“But what about the security cameras and alarm systems? They’re supposed to be foolproof these days, aren’t they?”
“That’s what’s worrying us. The alarms go off when the pieces are stolen but the security cameras show nothing out of the ordinary. The Mona Lisa, for instance — well, it just disappeared from the wall. Apparently, the camera footage was amazing. One minute the painting was there and the next minute it had gone. Nobody went near it.”
“Don’t you have you any idea who might have taken it? A rogue collector wanting to add to his collection perhaps?”
“If it were a collector,” Archie Thompson stated positively, “the chances are that he’d steal more of the same kind. Someone with a collection of paintings would steal more paintings, someone with a collection of jewels would steal more jewels. That hasn’t happened. Everything that’s been stolen is different — a painting, a jewel, an ivory, a sculpture and so on. Interpol’s going crazy, every antique dealer in the world is on the lookout for them but so far nobody has come up with anything. It’s mind-boggling! I’ve no idea who this fellow is but he certainly ranks as a Prince of Thieves.”
“And what’s gone missing from Scotland that you’re so het up about?” asked Sir James with a slight smile. “The Crown Jewels?”
Archie Thompson looked at him grimly and turned pale. “Don’t even think about it, James! Nothing’s safe these days and the very idea gives me nightmares!” He heaved a sigh. “No, the thing is, I had a letter this morning from the National Museum of Scotland. They’re hosting an exhibition of priceless diamonds during the Festival next summer and the thought of policing it … well, it’s making me sweat already! I wondered … well, if it does take place, I wondered if I could ask the MacArthur or Lord Rothlan to put a protective shield around the exhibits. Unofficially, needless to say! Like Prince Kalman did last year with the Sultan’s Crown. What do you think?”
“I’m sure they would, but what makes you think the diamonds would be a target, Archie?”
“The strangest thing of all about the robberies is that every piece that’s been stolen appears in a book called Famous Collections of the World, and two of the largest diamonds in the exhibition are shown in it. At the moment, Interpol is trying to trace everyone who bought a copy.”
“That’s a bit of a tall order, isn’t it?”
“Not that tall, James. It’s a limited edition and only five hundred copies were printed.”
As it happened, one of the five hundred copies of Famous Collections of the World lay open just a couple of hundred yards away … on Lewis’s bed!
Lewis was deep in thought as he flicked through the pages. “I think I might wish for this painting next,” he said to Casimir. “It’s by Picasso and although it’s an odd sort of painting, there’s something about it that I like. What do you think?”
Casimir looked at the painting and reserved his judgment. Yet it was in the book so he presumed that Lewis was right in his assessment. “You’ve wished for a painting already, Lewis,” he reminded him.
“Yes, and what a wash-out that was!” Lewis muttered.
“The thing is,” Casimir said diffidently, “that you’re only allowed to wish for something once. You can’t wish for another painting!”
Lewis sat up and looked at Casimir in the little mirror. “What do you mean, I can’t wish for another painting?” he said. “You didn’t tell me anything about that when we made our agreement!”
“You didn’t ask,” Casimir pointed out.
“But …”
“One of a kind, Lewis!” And Lewis knew from the look on his face that Casimir would never relent. He threw the mirror across the room and the book after it but even as he did so, he was gripped by a deadly fear. “One of a kind” cut down his choices considerably. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, before he ran out of things to wish for. And then what?
He looked dismally round his room. It wasn’t a bedroom any more, really. It was a miniature palace containing a treasure trove of all the beautiful things he had wished for: a Chinese carpet hung on the wall; a huge, carved emerald glowed green on an ebony stand; a tall ivory statue gleamed delicately from a corner and many other priceless objects decorated shelves and the top of his bookcase. Tears gathered in his eyes. He loved them all.
He left the mirror lying face down on the carpet and picked up the book. His face was white and strained as he went slowly downstairs to the library and put it back where he had found it. As he did so, he glimpsed the picture of the Mona Lisa smiling down at him from above the fireplace. Her smile had subtly altered and he instinctively knew its meaning. He had been right to dislike the painting for her smile was a sly smile; a nasty, sly, knowing smile that seemed to take pleasure in his desperation.