together?’
‘You stuck with me,’ I said grudgingly. ‘You would have had a better chance of escape alone, I suppose. Damn it, John, I don’t like to be a fink, but what choice do I have? I refuse to let that gang of swindlers get away with this. Why are you so considerate of them? They tried to kill you.’
‘I don’t think there was anything personal in that,’ John said.
‘Personal, impersonal, who cares? How can I agree to let you off when I don’t even know what you’ve done?’ I demanded, my mounting anger compounded with a certain degree of shame. ‘If you would tell me about the plot – give me some alternative . . .’
‘That does seem reasonable.’
‘I mean, if you won’t even . . . Oh. You will tell me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Lie down,’ I added. ‘You look like hell.’
He obeyed. I turned so that I could see him. It was amazing how innocent that man could look when he wanted to. His eyes were very blue. The shadows under them were like bruises. Then he grinned, and his fine- boned face was transformed – from Saint Sebastian to Mercutio.
‘I was born of poor but honest parents,’ he began.
‘Be serious.’
‘I am. My parents were extremely poor. They were also of the gentry – not the landed gentry, unfortunately. Only a few paltry acres around the family mansion, which has approximately five years more to go before the termites devour it. Do you have any idea what a handicap that combination is – poverty and gentility? I couldn’t get a position – ’
‘Horsefeathers,’ I said rudely, fighting the melting effect of those cornflower-blue eyes. ‘The class barriers went down with a crash in World War Two, even in England. When the Duke of Bedford is selling souvenirs to tourists who visit his stately mansion, anybody can work.’
‘Ah, well, it was worth a try,’ John said, without rancour. ‘You sense the truth, of course; I am personally disinclined to engage in vulgar labour. It’s a psychological handicap. If you knew my mother – ’
‘Scratch excuse number two,’ I said. ‘I don’t buy the theory that perverts and criminals are the guiltless products of a corrupt society. And as a woman I’m sick and tired of the attempts to blame Mother for every crime that has been committed since Cain and Abel.’
‘Eve was probably overprotective,’ John said speculatively. ‘She always liked Abel best. Naturally this upset his brother . . . My mother’s name is Guinevere.’ I stared at him for a minute and then started to laugh.
‘You are hopeless,’ I said. ‘Is that really her name?’
‘Yes.’
‘You may have an excuse after all.’
‘We’re an old Cornish family,’ John explained. ‘Old and decadent. However, I cannot honestly blame my sins on Mum. She’s a good old girl, even if she does look like Judith Anderson playing a demented housekeeper. No, my sins are my own. I simply cannot settle down to an honest spot of work. It’s so boring.’
‘And swindling isn’t boring?’
‘Well, this particular scheme isn’t as ingenious as some I have engaged in. There was one stunt . . . But perhaps we had better not recall that. It was brilliant, though. Almost worked, too. It failed only because I was too innocent to understand the depravity that lurks in the hearts of men. One man in particular – my partner.’
‘It appears to me that you haven’t overcome that weakness,’ I suggested politely.
‘Too true. I simply must become more cynical. At any rate, this plan seemed quite foolproof. I was approached by an acquaintance of mine in London – and, pardon me, I simply will not mention names. I don’t mind about some of the others, but he’s a good chap, and a friend.’
‘Never mind the noblesse oblige. What was the plan?’
‘Don’t rush me,’ John said, savouring the syllables. ‘I must think how to explain it convincingly.’
‘I think I see another of your troubles,’ I said maliciously. ‘You talk too much. You are so enamoured of the sound of your own voice that you babble on and on when you ought to be doing something.’
‘That is unkind, but probably correct. Very well, I’ll get on with it.
‘My friend, whom I shall refer to as “Jones” – to go with “Smythe,” you know – is the sole heir of a wealthy old aunt. At least she was wealthy; at the rate she is using up her resources there won’t be much left for poor old Jones – which is one of the reasons why she is living so well, since she doesn’t care much for Jones. She thinks he is a lazy ne’er-do-well, and she is absolutely right. The only asset she possesses that she won’t pawn or sell is her antique-jewellery collection. She plans to leave that to the British Museum, in order to spite Jones.
‘So, when Jones was contacted by a strange little man who proposed a deal, he listened. The deal was simple enough. The old lady doesn’t trust banks. She keeps her jewels in a safe in her flat. (The family mansion went on the block years ago.) The jewels are amply protected, not only by the safe, but by a dozen nervous dogs. The old witch adores the creatures.
‘Now Jones admits that he had thought of – er – borrowing a few small diamonds, but he gave up the idea because he would be the first one to be suspected. His newfound friend’s scheme disposed of this difficulty. He would supply Jones with imitations good enough to deceive even the old lady’s sharp eye.
‘Jones jeered at this – until he was shown a sample. It was the Charlemagne talisman, which I gather you’ve already seen. Good, isn’t it?’
‘Superb,’ I said honestly. ‘It ought to have relieved Jones’s scruples – though he doesn’t appear to have had many.’
‘I must confess he was ready to be persuaded,’ John said demurely. ‘The deal went off quite neatly.’ Jones supplied photographs and measurements, and the switch was made one night while Auntie was at the opera. Wagner.
‘The gang split the proceeds with Jones, who is now living comfortably on the Riviera. When they asked him to recommend a friend who might assist them in finding other – er – ’
‘Victims,’ I suggested.
‘Victims,’ John agreed, without batting an eye. ‘He thought of me. I was happy to oblige. I have a fairly wide acquaintance among the undeserving rich.’
‘But how do they sell the things?’ I demanded. ‘If the jewels are so well known, no fence – ’
‘That’s the beauty of the scheme. There are no middlemen. The gems are sold directly to collectors. There is a lot of money floating around the world these days, my dear. In the Near East, South America, the States . . . People are buying jewels as investments, and antique jewellery is increasingly popular with collectors. The buyer knows, of course, that there is something shady about the transactions. He doesn’t care. He is willing to keep quiet about his acquisitions.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘I quite agree. But there are a lot of crazy people in the world too. It happens all the time, Vicky. There is a large underground movement in forgeries of all kinds. Antique furniture, Chinese ceramics, famous paintings. Read some of the literature. The list of detected forgeries is enormous. And the objects on the list are the
‘And Pietro is one of the people who are allowing their collections to be copied?’
‘Right.’
‘But why? The man is rich as Croesus. Villas and palaces stuffed with antiques, fancy cars, servants . . . Why should he participate in a crummy deal like this?’
‘Vicky, Vicky! It is clear that you, like my parents, come from the poor but honest class. I suppose you don’t buy things unless you can pay for them.’
‘I
‘That’s because you are one of the deserving poor. The Conte Caravaggio – who is one of the undeserving rich – can walk into a shop and walk out with a new Rolls, and the vulgar subject of money is never mentioned. Eventually he has to put a bit on account, but you’d be surprised how long this economic ruin can be juggled before
