'The only things I have from the house,' he said, in a purring tone which brought the suspicious Laura level with him, a heavy glass paperweight in her hand, 'are a fine set of fire-irons. With all this central heating and electric fires of the present day, there is little call for such things. If madam would care to have a memento of Weston Pipers I would accept a cheap price.'
'I have seen something in your shop I like better. I wonder whether that came from Weston Pipers as well?'
'I think not, madam, but please to point it out.'
Dame Beatrice turned and faced that side of the room where the wall was partly barred off by a small wooden counter which held a till. On the wall, its only ornament, was a strange little picture hardly visible in the dim light of the interior of the shop.
It depicted a head with three aspects. One was full-face, the other two were in profile. On the top of the head was an erection which looked like a broad-based, rather squat vase and surrounding this were the two horns of the crescent moon. The head was one of dignified, disdainful malignity. It had broad, negroid features and a thick, curved, sensual, cruel mouth. The eyes were set unnaturally high on the forehead, the creature had no ears. Dame Beatrice pointed to it.
'At my own home I have a little niche where that would go,' she said. 'How much are you asking for it?'
'Oh, that is not for sale, I'm afraid, madam.'
'A pity. I have a taste for the grotesque. Is it a talisman of some kind? Your good luck sign, perhaps?'
'Nothing of the sort. Is there anything else you have seen?'
Laura, who had begun to think that she was not to be allowed to make an offer for the yataghan, cut in on him to ask:
'What do you want for that sword-thing in the window?'
Obviously relieved to have someone other than Dame Beatrice to deal with, the bland proprietor drew aside the curtain, took up the yataghan and handed it over.
'A very nice piece,' he said. 'A duelling sword of best French workmanship of the eighteenth century. Beautiful all-leather sheath.'
Laura drew the weapon out of its scabbard. The blade, although tarnished, was not rusty, and it was damascened in silver whorls and twirls.
Dame Beatrice took the sword and scabbard from Laura and looked them over.
'A battle sword of Balkan manufacture,' she said. 'Nineteenth, not eighteenth, century. The scabbard is of wood covered thinly with leather. Name your price.'
'I am a very poor man, as you can see, madam. As for the sword, I knew what it was, of course, but people are more impressed by an earlier century of workmanship. I did not expect to come up against an expert in a place like this.' He pouted childishly and looked away.
'Dishonesty is not the best policy,' said Laura sternly. 'Well, how much?'
The proprietor glanced at Dame Beatrice and then at Laura.
'It is a nice piece,' he said hesitantly. 'Would ten pounds interest you?'
'Done!' said Laura, opening her handbag.
'Well, well!' said Dame Beatrice. 'The collector's acumen appears to be missing from your make-up! You should not have been so precipitate.'
The proprietor twisted his hands together.
'The lady has made an agreement!' he said, in agony. 'Look, I'll throw in the fire-irons for you yourself if you do not dispute with me. You shall have the fire irons for nothing!'
'But not the little picture I fancy so much?'
'I cannot part with it. It has religious significance. Please accept the fire-irons. They are very nice.'
'Do you hold services here, then?'
'Oh, well, as to that-' He turned away from both of them and put Laura's notes into the till. Then he rummaged around to find wrappings for the fire-irons and the yataghan. At last he handed over the packages and, bowing and smiling, opened the shop door, saw them out and would have followed them to their car but that the stolid chauffeur was already holding the car door open for them.
'Did I get stung over the yataghan?' asked Laura, when they were seated and George had reversed the car.
Dame Beatrice cackled. 'I hardly think so,' she said, 'and, in any case, when one really covets an object, the price, so long as one can afford it, is immaterial.'
'Is that really your philosophy?'
'Certainly. Besides, the good pastor got rid of the things he really wanted to part with, the things, in fact, that he was almost over-anxious to get rid of.'
'What, those ungainly fire-irons?'
'Yes. If I mistake not, he believes that this steel poker, and not the brass one which was found at the bungalow, was used to disfigure Miss Minnie's face and head. He had to identify the body, you know, and the fire-irons seem to have come from Weston Pipers, so I think he may have put two and two together and come to a very unwelcome conclusion and possibly a correct one.'
'What was that rather grim picture you tried to buy?'
'A kind of totem, I think, of an obscure and possibly obscene religious sect. I did not want the picture. I only wanted to find out whether he was prepared to sell it.'
'And he wasn't. What did it represent?'
'The phases of the moon. Had it been sculptured instead of painted, there might have been a fourth face at the back of those three which were depicted.'
'Black magic?'
'A magical conception, anyway. The picture represented the Great Mother of the ancients. She belongs to a form of witchcraft innocent enough in itself in pre-Christian times, since it was a form of worship. Fertility, the bounties of
