Enter Pale Death(12)
“It’s a personal matter,” Truelove had announced.
“Too right!” Joe growled silently. But he heard himself saying: “I’ll see what I can do. I shall need to know your upper limit.” Truelove smiled in satisfaction. “Good man! Tell me—how are you planning to …?”
“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll just say—no need for clanking handcuffs or police whistles. There are quieter ways.”
“Ah! A touch of your sophisticated shenanigans? I can see I’ve come to the right shop! Oh, there is one thing more. I’m making it quite clear to the management that in the event of a successful bid I want possession of the goods at once. They are to hand them straight over to you after the sale. There won’t be a problem—I’ve dealt with them many times before. They’re aware of my impatient nature. I’ll collect the goods from your front desk. I’m assuming the front desk of Scotland Yard is a reasonably secure place to leave a pair of miniatures?”
“More secure, apparently, than your country seat, Sir James. Melsett, would that be?”
WHEN HIS GUEST had completed his briefing and left, Joe telephoned down to the inspector on reception. “Well, thanks for that, Hawkins! What a treat you sent me! Look, I’m going to have to cancel the rest of my morning and my lunch hour. I shall be back at my desk at two o’clock, should the Prime Minister decide to pop in for a chat.”
He went to stand by his open window, breathing in lungfuls of air freshly filtered by the stout London planes below him until he felt calmer. The future Minister for Law and Order had just told him two whopping lies. He was only aware of two, it could well be more. The portraits? A smokescreen, a glittering diversion, Joe was quite certain. The man was clearly spending too much time at Wilton’s Music Hall. Joe grinned evilly. His lordship wasn’t to know how many hours his pet plod had spent in the line of duty, watching magic acts from the wings of seedy theatres in Soho. Joe knew all the tricks.
CHAPTER 3
With a hasty glance at his watch, Joe rang for his secretary and warned Miss Sturdy that he was going out and wouldn’t be back until after lunch. He took the time to make one or two phone calls himself to cancel the rest of his engagements and spent a further five minutes studying the catalogue Truelove had left with him. Only then did he ask to be put through to the Art Investigations Department for a consultation with its head, Superintendent Pearce.
A little reassured by what Pearce had to say, Joe prepared himself to take advantage of the advertised viewing time. One day before the actual sale, he reckoned he had probably missed the most fruitful moment to make his appearance, but he had to work with what he’d been given. He might not be lucky enough to be caught showing an interest by that smooth villain Despond himself—a busy boy like him was hardly likely to stick around personally in the sale-room for the whole week—but he would have his spies out at all times, observing and noting the names of anyone paying more than passing attention to any item he’d marked down for himself. Comment and gossip to the point of hysteria were rife in this world, and Joe was confident that the show he was about to put on would raise eyebrows and be the talk of St. James’s before lunch. Christie’s would not be pleased, but there was little they could do about it.
He smiled to himself with mischief. Truelove’s brief had been short on information and shorter on tactics, but the required outcome was very clear. Joe would have his hands, by fair means or foul, on that pretty pair by the sale’s end the next day. Yes, having committed himself to Truelove’s mad scheme, he thought he might even begin to enjoy himself.
THE ELEGANT YOUNG man on reception was astonished. At the sight of Joe, he took a step back. He adjusted his lilac tie. He began to stammer. “Um … er … I beg your pardon, sir … but are we expecting you this morning? I mean, should you be here? Is anyone aware?”
“Well, my mother knows I’m out,” Joe said genially.
He stood before the assistant in the entrance hall, holding his catalogue, his face alight with anticipation. He was aware of the reaction his appearance in full Assistant Commissioner’s dress uniform was causing. The navy suiting, the excess of silver braid, the smart peaked cap were all in place. He’d even gone as far as hunting out a medal or two. The DSO and the ribbon of the Légion d’honneur still caught attention, even in these weary-of-war times. Joe wore this eye-popping gear with the straight shoulders and aplomb of the professional soldier he had been some years ago.
“Don’t worry! Not here on police business. Just dropping in between fixtures to take a look at a pair of pictures that have taken my fancy. No time to slip into civvies.” He handed his card over. “Perhaps it would be polite to advise your director that there’s a friendly Scotland Yard presence in the room?” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile and suggested, “He may want to rush out with a screen.”