‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy it? I doubt whether the Da Vinci would have stuck out for a very large figure, though they would talk big at first. It seems unlikely that any substantial collector, however unscrupulous, would put himself in the power of a criminal agent, and moreover make it impossible that he should ever display his Limbert, simply for the sake of a few score of guineas. I think, Mr Zhitkov, that here is a technical problem upon which your thought hasn’t been quite so deep as it might be.’
This time Zhitkov blinked, and Appleby had the sense of a man thinking hard. But when he spoke it was politely and indifferently. ‘It is a point,’ he said. ‘You may well be right.’
‘And now about Miss Arrow, whose flat this is. Her disappearance is undoubtedly strange. And it coincided, of course, with the death of Limbert. Have you any opinion on how these two events may be connected?’
‘She may have killed him.’
‘Quite so. Would it be a surprise to you if that did, in fact, turn out to be the explanation?’
‘It would be a sorrow.’ Zhitkov looked frigidly at Cadover, from whom this sentiment had drawn a grunt of impatience. ‘The world is so murderously inclined to artists that it is a great distress to see them murdering one another.’
Appleby looked hard at the sculptor. ‘Were you ever aware of Limbert and Miss Arrow quarrelling?’
‘Miss Arrow was not a person who would conduct quarrels in public.’
‘And Limbert?’
‘He would quarrel, quite cheerfully, if he found occasion to.’
‘With you?’
‘Yes, Limbert was very unpleasant to me more than once. But – how do you put it – without rancour. When I have had parties, and some of my friends have been noisy late into the night, Limbert has been very rude. But it was nothing.’
‘Did you hear him quarrelling with anyone on the day of his death?’
‘No. But then I was absent from my studio on business during the greater part of the day. There may have been such a quarrel.’
‘There was – or at least there was a dispute. It appears that some man presented himself to Limbert, making what he called a fair offer. Limbert seems to have suggested that his visitor was a bit of a crook. His visitor then threatened to invoke the law, saying that some transaction or other had not, in fact, been a valid purchase… You are interested in this?’
Zhitkov had momentarily the appearance of being very much interested; he had gone quite tense, and was staring at Appleby with glittering eyes. But immediately he relaxed again. ‘I am naturally interested. This, you say, was on the day of Limbert’s death. It may be important.’
‘I agree with you. Then Limbert turned this person out. I have as yet no idea who he might be. Perhaps you can help me there. The fellow is said, incidentally, to have hung about Gas Street for most of the rest of the day.’
Zhitkov shook his head. ‘I can be of no help. But if anything occurs to me, of course I shall let you know.’ His eyes strayed to the door, and Appleby felt that he was in some sudden anxiety that the interview should end. ‘I live at the bottom, as you know. And I can be found at any time.’
‘I am sure you can.’ Appleby’s tone was urbane but significant. ‘We shall certainly have no difficulty, Mr Zhitkov, in looking you up if we find it necessary. But in the meantime we must not detain you further.’
‘Will you go by the staircase, or would you prefer a little more evening air on the fire escape?’
But upon Cadover, thus lumbering up with his heaviest irony, Zhitkov wasted very little time. ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ he murmured vaguely. ‘You are too kind.’ And with a stiff bow he marched from the room.
Cadover looked at his watch. ‘You’ll be late for dinner.’ His tone might have been taken as adding, ‘And don’t blame me if there’s a row.’
‘Then come along. We’ll take Limbert’s Stubbs into safe-keeping, and lock up both these flats. Isn’t there another storey, by the way? The fire escape seems to go up further.’
Cadover nodded. ‘There’s a single big attic room. Not much more than a loft, and empty at present. But another possible place for lurking.’
‘I see.’ Appleby had moved out to the little landing and was peering up the final dusty flight of stairs. ‘Nasty little warren this place is, from our point of view. Anybody able to hop in on anybody else – and out again by that fire escape. Well, I’ve seen for myself. And I’ll spend tomorrow morning on the file.’
‘We must get them on to that girl Brooks’ story.’ Cadover had now possessed himself of the Stubbs and was making all secure in Limbert’s studio. ‘The fellow with whom there was that row is just as likely a suspect as Miss Arrow.’ Cadover again looked at his watch. ‘Better run you home first, I suppose. It will save you five minutes. May make all the difference to the soup.’
‘Very well. But I sometimes wonder what makes you envisage my domestic life as such a tyranny.’ Appleby sniffed as they reached the ground floor. ‘Boxer’s having another fry.’
‘I have my doubts about that man.’ Cadover was frowning as they climbed into the big police car. ‘Very improper, his having tried to dissuade the girl from telling her story… I’ll put this painting on the seat between us, if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t do to kick a hole in it.’ Cadover set the Stubbs down gingerly; it was evidently an anxiety to him. ‘Yes, very improper, indeed.’
‘Possibly so.’ Appleby put a hand on the picture as the car swung into King’s Road. ‘But it can’t be called suspicious. Boxer just doesn’t much believe in having people chased by the police – not even murderers. He is probably inclined to philosophic anarchism. Many of those people are.’
‘So much the worse. If he feels anarchistic about Limbert dead, he may have felt anarchistic about him alive. I’m not inclined to rule out Boxer. Nor Zhitkov either. Most suspicious, the way he came snooping up that escape when we were in Miss Arrow’s room. Of course’ – Cadover was firmly judicial – ‘it may have been no more than vulgar curiosity. Like the kids who were gaping at this car when we came out.’
Appleby shook his head. ‘I don’t think Zhitkov would have much impulse to be vulgarly curious. He had some more substantial motive for that little reconnaissance. You know, I think there’s a good deal buried in this affair. And I have a feeling that at one point you had pretty well got at it.’
‘I had got at it?’ Cadover was astonished. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel at all that way myself.’
‘There was a point at which you said something extremely relevant to the whole puzzle. Only it has escaped me… But here I am.’ The car had come to a halt just as Big Ben, from not far away, chimed eight o’clock. ‘Look after the Stubbs.’ Appleby leant forward and opened the door of the car.
But Cadover was looking dubiously at the picture. The notion of a valuable painting was one which he appeared to find obstinately mysterious and oppressive. ‘You know, sir, we gave no receipt. It’s a bit irregular, come to think of it. I wonder if you’d mind taking the responsibility yourself?’
Appleby laughed. ‘Not in the least. I’ve got a fireproof safe that will just hold it. And I’ll bring it to the Yard in the morning and see that it’s properly accounted for myself. We’ll meet at nine o’clock and go over the whole affair. Good night.’ And Appleby got out of the car, mounted the steps of his quiet Westminster house, and let himself in at the front door.
Judith, it seemed, hadn’t waited. From the dining-room came the sound of a meal in progress. Appleby, with the Stubbs still under his arm, crossed the hall and entered. Dinner – dinner for two – was certainly going on; it had reached the stage of mutton chops. Judith was wearing her old Worth black and her pearls. And the reason for this was immediately apparent. Her companion was the Duke of Horton.
‘There, my dear – you were wrong. And I’ve eaten the poor fellow’s chop. Such a particularly good chop, too.’ The Duke had risen – vague, in every sense ancient, wholly unperturbed – and shaken Appleby’s hand.
‘Your wife was positive that if you weren’t in by a quarter to eight it must be taken for granted you had gone to your club.’
‘Quite right, sir. It’s a family rule.’ Appleby managed to smile with equal urbanity both at his guest and his wife. ‘And I’m glad to see Judith found the Mouton-Rothschild ’twenty-nine.’
‘Yes, indeed – a remarkable wine. I have been appreciating it keenly.’ The Duke’s glance went hurriedly over the table. Presumably he had been unaware of the claret, and felt that it must be located if this civil protestation were to be rendered convincing. ‘In spite of this vexatious business being so much on my mind. Or rather on Anne’s mind.’ Anne was the Duchess of Horton. ‘Anne sent me up to town about it. She said that the time for action had come, and she advised me to go straight to you. Reminded me of what you had done for us at the time of the Auldearn affair. So when I failed to get you at that great police place off Whitehall I decided I’d come along here later. Been boring Lady Appleby, I’m afraid, with the whole tiresome thing.’
‘Your goldfish and silverfish and aquarium?’ Appleby put the Stubbs down on a chair, and contrived to advance with every appearance of pleasurable anticipation upon the remains of a tinned ham.
‘Yes, my dear fellow – yes, indeed. A shocking loss. You remember those rascals who went round thieving things in the last years of the war, and who got our Titian? Called themselves by some damned impudent name. Beg your pardon, m’dear.’
‘The International Society for the Diffusion of Cultural Objects?’
‘That was it. Well, Anne thinks it must be a similar gang of scoundrels who are at work now.’
‘I don’t quite see why the Duchess should think that.’ Appleby, who had sat down and helped himself cheerfully to mustard, was perplexed. ‘Would thieves like that really take goldfish and silverfish–’
Judith burst out laughing. ‘John is quite as much at sea as the fish.’
‘I’ve failed to make myself clear.’ The Duke of Horton’s eye was solicitously on Appleby’s plate; having eaten his chop, he now appeared to regard himself as in something of the position of host. ‘My dear man – let me reach you that salad from the side.’ He set down his claret with what was now impeccable respect, got to his feet, and at once dumbfounded the Applebys by emitting an altogether unducal yell. Moved by a common impulse, they peered under the table. The only possible explanation of their guest’s bizarre behaviour seemed to be that he had been bitten by an intrusive family pet. But nothing canine was visible. When they looked up again it was to see the Duke staring incredulously at the Stubbs.
‘But, my dear Appleby, this is superb. You have excelled yourself – which is to say a great deal.’ Momentarily abandoning the picture, the Duke advanced upon Appleby and took him warmly by the hand. ‘It was only a few hours ago that I reported the theft at your office, and here already is one of the pictures safe and sound.’
‘One of the pictures?’ Mechanically Appleby reached for the claret bottle. ‘You’ve been talking about pictures?’
‘Goldfish and Silverfish – the two finest horses my great- grandfather ever had. That is my great-grandfather, sitting in the curricle. And the fellow at Silverfish’s head is Morgan, his favourite groom. Stubbs, you know, was brought into notice by the Duke of Richmond. Keen rival of Richmond’s, was my great-grandfather. And I’ve always liked the painting, I’m bound to say. Quite apart from the fact that old Stubbs is now rather a swell.’ The Duke paused. ‘You wouldn’t, my dear chap, have recovered the other one too? We’re uncommonly anxious about it. After all, George Stubbs is one thing. But Jan–’
‘I’ve been an ass.’ Appleby, comically disconcerted, turned to his wife. ‘Judith, I have been an ass?’
Judith was serious again. ‘I don’t know about that. But by the aquarium the Duke means what you think. Vermeer’s Aquarium. The greatest picture at Scamnum Court.’
4
‘Times have changed down our way.’ It was half an hour later, and in a large bubble of glass the Duke of Horton was slowly rotating a tot from Appleby’s last bottle of old brandy. ‘A great bus station at King’s Horton on the ground where we used to go over and light their bonfires on big occasions. And two tea gardens in Scamnum Ducis, both out to capture our own trade.’
‘Your own trade?’ Judith was puzzled.
‘Dear me, yes. We do teas in the Orangery. Had them catered at first. But then Anne took it over herself and has made a very good thing of it. Important part of the museum business, it seems. And we’re in that right up to the neck. Open every day of the year, except Good Friday. Miles of mudproof matting through all the rooms and down all the corridors. People go through by the thousand, at half-a-crown a head.’
‘How very restless.’ Judith was sympathetic. ‘Do they do a lot of damage?’
‘No, no – nothing of the kind. Very decent people, and often extremely interested. I get quite a lot of intelligent questions.’
Appleby was looking for cigars. ‘You take parties through yourself, sir?’
‘We both do. It didn’t seem civil to open the old place up in that fashion and not take a hand in doing the honours ourselves. Anne feels the same about her tea shop. She often drops in and carries round a tray. But you were asking about damage. Charity balls are the fatal thing there. Let in a lot of opulent Yahoos at ten guineas a time and they feel entitled to break up the whole place. Treat your carpets as if they were on board one of those horrible great liners. But the half-a-crowners are a very respectable kind of folk. Very quiet. And the more they see, the quieter they get.’
‘I expect it’s a pretty overwhelming two-and-sixpence worth.’
The Duke looked at the cigars now being held out to him. ‘You think so?’ he said doubtfully. ‘They vary, of course. But I find a lot of Jamaicas not at all bad.’
Appleby smiled. ‘Then try them. But I was meaning the tour of Scamnum Court, as a matter of fact.’
‘To be sure.’ The Duke was not at all put out. ‘Well, I dare say we give as good value as most. Blenheim, for instance. You may say it offers rather more historical interest than we do. But you have to remember it’s not half the size. Friend of mine says we ought to make a two-day affair of it, and earn a bit more by putting people up for the night. But the half-crowns do well enough. Put us rather in the category of being in the entertainment business and running at a loss. Helpful.’
‘I suppose so.’ Appleby nodded. ‘But not if it leads to your losing a Vermeer every now and then – or even a Stubbs. I hope the pictures were insured against the increased risk from all this new traffic?’
‘I’ve a very good man sees to all that. Insisted on the thing when I rather jibbed at the premium. The Vermeer’s insured for what my poor father gave for it. But of course I could sell it back to America for three times as much as that.’
‘Ever thought of doing so?’
‘Anne wouldn’t let me. I believe she’d rather part with the little Rembrandt thunderstorm – the one her father bought in Dublin for ten shillings. And she prizes that almost as much as he did.’
‘I think the Duchess is quite right.’ Judith had crossed the room to a bookcase, and now returned with a monograph on Vermeer, open at a reproduction of the stolen painting. ‘It seems unbelievable that it’s gone; that it’s even in danger, perhaps, of destruction.’
‘I feel very bad about it.’ The Duke, who had decided to finish his brandy before essaying the cigar, settled back with every appearance of mellowed comfort in his chair. ‘Upbringing, you know. I was taught that we simply held all those things in trust. Not for the nation. My father disapproved of nations, whether his own or any other. But for civilization in general. So in losing the Vermeer I feel that I’ve fallen down, rather, on the job. And Anne is fearfully upset. She has a thing about it.’ The Duke, conscious that with this colloquialism he was indulging the young people before him with their own most modish jargon, amiably smiled.
‘The Duchess has a thing about holdi
ng things in trust?’
‘Bless me, no. Anne was brought up much more sensibly than I was. Anne has a thing about the Vermeer – about the Aquarium. She calls it the luck of the Crispins.’
Judith lit a cigarette. ‘But it hasn’t been with the Crispins long enough for that, surely. Your father bought it in New York.’
‘Very true. But Anne’s point is that the Aquarium is a sort of Crispin conversation piece. These fantastically bred, brightly coloured little creatures, like so many jewels in a transparent casket, and in a world so utterly of their own: Anne says that’s us. We’ll last, she says, as long as we keep up the show; as long as we go on swimming confidently behind the enchanted glass.’
Appleby was looking at the reproduction over his wife’s shoulder. ‘The Duchess is quite right. The half-crowns are never further from stringing you up on a lamp-post than when they’ve just had their money’s worth of Scamnum’s intolerable splendours. But now, perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind–’
‘Yes, yes, my dear fellow – to be sure. Remarkable brandy this. I have nothing like it.’ For the first time, the Duke of Horton appeared slightly uncomfortable. ‘This happened three weeks ago. And you want to know why I’ve kept it dark. I’m wondering, by the way, if we can keep that dark – I mean about this delay in telling the police, and the insurance people, and the papers. Say we hadn’t noticed…something of that sort. But not, of course, if you think not.’
‘I think not.’ Appleby shook his head with every appearance of judicial consideration. ‘When really valuable property is in question, no subterfuge is exactly harmless.’
‘No doubt you’re right.’ The Duke sighed. ‘Of course you can guess what the trouble was. It might have been a member of the family.’
‘Quite so.’ Detective investigation among the upper classes had long accustomed Appleby to the smooth navigating of this particular stretch of troubled water. ‘But fortunately any fear of that sort has proved groundless.’
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