Nothing Ventured

William smiled. ‘Well, it’s been a memorable evening. Thank you, Beth.’

As he turned to leave he heard a voice behind him say, ‘But I am free tomorrow night.’

When William arrived at the office the following morning, he found a yellow Post-it note stuck to the top of his case files.

URGENT – Call Liz, 01 735 3000.

‘What’s this about?’ he asked Jackie.

‘All I know is that the Hawk said it was urgent. You’re to record exactly what Liz has to say and send him a written report.’

‘Will do,’ said William as he dialled the number. A moment later a woman’s voice came on the line.

‘How can I help you?’

‘This is Detective Constable Warwick calling from Scotland Yard. I’m returning Liz’s call.’

‘Do you know Liz’s surname, or which department she works in?’

‘No, just that it’s urgent I speak to her. She’s expecting my call.’

‘This is the Buckingham Palace switchboard, sir. We only have one Liz, and I don’t think she’s available at the moment.’

William turned bright red. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I must have got the wrong number.’ The moment he put the phone down, Jackie and DCI Lamont burst out laughing.

‘I’m sure she’ll call back,’ said Jackie.

‘And by the way,’ said Lamont, ‘the Hawk’s had a call from the American ambassador thanking us for returning the moon dust. Well done, laddie, now perhaps it’s time for you to sort out Winston Churchill.’

William opened the file marked ‘Churchill’ and tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t put the previous evening out of his mind. He couldn’t recall the last time a young woman had so preoccupied his thoughts. Tonight he would definitely leave the office before seven, even if the light was still shining under the commander’s door.

He gathered his thoughts as he read about an ingenious scheme a petty forger had come up with to supplement his income. By the time he’d reached the last page, William realized he was going to have to visit a number of bookshops in the West End if he hoped to catch the thief red-handed. He warned DCI Lamont, who was preoccupied with the hunt for an international jewel thief, that he was about to do some good old-fashioned leather-bashing and might not be back by close of play.

William decided to start at Hatchards on Piccadilly, where the manager – he checked the name again – Peter Giddy, had made the original complaint.

He left Scotland Yard, and headed for the Mall – as he passed Buckingham Palace he couldn’t help feeling chastened at his attempt to call Liz – then on up St James’s to Piccadilly, where he passed through a doorway u

nder which three royal warrants were proudly displayed. William asked a woman on the front counter if he could see Mr Giddy.

Once the manager had checked William’s warrant card, he took him up to his office on the fourth floor and offered him a cup of coffee.

‘What made you suspicious in the first place?’ asked William, as he sat down and opened his notebook.

‘I wasn’t suspicious to begin with,’ admitted Giddy. ‘After all, Churchill was a politician, so would have signed a great number of his books. However, it’s quite rare to come across a complete set of his The Second World War with all six volumes signed. But when I spotted a set in Heywood Hill, and then just a week later another set in Maggs, I began to have my doubts.’

‘Can you recall anything in particular about the man who offered to sell you the books?’ asked William.

‘Fairly nondescript. Sixty, sixty-five, grey hair, slightly stooped, average height and with an accent you could cut with a knife. In fact, a typical Hatchards customer.’

William smiled. ‘I assume he didn’t tell you his name.’

‘No. Said he didn’t want the children to find out he was selling a family heirloom.’

‘But you would have had to make out a cheque?’

‘In normal circumstances, yes, but he insisted on cash. He turned up a few minutes before we closed, well aware that the till would be full.’

‘How much would an unsigned set of the books sell for?’