The Art of the Matter

‘He masqueraded as someone who does not even exist?’

‘He did.’

‘That, alas, is not an offence in law, unless it was done for the purpose of fraudulent gain.’

‘The masquerade was supported by a clearly forged letter of introduction.’

‘Actually, a tip-off, but admittedly forged.’

Privately, Sir Sidney thought the scam hilarious. It was the sort of thing that always went down hugely well at the Benchers’ dinners in hall. But his expression indicated he was contemplating mass murder.

‘Did he at any time claim he was a member of the famously wealthy Getty family?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘You presumed he was?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Did he at any time attempt to take this Dutch picture, or any other picture, with him?’

‘No.’

‘Have you any idea who he was?’

‘No.’

‘Can you think of any thoroughly disgruntled ex-employee who might have dreamed this up?’

‘Only one, but it was not he in the hall.’

‘You dismissed the employee?’

‘Yes.’

‘On what grounds?’

The last thing Slade intended was to describe the Sassetta swindle.

‘Incompetence.’

‘Was he a genius with a computer?’

‘No. He could hardly use one. But a walking encyclopedia on Old Masters.’

Sir Sidney sighed. ‘I am sorry to be discouraging, but I don’t think the boys in blue are going to want to know about this. Nor the Crown Prosecution Service. Question of proof, you see. Your actor fellow can be a grey-haired Kentuckian with goatee, American accent and shabby coat one minute, and a crisply spoken ex-Guards officer in pinstripes the next. Whoever you might think you have traced, can you prove who it was? Did he leave fingerprints? A clear signature?’

‘An illegible scrawl.’

‘Precisely. He denies it all, and the police are nowhere. Your dismissed encyclopedia only has to say he does not know what you are talking about and . . . same thing. Not a shred of proof. And somewhere in the back there seems to be a computer wizard. I’m sorry.’

He rose and held out his hand. ‘If I were you, I would drop it.’

But Peregrine Slade had no intention of dropping anything. As he emerged into the cobbled yards of one of London’s four Inns of Court, a word Sir Sidney Avery had used stuck in his mind. Where had he seen or heard the word ‘actor’ before?

Back at his office he asked for the details of the original vendor of the Sassetta. And there it was: profession, actor. He engaged a team from London’s most discreet private investigation agency. There were two in the team, both ex-detective inspectors of the Metropolitan Police, and they were on double rate for quick results. They reported back in a week but brought little news.

‘We followed the suspect Evans for five days but he seems to lead an uneventful life. He is seeking work in a menial capacity. One of our younger colleagues got talking to him in a pub. He appeared completely ignorant of the affair of the Dutch picture.