes – if you’d given me time.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Wilkinson stared again into the artist’s eyes. VVO again turned away. “So, Mr Winthrop, how did you know they were stolen?”
Bluster seemed to be the appropriate response. “Simple, old-fashioned common sense, Inspector! How many Old Masters do you know of which aren’t either in museums or private ownership? And on the rare occasions they are moved around, it’s in security vans, not stuffed down the back of other paintings. Of course they were stolen!”
“You may have a point,” Wilkinson conceded.
Sergeant Hughes leant forward. “Does the name ‘Pargeter’ mean anything to you, Mr Winthrop?”
“Will you please not interrupt, Hughes!” the Inspector snapped. “I am the senior officer present. I should dictate the direction this interview takes.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I just thought, possibly catching him off guard with a sudden question might –”
“You’ve watched too many cop shows, Sergeant.” Wilkinson turned to VVO with a polite smile. “I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Right,” the Inspector went on. “Does the name ‘Pargeter’ mean anything to you, Mr Winthrop?”
“As in ‘Mrs Pargeter’,” Sergeant Hughes added eagerly.
“No, Hughes, not as in ‘Mrs Pargeter’. As in ‘Mr Pargeter’, Mr Winthrop?”
“No.”
“If I’d said ‘Mrs Pargeter’, would that have meant any more?”
“No.”
“What about the name ‘Bennie Logan’? Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Fritzi the Finger?”
“No.”
Hmm, thought Inspector Wilkinson ruefully, this is going to take a long time. VVO, though with rather more glee, had exactly the same thought.
Wilkinson ran a finger along the line of his moustache. Maybe he should trim it, after all.
? Mrs Pargeter’s Point of Honour ?
Thirty
Mrs Pargeter put the newspaper down ruefully. She’d read the report, and it had brought home to her the extent of her short-sightedness. Someone called Reginald Winthrop had been arrested for trying to smuggle stolen paintings out of the country. “Well, I’m sorry,” was all she could find to say.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mrs Pargeter,” said Hamish Ramon Henriques gallantly.
“No, of course it wasn’t,” the loyal Truffler Mason agreed.
“Yes, it was.” She looked around HRH’s office, the expression on her face as near as it ever got to gloomy. Through the half-open door, she could see neatly uniformed Sharons and Laurens and Karens busy about their business. Mrs Pargeter sighed. “I shouldn’t have given VVO the job. I was guilty of sentimentality.”
HRH shrugged. “Well…”
She continued her self-recrimination. “My husband wouldn’t have made that mistake.”
“Perhaps not.”
“‘In dealings with employees,’ he always said, “‘be always compassionate, but never indulgent!’ And of course, as ever, he was right. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn,” said Mrs Pargeter through gritted teeth.
“Of course you will,” the travel agent reassured.
“I’ve spoken to Deirdre Winthrop. I thought she’d be absolutely devastated, but in fact she’s too angry for that. ‘Serve Reg bloody well right!’ were her precise words. ‘That’ll teach him to try and play the hero. What did he imagine – that his flirting with danger was going to turn me on? He should know by now, after twenty-four years of marriage, the only thing that turns me on is a nice quiet life.’ Of course she didn’t know anything about the paintings in the back of the van.”
“No,” said Truffler. “And I gather VVO’s taking the whole blame himself. Apparently he’s clamming up on the police, refusing to give the names of anyone else involved, claiming he was working alone.”
“Which is good news for us,” HRH observed.
Mrs Pargeter did not comment on this assertion, but, shaking her head again at her own lack of judgement, went on, “He was really asking for trouble, volunteering to go through Customs this side of the Channel. I suppose, like Deirdre said, he got some kind of kick out of it – same as a kid gets playing ‘chicken’ on a railway line.”
“I’m sure that was it, Mrs P,” Truffler agreed. “You often find that with inexperienced villains – first time they’re allowed to do something on their own, it kind of goes to their heads, they get really excited and well out of order – ” Catching a frosty beam from the violet-blue eyes, he concluded lamely, “or so I’ve heard.”
Mrs Pargeter sighed. “Anyway, what’s done is done. Let’s hope VVO continues to be uncommunicative.”
“He will, don’t worry,” said Hamish Ramon Henriques. “Having screwed up the actual job, there’s no way he’s going to screw up his behaviour while under arrest as well.”
“Hope you’re right. In the meantime,” Mrs Pargeter continued pragmatically, “I’ve organized legal representation for him.”
“Who’ve you got?”
“Arnold Justiman.”
Hamish Ramon Henriques and Truffler Mason nodded approval. Arnold Justiman’s legal skills were without parallel. It was said that he could have organized a driving licence for Blind Pew, and got the charges against Jack the Ripper reduced to fines for overdue library books. “Nothing but the best,” said HRH.
“No,” Mrs Pargeter agreed. “My late husband let Arnold deal with all his legal affairs.”
“And very well he did it too,” said Truffler. “But for Arnold, you’d have seen even less of your husband than you did, wouldn’t you?”
Another mild frost settled over Mrs Pargeter’s expression. “I’m sorry? I don’t know what you mean, Truffler.”
“No. No, of course not.” He moved hastily on to distance himself from the moment of embarrassment. “What’s odd about the whole business is who was in charge of the investigation.”
“Eh?”
“Jukebox Jarvis has done the usual checks in the police computers as to what happened down in Dover, and it turns out VVO was interviewed by none other than our old friend, Craggy Wilkinson.”
“Really?” This was a shock to Mrs Pargeter. After the reassurances given over the dinner at Greene’s Hotel, she had rather dismissed the Inspector from her thoughts. “Do you think we’ve got him wrong? Do you think he’s actually shrewder than his track record suggests?”
“You’d think he’d have to be,” HRH replied, “by the law of averages. But I still don’t see him working something like this out on his own.”
“He didn’t do it on his own,” said Truffler. “He’s got a new detective sergeant working with him. Keen, cocky young lad, I gather, glories in the name of Hercule Hughes. I reckon he’s the one behind VVO’s arrest.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Pargeter.
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs P. We’ll just keep an eye on the youngster, that’s all. Craggy Wilkinson on his own offers no danger. Craggy Wilkinson with an intelligent young sidekick could prove to be more of a challenge.” Truffler Mason gave a mournful grin. “But don’t give it another thought. Forewarned is forearmed. We’ve got it covered.”
“Oh, that is nice to know.”
“Yes.” Truffler stroked his chin. “What we must try and work out, though, is what effect VVO’s little disaster is going to have on the people who got away with the rest of the paintings.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well…” Truffler pointed to the newspaper report. “There’s no way now they don’t know that someone else is
